#the spirit one is sturdier!

[hurtspideyparker]

Thinking about restless spirit Tony Stark who just can't move on to the after life.

The first thing he does once he realizes he's an apparition is check on Pepper and Morgan. True to their word, they're okay. He watches them for a bit but feels this deep unrest pulling him away from the quaint home he yearns for.

There's a deep wrongness within him, some unfinished business that draws him back to New York.

He fears for a moment that it's Peter- but no, it can't be him. He'll be in Massachusetts right now, attending MIT as a freshman. There isn't a doubt in Tony's mind that his little genius is already making his mark.

Still, he follows the pull of his spirit to some dingy Queens' apartment he's never been to before.

It's deep in the night yet the apartment is empty. He looks around a bit, his body phasing through anything he attempts to touch.

It's small and dirty. There's old coffee cups on the desk, alongside a couple GED manuals. Great, the universe thinks he has unfinished business with some broke high school dropout.

He's pondering how he must have screwed up this kid's life; was it the Avengers, Stark Industries? Maybe his old playboy lifestyle is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

His contemplation is cut short by the sound of the window cracking open.

It strikes Tony for a moment that maybe he's stuck on Earth to be a guardian angel, Iron Man living on as some invisible protector against whatever creep is sneaking into people's windows. It doesn't make much sense considering the whole non-corporeal thing, but he still stiffens like he's ready for a fight.

He sees a man- no, a thing? A creature maybe, or an alien. Even in death Tony can't escape being one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The creature is shrouded in darkness, something slick and bald crawling inside the room with terrifying grace and silence. It shuts the window with a soft kssssh as the seal is formed.

And then it pulls off its mask.

There, with the click of a table lamp, glows the face of Peter Parker.

He's definitely older now; sturdier shoulders, a rugged set of his jaw, hair tamed to something semi-professional. Still present, though, are those gentle brown eyes.

Nothing makes sense right now. Why is his kid here, in this apartment? Surely May wouldn't allow this. How many tenant laws does this place break? Where are his little sidekick friends? And on what planet would Peter Parker ever need a GED?

Tony's getting angry now, watching Peter move around the tiny space. He changes out of his costume and into pajamas. That spider suit isn't Tony's suit, it looks like cheap craft store fabric.

The kid opens a small freezer and pulls out the singular bag of peas that reside in there, pressing it against his ribs while he goes to pop some bread into a toaster.

Tony takes note of every glimpse he gains into Peter's life. Empty cabinets when he reaches for a jar of peanut butter. A fridge housing nothing but condiments and energy drinks when he goes to grab jam. A drawer with two spoons, no forks, and a paring knife which he pulls out and sticks into the strawberry jam jar just as the toast pops.

This is all so wrong.

Tony's outrage is coming to a rolling boil. Peter deserves the world- he was gonna give him the world. He couldn't wait to send Peter to MIT and show him off as his protégé. Tony was gonna fund his projects, tease him about pretty girls, maybe even see him step back from Spider-Man and act like a normal college kid. He wanted to see him flourish and grow up. It was all he could think about when Peter turned to dust between his fingers; he should be goofing off with his friends at a mathletes meeting, or building Legos, not fighting an intergalactic war.

Tony couldn't even conceive how much went wrong to end up here.

Alone. Broke. No school. He didn't even have his Stark suit to protect him. Everything that made him him has been stripped, leaving him in this shallow box with scuffed paint and hollow cabinets.

Tony can feel the violent rage burn deep in his spirit as he thinks about it.

This is why he's here. He can't let his boy live like this, wasting his potential to be some villain's punching bag. Where is everyone? Does no one care enough to stop this? The fury that builds in Tony is dangerous, wondering why a dead man is the only one who cares about the teen's life right now.

Without thinking Tony's hand reaches for the GED textbook, a mocking piece of work that laughs in his face, and throws it at the stupid little kitchenette that's mere feet from the bed.

It sails across the room with surprising speed before it's met with a thunk against Peter's palm, hand reaching out to catch it from the air before it collided with the toaster.

Oh.

Peter sets the book down and immediately picks up his web shooters, eyes darting furiously to every corner of the tiny apartment.

"Who's there?"

Tony steps a little closer but Peter's eyes just look right past him.

"C'mon Pete, c'mon. I'm here, I'm right here."

Tony looks for something else to grab. He swats at a hopefully empty coffee cup on the wooden desk, but his hand just passes right through it.

"Shit," the hope Tony felt waivers slightly and he tries again.

Nothing.

Peter is searching his apartment now, making sure the window is secure and feeling around every crevice, bookshelves, under the bed, in the top corners of the room. Searching for something nefarious, tech maybe.

Tony hits the cup, again and again, frustration building up and up and up till-

The cup flies across the room, Tony and Peter's eyes track its movements as it bounces against the ground and rolls to a stop.

"Shit," Peter breathes out.

Tony walks up to Peter now, standing before him.

"Figure it out. Think kid, you've met aliens, gods, magicians, surely ghosts aren't too far fetched."

Peter closes his eyes. His posture straightens, Tony watches him take a deep breath in as the hairs on his bare arms stand on end.

Peter's eyes blink open, and they're looking directly at Tony.

Tony smirks, "that's it."

Peter turns around and picks the cup off the ground, running to his desk with it and ripping a piece of lined paper out of a notebook and scribbling furiously on it.

Tony walks over as Peter places the cup in the center of the paper.

On the left is the word YES in bold print, NO on the right.

"Okay, okay okay. So, move the cup if, if you wanna talk. Um, is there someone in the room right now?"

Tony reaches for the cup, an intense glare as his fingertips graze it gently. It shifts minutely towards the YES.

"Shit! Shit. Sorry, whew. Okay. Are you friendly?"

Tony moves it to YES again.

"Are you a, um. Person? Like not an alien?"

YES.

"Are you wearing tech, invisibility suit or your molecules are uncalibrated or maybe it's a portal thing like, multiverse shit is happening again, a mirror universe! Oh, maybe a..."

Tony let's a frustrated sign. The kid is too practical, logical. He needs to think like a non-genius.

"... could be. Or, or maybe you're just a ghost-"

Tony perks up and immediately swats the cup, causing it to fly off the desk towards the YES.

"Oh. Oh that's... kinda normal. Or maybe really weird? I mean... I certainly have some ghosts in my past."

Peter picks the cup up and puts it back on the desk.

"Do I know you?"

YES.

"You said you were friendly, and I'm not getting any danger tingles from you. I'm gonna start with people I know are dead, cuz I just really hope you're not a... new ghost. Um. M-May?"

The boy's voice cracks on the word and Tony freezes. May is dead? Tony starts to fear that things are a lot more wrong than he previously thought.

Peter's breath catches and Tony realizes he's waiting, dying for an answer, and quickly pokes the cup towards NO.

Peter's shoulders sag.

"Uncle Ben?"

NO.

"T- Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, "now we're getting somewhere!"

YES.

Tony is going to have his work cut out for him, but being here with Peter just feels right.

Peter breaks out into a matching smile.

"Wow, okay. I think I'm gonna need more paper," he says as the boy gets to work making a more complex system than YES and NO.

Tony watches on proudly, reminiscing about all the great Peter was and all the great he still is, despite his situation. Whatever this is, they'll figure it out.

Together.

[littlestpersimmon]

First time dragons dogma players should know that its like monster hunter.. you have to climb monsters to find weak spots and stab and jab there... weight is everything so if you're playing as a twink you are a bit more agile than other body types.. and you can play as any body type.. if you're a heftier character you're less likely to get knocked down, your character can carry way more stuff.. while characters who are on the skinny side have to rent out pawns who are sturdier built.. pawns are like.. your eternal companions, you can make your own and "rent" pawns from other players... they are these spirits in the game.. where you pull them out of this dimension called The Rift..they are basically beings completely dedicated to you.. you form their appearance, their behavior, their attitude.. there's this whole thing in dragons dogma where the arisen, the player, loses their humanity while the pawns gain theirs.. anyways.. in game, the pawn sort of copies how the players fight.. which is a disaster when, say, you're a sorcerer who fights passively, when you need a pawn who is an aggressive swordsman... this game is very detail oriented.. there's so many moving parts.. one time, inside this dungeon, I fell into the water. And it killed my oil lamp, and because my character was on the skinny side, I couldn't carry a lot of oil flasks.. so I turned towards the pawn I rented from my best friend.. and it turns out he had used up all the oil because another pawn I rented was a pyromancer, and he'd thrown the oil bottles at enemies to boost her fire spells.. do u get what I'm saying.... every little thing matters in this game...... sorry.. this post is as nothing as dragons dogma II is everything for me.. it really is that deep.. BTW in dragons dogma I, the person that the game deems you love the most is the person you talk to the most.... so a lot of the players accidentally ended up getting the evil capitalist landlord merchant who sells overpowered talismans that boosts your fighting ability lmao

[wannaeatramyeon]

Helloooo I just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing! I always look forward to your posts, they just make my day! When I‘m feeling down they cheer me up and when I‘m in high spirits they make me even happier. So keep up the good work :3

Btw I‘d also like to request the Lookism boys reacting to them accidentically hurting their S/O (especially Jake and Goo, I just love them) 🥹

If you don‘t want to it’s fine! I also just wanted to tell you I really appreciate your writing🫶🏻 Thx!

~Your fan

Hi Anon! SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY. I know it's been a while. Thank you so much for your kind words omg 🥹 your words are also a wonderful pickmeup for me too. I will work harder to keep making the most of this fixation with these silly boys 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ And don't worry, as long as I keep putting out bullshit for Lookism, there will always be some Jake and Goo cos they are my faaaaaves.

Accidentally hurting S/O: Goo, Jake, Gun, Samuel, Vin

Neither of you ever go full force in your spars together. The intent was to improve, not maim.

However, seeing a gap in your defensive stance, their right fist jabs out. Quick as lightning, hitting you in the ribcage.

Which you usually would be able to tank, except.

Fucking liver shot.

All your focus and drive is knocked out with that one hit. You're breathless, trying desperately to stay standing-

Goo x Reader

"Princess?"

Goo raises his eyebrows, a smirk gracing his features. It's not the first time you've manipulated him and then punched him as soon as he was within reach. No chance is he falling for it again.

At the sound of your whimpers, and pathetic sight of you head down, clutching your side, Goo finally backs down.

Surely he didn't hit you that hard, right? He thought you were much sturdier than that especially with all the trash talk coming out of your mouth.

"Cupcake, you ok?" The mirth isn't entirely gone from his voice, but he tilts your face up towards him and gasps at the tears in your eyes.

"My little baby! Did I hurt you?" his fingers come up to wipe the tears from your cheeks, "I didn't know you were so weak. Such a delicate little flower, my buttercup. I didn't even try, and you couldn't withstand that? My sweet darling."

Your tears dry quickly when you hear his words. More gloating than concern. "You asshole, that was a cheap shot."

"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, sweetheart."

"Asshole," you repeat as he cackles like a hyena.

"C'mon," Goo gives you a loud obnoxious smooch on the forehead for your troubles, "Let your Goo bear look after you today."

Jake Kim x Reader

Jake realised the impact before you did. Already too late for his fist to change course and resulting in your face crumpling up in pain.

"Shit!" his hands come up, gingerly assessing the area and eyes frantically searching yours, "Y/N, are you ok?"

"No," you squeak out and Jake has never felt such panic before. Is that his life flashing before his eyes?

And then when your eyes well up with tears, lip starting to quiver, Jake feels his soul departing his body.

Shitshitshit-

The apologies tumble out.

Of course, you can't blame him. Accidents are a natural byproduct of sparring. Jake suffered a sprained ankle not too long ago, and you still can't bend your left middle finger fully.

You regain your breath as his hands rove all over to check for any other injuries. Needing to touch you and feel that you're still fine.

"Jake?" You interrupt his worried movements.

"Hmm?"

Probably an inopportune moment, yet even through the pain, it warms your heart seeing how much Jake cares about you. "Love you."

Oh. Jake wasn't expecting that. That's what you give him after a liver shot? You really are too adorable for words.

With a soft smile, he tells you he loves you too.

Gun Park x Reader

Clearly unimpressed, Gun watches you.

With anyone else, he would have called them pathetic, worthless and a waste of his time.

But with you, it's not time wasted. He would rather be with you, than not at all. Which he finds difficult to admit. That fact at complete odds with his drive and his self. A personal weakness he is willing to overlook.

From the offset, Gun could see there was zero possibility of you becoming his masterpiece. Simply put, you didn't have the body nor talent nor skill. When you first asked him to start sparring with you though, he acquiesced. Frankly, has he ever even said no to you.

You chance a peek at your boyfriend. Already you are expecting a look of disappointment, instead you see his retreating back, leaving you alone.

Tears spring to your eyes and you drop your head in shame. Damn, this hurts. You're no match for Gun, no match for most people really. Still, you've been trying to improve.

As you wallow, a blanket is wrapped around your shoulders. In the blink of an eye, Gun hoists you into an effortless bridal carry, calling you an idiot.

You know his words have no bite, his actions speak far louder.

Arms wrapping around his neck, the pain subsides as you nuzzle him.

Samuel Seo x Reader

Samuel feels it in his superiority complex first, always bubbling away and too deeply ingrained for anything else.

Incapacitating an opponent, dominating them, proving that he is better.

Followed quickly by fuck. This isn't an opponent. Not really. It's you.

"Y/N?" he holds you by the shoulders and you lean into it, your legs too weak to hold you up.

Samuel's eyes cloud with worry when you let out a feeble groan.

"Come on," he picks you up, maneuvering you into a fireman's lift with grace and you with anything but. Ass in the air, hair flopping down, still feeling waves of pain.

Samuel faintly recalls his packed calendar for the rest of his day. Meetings upon meetings. Calls and face-to-faces with vendors and investors and corporate fucks who can barely form a thought between them without a brainstorming meeting and a presentation.

"Ughhh Sammy I feel like shit," you gurgle from behind him, and that is all it takes for him to wipe his schedule clean.

None of it matters.

He'll be spending the rest of the day with you instead.

Vin Jin x Reader

Vin nudges you with his foot, "Get up."

In the end, your legs had crumpled beneath you until you're flat on the floor, hands clutched to your throbbing side.

At your lack of response, Vin tries again. "Get up you pussy."

Vin is Vin. An asshole to the end.

"Go away," your voice is weak, barely reaching his ears.

He squats down and squints through his shades, trying to get a closer look at what the hell is wrong with you. He barely even touched you.

"Yeesh, are you really this weak? You're no fun."

You can't bring yourself to say anything to that, just throwing a glare at him. So venomous that you hope it penetrates those stupid sunglasses and into his soul.

"Whatever, if this is what we're doing now." As if he wasn't the cause of your predicament, Vin lets out a melodramatic sigh and lies down beside you.

"You're such a loser," he says, even as he shuffles close, carefully positioning your head on his shoulder and pulling your body to his.

[chickenparm]

Tradition - Part Seven

Check out @drawlypsy’s full version of the header that can be found here!

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 2,123 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, fluff, future smut

---

Once, perhaps the second or third rematch, Childe made small talk as he sprawled across the floor, leaned back on his hands behind him. First, he mentioned his brother that you’d helped; Teucer. Then, he slipped aimlessly from one topic to the other. 

A comfortable cottage made of stone and well-made roof thatching, settled at the edge of a little fishing village tucked along the coastline of Snezhnaya. Its shores protected from battering waves by slow-moving icebergs that create an ever-shifting wall from the outside world. 

And in that cottage, in that village, is his family. Siblings who are genuinely happy to see him, parents that put smiles on their faces and tension at the corner of their eyes. A backyard with a ruin guard, its core removed. Farmland that had once been worked by his family to sustain them that lay barren now thanks to Childe’s flow of cash. 

Childe paints a pretty picture of rigid mountains, forests of pine trees that would be a deep green if not for the layers and layers of snow covering each individual needle. Frozen lakes that are sturdier than the earth itself, protesting as he drills holes to fish through. The sky stretching into the distance, clear and cold and blue. 

Snezhnaya is as beautiful as he describes it to be. 

The ship was forced to wait in the small harbor for the night. To approach Morepesok without the guiding light of the sun would be to openly invite the vessel to go ahead and sink. The icebergs don’t move quickly, but they do move, and the village is small enough that the light can’t quite reach out to where you prop your chin on the cold, frozen wood of the ship’s railing. 

The moon is just passed new. A thin little sliver, squinting down at the way your breath pushes from your nose in a sigh, the cloud drifting up and away. The stars here are no different than the ones in Mondstadt, or Liyue, or Sumeru, but they seem somehow both brighter and more far away. Like even they are afraid of the chill that’s just barely being fought off by the thick cloak and clothing you’ve procured for the trip. 

On your left hand, the ring is warmed happily by your body heat.

It’s getting late, and you should return to the bunk room to get some sleep before you try to piece together Childe’s descriptions to find your way. Before, not so long ago, you would have been endlessly irritated that you could recall such descriptions with picture-perfect clarity. It’s as if he’s dreamily reciting memories of his homeland to you right now, at your side. 

But now, it’s comforting. Soothing enough to lull you asleep with the rocking of the ship and the quiet thudding of your heart in anticipation. 

Sumeru was - is - arduous. Scaramouche is spirited away somewhere by Nahida, but that’s still a mess that needs to be cleaned up. There’s still so much to do, so many places to explore, every little rock and ruin to pick through for even a trace of your sibling. Even Dainsleif would be a welcome arrival; it’s about that time again where he shows his face and says things that only leave you more confused and frustrated. 

Maybe it’s actually better he stays away for a little. Your life is complicated enough as it is.

You awaken to the sound of the crew on the deck, of orders being called out. It takes only a moment for you to blink at the ceiling and decipher the fact that there isn’t the sort of urgency that suggests an emergency. It’s alright to lay in your bunk a little longer. 

Hands laced over your stomach as you look upward, you think about Paimon. Dunyarzad had been plenty happy for Paimon to stay with her family - god knows they’d be able to foot the bill for an appetite like that. But Paimon had been adamant she come with you in case you do find your wayward fiance. 

“Who knows what will happen! You’ll come back and you’ll be… be… Mrs. Tartaglia, or something! Paimon has to make sure you don’t get swept off and married before Paimon can be there!”

But of course, by “being with you”, she meant tucked away in the nice, warm teapot that sits in your inventory. Close enough that you can call on her if the time for nuptials comes, but far enough away that she doesn’t have to deal with the cold of Snezhnaya. 

“Paimon is… cold-blooded! Once Paimon gets cold, it’s all over!” And that’s okay. As much as you appreciate your companion, it’s nice to have a little time alone. 

You’ve never really been alone before. 

A bell rings somewhere up above, signifying the final approach to the docks. The ship is small enough that you can get to the deck in a few short steps and prepare to disembark. Leaning against the same railing from the evening prior, you look out on the village in the light of day. It’s not exactly as you imagined, but it fits perfectly as it had been described. 

As a fishing village, you expected it to be a little more gray, a little more dreary. As a Snezhnayan village, you expected it to be less populated, a little less busy. 

It subverts your expectations in all those ways. There are already people on the dock ready to help moor the ship. Not so far away, you can see the square of the village, lit with a crackling bonfire to warm those who seem to be doing shopping at a morning market. Food must always be fresh, if it’s colder than an icebox all the time. 

And the fish. Childe wasn’t lying about the size of the fish. As you walk past one in the square to enjoy the bonfire for a moment, you swear its eyes seem to follow you. But surely it’s dead, and you’re just feeling odd being in a place so new without anyone else to comfort you. 

Right, you tell yourself, holding your mitten-clad hands out to accept the fire’s warmth, a moment longer here, and I’ll start that search in earnest. 

A moment turns into two, then three, and before long you realize you’re simply wasting time and stalling. You’re better at recognizing it now, after scrutinizing your behavior toward Childe and this situation. Diversion after stall tactic after excuse to drag things out. And then you took long enough that the two of you were separated before you could make any further headway. 

Though, he’s already an indeterminable amount of distance away from you, so what’s a few moments longer?

If the fire was a finite resource, it would be accurate to pin you with the sin of greed. Snezhnaya is so cold, colder than it would be if you had another form by your side that would let you snuggle into his cloak and press yourself against him to leech his warmth. 

Instead, a different body slams into you, almost knocking you off balance and into the wet slush on the ground made of melted snow. 

Your name, chanted in a cheerful voice with the slightest lisp of a child missing their front teeth. Over and over as his arms squeeze tighter and tighter, only loosening when another voice pipes up, “Wait, this is Ajax’s-?”

The voice cuts off and a third voice says, only in somewhat of a whisper, “Yeah! But don’t say anything, remember? Mama and Papa don’t know yet, and you know Teucer can’t keep a secret for his life.”

Teucer is who clings to you with giggling laughter and a cacophony of words that you can’t quite make out beyond his happiness at seeing you here. The other two would be unmistakable as his siblings - as Childe’s siblings. A girl with long orange hair in a braid, and blue eyes that have the same shine as Teucer’s. A boy with a darker shade of auburn, cropped short and looking far too serious for someone his age. 

Still bewildered, your mind wanders in the chaos as you contemplate whether a younger Childe was more similar to Teucer, or the pre-teen boy that you can only assume is Anthon. It’s difficult to imagine Childe with such an expression on his face; he seems far more suited to wide smiles and laughter and freckles on his cheeks. 

The two others don’t introduce themselves to you. It doesn’t seem necessary, considering they’re obviously aware of who and what you are, and you’ve heard more than your fair share of stories about Childe’s siblings. But still, you do your best to give them a smile before looking down at Teucer to pry his arms from around your waist. He’s letting the warmth out from inside your cloak, after all. 

“It’s good to see you, too. What happened to your teeth?”

“They fell out-”

“He slipped on the ice face-first and knocked them out.” Anthon says, stepping forward to scrutinize you better. “They’re still in the snow somewhere, we couldn’t find ‘em. Is Ajax with you?”

It takes a moment for you to process the mystery of Teucer’s missing teeth, immediately followed by a question that answers an unspoken one of your own. So he isn’t here. Unfortunate - that ticket cost a lot of mora, considering the vessel wasn’t meant for passengers. Who takes a Winter trip to Snezhnaya, anyway? Much less to a little fishing village more than a day of travel from the capitol.

Anthon asked a question, and you shake your head to answer, “No, he isn’t. I was actually hoping he was here, with you. We’ve been… apart for business, and I’m not sure where he’s stationed at the moment.”

“Well, the last letter he sent didn’t say where, so we dunno either.” Tonia explains, stepping forward as well. “It’s a good thing we found you before anyone else did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your question sounds a little guarded. It’s probably not necessary to be defensive around the children who will inevitably be your in-laws, but they’re giving you the answers to questions you weren’t even aware of, and suddenly the snow feels a little too bright, the fire too warm, your cloak too heavy. 

Breathe. 

Sumeru took a lot out of you, put a lot into you that you’re still working through. A fear of too much happening at once - one-hundred and sixty eight defeats against a metal monstrosity of elemental power would burden anyone with an anxiety they can’t quite shake. 

In the midst of your swirling thoughts, Tonia interjects, reaching down beside her to a basket that had carefully been tucked into the snow. “Teucer, why don’t you run this back to Mama? She’s waiting on these and you’re the fastest runner. We’ll bring the Traveler, so don’t worry!”

The boy doesn’t even bat an eye. He accepts the basket with a look of determination, “I won’t even need a break!”

“Watch your footing, don’t slip again-”

“Yeah, or your bottom teeth will go next.” Anthon’s teasing could be construed as rude, but there’s a smile on his face, a smile on Teucer’s, and maybe that’s just a thing between them you don’t quite get. Surely your twin has made jibes like that in the past, but it feels like a lifetime since you last held their hand in yours before dispersing into golden light and stardust.

Once Teucer is far out of earshot, Anthon no longer withholds information.

“Ajax hasn’t said a word about your engagement to our parents.” He says with a seriousness that makes you wonder if perhaps his parents are some sort of abyssal beasts that would have their transformations triggered by the mention of holy matrimony. 

Tonia further clarifies, “Don’t be mad at him about it. It’s like.. a Snezhnayan tradition that the mother of the groom plans the wedding. And she said Ajax is old enough that he really should start looking-”

“Anyway, he obviously had a reason for only telling Tonia and me, so-”

“So, you shouldn’t say anything about it for now. Did you come here looking for him? Where from?” Tonia’s voice goes from trying too hard to seem grown-up to having that childlike inquisitiveness that Teucer still enjoys. Her gloved hand wraps around your arm to start guiding you along Teucer’s footprints in the snow. Anthon follows behind, listening as you do your best to answer her questions and ignore the unsettled feeling in your stomach of once again having no direction. 

There’s a suspiciously Teucer-shaped indent in the disturbed snow on the path, a footprint skidding longer than the others. You ignore that, too. 

[somer-writes]

Ordon Winter Wear as ft in Snowfall! This is specifically Twilight's outfit.

Ordon has hot summers and cold winters. they have a festival for the first large snowfall of the year where they thank the wind spirits. snowmelt is vital to spring crops. common offerings include flowers like crocuses, irises, and daffodils as well as winter leaves

this clothing is very typical of ordonians in the wintertime but is also ceremonial for festivals such as the snowfall festival ft in the fic

because winter clothing is more labor intensive, its often passed down through families. most adults wear the same set for life once they stop growing

all of the fiber is goat or plant based

the textiles are much sturdier and heavier and than lighter clothing

all textiles are made by local spinners. most ordonians make their own clothes. uli is a skilled seamstress as is ilia. knitting is used as well

for an explanation on the beads see Notions

the way the cord is tied around the sash indicates *which* village in ordon the person comes from

the winter sash is much stiffer and warmer than a lighter sash

men and women wear different shawls

men earn their shawls through service to the village. bo has one as the mayor, rusl earned his as a defender, link also earned his as a defender.

married women wear shawls. during the engagement period, they dye and knit their own shawls and the couple are married together under it

women's shawls are larger, warmer, and more decorative. they are worn like a blanket rather than a scarf

women can *also* earn the smaller shawl. if they do, they wear the larger shawl like a sarong and the smaller shawl over the shoulders

men can give their shawls to their partners as a sort of indication of courting. its more serious than flowers; think of it like keeping a locket

when a person passes, their shawl is either buried with them (wrapped it in) or sewn into a larger blanket of family shawls which are then used for specific memorial days

leg and arm wraps are very similar to norse wraps. it helps keep the person warm, but also dry

the goat horns are harvested from passed goats or broken horns and are carved down and polished until smooth. they may be carved decoratively

hats and gloves are also typical and are knit. they are common gifts, esp for children. really lovey-dovey couples might swap a glove to wear a mismatched pair

the pants are secured with an inside drawstring and have reinforced knees

the boots are very warm and very soft. special care is taken to keep the fleece as long as possible

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

From the Ashes Pt. 34

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, injuries, amputation of leg, Rhaegar POV

Words: 5480

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 3.5  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 35

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

“Open the gate!!!” Shouted the men atop of the fortress. Rain pelted their helmets and the wild wind threatened to knock them off the battlements.

Nearly painfully slow, the portcullis that groaned in reply was pulled up so the men waiting on the ground could hurry in. Tired, battered, and many suffering from illness brought on by the cold, the men huddled inside.

Tattered banners featuring stags and other sigils of the houses that made up Rhaegar’s army are dropped to the floor in relief.

Rhaegar gazed up at the dark gray sky above his head that washed them with it’s despotic rain. He welcomed it and closed his eyes in a sense of relief. Not considering themselves safe by any means, at least they had respite from their most recent failure. Spirits dampened, everyone needed time to mend and breathe.

Storm’s End lived up to its name, as did the Stormlands. When escaping from near the Kingswoods, they were met by scouts lurking in the trees in an attempt to pick off any survivors. The Silver Prince’s army, though lowered in number, were still plenty to eliminate the rest of Aerys’ men that were there. It was a disheartening battle though, and it was clear to Rhaegar they needed to hoof it to Storm’s End. His men couldn’t afford another attack. If another were to arise, it would most likely end him; something Rhaegar did not want to see come true.

Having been waiting for their lord’s arrival, the occupants of Storm’s End great house of Baratheon, leapt into action; taking the wounded to be cared for, feeding the hungry and directing men to where they can sleep.

Rhaegar was helped off of his horse and he watched the stable hands take his mare away to the stalls where the other horses were being tended to.

Even behind the fortress, the tall trees of the Stormlands towered over the walls and pierced the sky. Branches thick with plush pine needles sway and creak but do not bend to the will of the storm. They are of this land and are made of sturdier material. As far as the eye could see, a field of rich trees that offered protection.

In the distance, Rhaegar could hear Lord Robert Baratheon handing out orders to those who were just standing around.

When Rhaegar turns to look at his comrade instead he comes face to face with eyes like the storm above and the glossiest black hair he had ever seen.

Lyanna Stark.

Well, she was Lady Lyanna Baratheon now. Had been for quite some time.

The sight of her was still unnerving and nearly threw Rhaegar off of his weary feet.

She stood in front of him at a distance, her hands folded neatly in front of her as she acted the part of Lady of Storm’s End. Her northern cloak of warm furs enveloped her as they were suitable for this weather as well. Face pale with cheeks pink from the whipping winds, it’s like time hadn’t touched her. His Winter Rose. Yet the immediate love he had felt for her when they had first met did not flicker back to life. That wick was already spent and extinguished.

Her proud face is tilted up. “Your Grace. Welcome to Storm’s End.”

An uncanny feeling arose in him, unable to recall how he used to be around her. Parting his lips and unsure of what to say, Rhaegar is saved by Robert who sprints to his wife the moment he spots her.

“There’s my wife!��� Face that had once been lined with exhaustion blooms and brightens when he scoops her up in his arms. Alarmed, Lyanna remains stiff in his arms; glancing at Rhaegar. Robert sets down Lyanna and cups her face, forcing her to return his loving gaze. “How I have missed you, dear Lyanna.”

“I’m glad you’re home safely.” A forced smile urges her mouth to turn up. It didn’t reach those gray pools of her eyes though, that was clear to Rhaegar. When Lyanna was truly happy, her eyes would scrunch up as she smiled until they were the shape of half moons. He had dreamed of her smiling moon eyes, branded into his mind. Hadn’t it been so long ago that he had been in love with this woman? Now he could hardly bring back the memory of that warm feeling she gave him.

“Your Grace. . .” A young man apprehensively approaches Rhaegar, his brown eyes quickly glancing at the scar on his face before moving to the dirt covered ground. He pursed his lips before starting again “You must be awfully tired. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers. There is a hot bath being prepared for you.”

Robert gently moves Lyanna to his side. “Yes, go and rest now. We’ll have time to strategize later. For now, catch your breath.”

He didn’t wish to rest. That was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to keep fighting. Aerys had dealt him a hard blow that he had to recover from quickly. Wars may not be won in a day, but there was still much he could do.

The closeness of Storm’s End to the Kingswood was another concerning factor in which Rhaegar couldn’t ignore. Even though he had been admiring the tall trees that surrounded them, a voice in his head also whispered how there could be enemies hiding and waiting like they had been on their journey.

Half tempted to burn it all down, Rhaegar knew that that was something Aerys would think of. He hated the moments when he found himself thinking the exact same way his father did.

Following his gaze, Robert walks over to him. Rain had made his mane of black hair smooth down close to his scalp with his dark beard catching beads of raindrops. Atop of the battlements, figures of men could be made out with bows at the ready and waiting.

“What are the defense protocols you have for invaders?” Rhaegar asks him. He couldn’t rest without being assured that there were proper defenses set in place.

Robert chuckles a little. “You forget that Storm’s End was able to destroy the Vulture King’s army not once, but twice.”

There was little Robert’s words could do to soothe Rhaegar. The young boy who had been waiting on the prince seemed unsure of what to do as Rhaegar sighed. “I will rest. Once I see Oberyn and Arthur.”

Seeing Arthur lifted a weight from Rhaegar’s chest. There next to Arthur’s bed was a dozing Oberyn, his shirt off to reveal the massive wrap stuck to his left side from where the wildfire had eaten away his skin and nearly making it to his core. His complexion was pale, black hair tied back into a low ponytail and out of his face. The castle’s maester was checking on Arthur’s stump of a leg for any signs of infection.

A squire announces Rhaegar’s presence quietly but it was enough to stir Oberyn, eyes fluttering open lazily. Grunting when repositioning himself, the maester scolds him for disturbing his wound. Oberyn waves off the graying man to sit up. “Your Grace.”

“How are you feeling?” Rhaegar pulls his eyes away from the maester wrapping Arthur’s stump. His prodding made Arthur grumble in his sleep. A feverish sleep that caused a light sheen of sweat that made his dark hair look limp.

“Better off than Ser Arthur.” Oberyn’s personal squire immediately rushes to his side with a flagon of what Rhaegar presumed was filled to the brim with rich wine that the Dornishman loved so much. “I was worried he wouldn’t survive the journey.”

He took the container from his squire and tossed his head back. It made Rhaegar’s own dry mouth parched but he didn’t care to remedy it. Instead guilt swelled in him at the sight of Arthur’s sick body.

The maester informed him quietly that while there was no infection, Arthur had developed a fever from traveling in such torrential weather. It weakened his body and the maester warned if his stump was not cleaned regularly, he would succumb to even more disease.

Outside the rain pelted the glass of the sickroom, offering a soothing sound that accompanied Arthur’s labored breathing.

“He will live though?”

Nodding, the maester moved aside for Rhaegar to inspect his comrade. “He will live. Although he may never be able to fight again. Not with his misshapen leg.”

Oberyn glared at the older man. “We’ll see about that. If I know Arthur, then he won’t let one missing leg slow him down. What do you maesters know. I will send a letter to my brother to request our own physician.”

Taking offense, the maester appeared to want to say something in retaliation until Rhaegar shot him a look. Oberyn was only saying such things out of frustration and weariness although Rhaegar didn’t doubt that come the morning he would send out his missive to Dorne. More than likely, the physician of Sunspear wouldn’t arrive before the week’s end. The journey from Dorne to the Stormlands had always proved to be a troublesome one.

Backing down with a grimace, the maester bows and leaves the room; having done all he could for the Sword of the Morning. Oberyn tells his squire to leave him be for the time being so that now only Oberyn and the Silver Prince were left.

“I’m surprised Ser Connington isn’t lingering behind you.” Oberyn scoffs and takes another sip from his flagon. He winces, slightly holding onto his side. “He’s like your red shadow.”

“Even Griff needs rest.” Rhaegar pulls over a chair and sits down. Even though he had been riding his horse day and night, this type of comfort was enough to send him to sleep. The most simple of comforts that Rhaegar didn’t know he missed. There was pressure building behind his eyes and unconsciously he grabs at his belt where his vial of milk of the poppy used to reside. He had forgotten that he had given the last of it to Arthur. A bit frustrated, he sighs and closes his eyes. “More than half of our men were decimated by the wildfire. I don’t know how we’re going to regroup.”

“Damn those spineless lords for betraying you. They deserved to have their heads severed.” grumbles Oberyn who glances again at Arthur. His face softens a bit. “He will fight again. I’ve known him since he was a young man. Arthur won’t let this stop him.”

“That is if the Mad King doesn’t blast Storm’s End with wildfire.”

“It was the closest fortress. We couldn’t afford to run back to Dorne. I don’t think our wounded men would have survived. Besides, Aerys couldn’t possibly have more wildfire ready.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not an easy task making wildfire. Procuring it can take weeks, if not months. Not to mention it’s incredibly dangerous too. Even making it proves to be volatile. The spells used for making wildfire are presently not as effectual as they once were, due to the extinction of the dragons and the effect this has on the strength of magic” He muses, eyes glazed and far off. “And there’s only so much you can store safely.”

Arthur’s groan distracts the men from their conversation. His brows furrow like he was in pain.

Rhaegar stands to grab a cool cloth and places it on Arthur’s burning forehead. It offered him relief and he relaxes back into his dreams. “The both of you are lucky that you’re alive.”

Oberyn chuckled, wincing once again due to the motion upsetting his side. Rhaegar noticed a small circle of blood blossoming against the white bandage. The color grew deeper as more blood spread. “It would take a lot more than wildfire to kill a Dornishman.”

A tired smile is slow on Rhaegar’s face. “How silly of me to think otherwise.”

Stretching out his arm, Oberyn hands him his flagon of wine; it felt like it was half empty. “Take this and get some rest. I will watch over Ser Arthur. Besides, I have much to write. I need to inform Doran of what has happened and our needs for ships. Even though wildfire can spread across water, like I said, it will take the Alchemist Guild some time to acquire more. We need to strike in that waiting period.”

“You’re already thinking ahead.”

“Of course. Dorne promised you the Iron Throne. Our word is better than any Lannister’s.” His dark eyes burn intensely. “Do not owe that man anymore than you need to.”

The domineering face of his former father-in-law surfaced in Rhaegar’s mind. Cold Tywin Lannister who didn’t shed a tear at the demise of his daughter. While he needed all the funds he could get, Oberyn was right. He would be no better than Aerys who nearly drained Casterly Rock’s funds when the two were on speaking terms. The crown was still in debt to Tywin Lannister. Rhaegar didn’t want to be in the same position when he became king. He didn’t want to rely on Casterly Rock like Aerys did. That was part of the downfall between Aerys and Tywin.

His fingers held the metal handle of the flagon, it was warm from Oberyn’s own fingers. He should sleep. The haunting sounds of war just kept replaying.

Instead of asking for the squire to lead him to his own chambers, Rhaegar asks the young man to show him where the rest of his wounded men were.

Lyanna’s gloved hand ghosts over the area of her abdomen. Covered heavily in her layers of clothes and her fur coat, she could still sense the life that was growing inside her. Her lips press tightly together recalling seeing Rhaegar after more than a year of no contact. His last letter to her had been right before the war had started. Right before her life had turned upside down. A small part of her had hoped that Rhaegar would save her from her fate. That above all odds that they would live the rest of their lives together. Hopes and dreams were fickle things. His last letter to her had broken her heart. He loved his wife, the late (y/n) Lannister and lamented on hurting her. She had found out about the affections he once held for Lyanna which were no more. Rhaegar officially broke ties with her the moment she opened the letter.

She never resented (y/n), a girl she had never met. By law, Rhaegar was her husband, even before they met Rhaegar had promised his hand to (y/n) at such a young age. He was never meant to be her’s. He had always been (y/n)’s. When the news of the girl’s passing reached Lyanna, she felt no triumph, only regret and sadness for Rhaegar. There was no way she could possibly imagine what he was going through; the grief and pain that plagued him was still evident even now. The glow that had once been around him was gone. Also gone was his long silver hair, chopped short due to when he saved Robert from an attack. Since then Robert had only praise to sing about Rhaegar. It was odd seeing the two get along so well. Not too long ago, Rhaegar had claimed his affection for her and a resentment toward Robert Baratheon. Situations certainly have changed. Especially for her family.

Poor Ned. Alone in Winterfell considering that their younger brother Benjen had volunteered to go to the Wall to join the Black Brothers. A noble venture, but that meant Ned didn’t have any of his original family there to mourn with him. Barely a month had passed since the cruel murder of Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark. Their bodies had yet to be returned; or what was left of their remains.

Lyanna felt another wave of nausea hit her. Placing her back against the stone wall of the corridor she had been passing through, she takes a deep breath in an attempt to push down the sick feeling that was quickly rising up. Robert’s child had caused her to throw up several times already.

No one knew yet of the heir of Storm’s End that had now hijacked her body. There was so much going on already, a baby was the last thing she wanted. Lyanna was physically and emotionally tired. Seeing Rhaegar being chummy with her philandering husband had made everything worse.

The swirling sensation in her stomach subsided enough to where she could hold herself up once more.

She wandered over to a narrow window that viewed the courtyard below. Men were still scattered across the yard, milling about and preparing for upcoming battles. There was never any rest during a war. Even if they were here for respite, they had to prepare and gather more forces.

Ned had found time to write her a few weeks ago. He wanted more than anything to return to battle to support Rhaegar. The northern army could possibly save the campaign. Odds seemed bleak for Rhaegar at the moment unless he did manage to gather a sizable fleet. With Tywin Lannister as a benefactor it wouldn’t be too hard. The only issue was time. No one ever had enough time and putting together a naval power to siege Blackwater Bay would take a while. Ships had to be built and due to the wild storms that often destroyed nearby vessels, they couldn’t be built in the Stormlands. Ned didn’t have time for battle. He had to work on inserting himself as the new Lord of Winterfell. Plans had been made for Ned to wed Catelyn Tully, Brandon’s former betrothed. Before he even dared to go out and fight, he had to have an heir in case anything were to happen.

A familiar red head bobbed into view, stopping every so often to give orders. Jon Connington. The man never seemed to rest. He was considered Rhaegar’s right hand man and Jon took the role very seriously. Dedicating every waking hour to the Silver Prince.

Even feeling alone herself, she was happy that Rhaegar had good men around him who he could trust.

Scuffing of boots alerted Lyanna to someone approaching. She turns and there’s Rhaegar. The scar that ran like a river across his face darkened his already fraught expression.

“I thought you would be resting after your journey.” Lyanna says, hoping to at least get a few words out of him. Though his love for her was gone, she at least wanted to maintain some kind of relationship.

He looked exhausted, on the verge of falling over. “I’ll rest when I make sure my men are taken care of.” The angles of his cheeks were even more pronounced due to a drop in his weight. His black scaled armor nearly made him blend into the shadows of the hall.

His demeanor made her heart ache. So broken down with soot and blood caked to him.

Lyanna was prepared to insist that their maesters were working hard to ensure the health of those who had come in need of it, but her nausea seized her. One hand on the windowsill kept her stable as she leaned over and vomited. Clanking of armor followed as Rhaegar moved to hold back her long hair.

“Perhaps it is you who should be resting, my lady. Are you alright?”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she shakes her head. “No. I’m not alright. I’m pregnant.”

She felt his hand halt in it’s soothing ministrations on her back. “That’s wonderful news, Lyanna. Congratulations. Have you told Robert yet?”

“I haven’t told anyone. You’re the first and I don’t want you sharing this.” Fixing her gaze on him, she holds down his lilac eyes with sternness.

Obviously confused, Rhaegar releases her cascading hair. “Why haven’t you told anyone? You're pregnant with Robert’s heir.”

Quite unladylike, Lyanna lets out a derisive snort. “Probably not his first. Oh don’t look so surprised. Even you know of Robert’s predilections. I knew marrying him would not prevent Robert from taking on lovers. No matter how much he claims he loves me, he loves women more. I can’t be happy about this. Not with my father and brother dead and Ned struggling in his new role. If anyone else finds out about my pregnancy, they will refuse to let me go to the north to be with Ned.”

Tears were in her eyes and blinding her, bottom lip shivering as Lyanna suppressed a sob. Her life was in ruin.

Compassion had not died in Rhaegar as he gently held one of her hands. “I’m so sorry, Lyanna. About your father and brother. About everything that has transpired. Keeping this child a secret is not the answer though.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered. “I know but I just can’t bring myself to tell anyone. There was so much I wanted to do. I wanted to support Ned and fight in your army. Now there will be even more reason to keep me cooped up here.”

Even in her ears, her woes sounded pathetic but Lyanna couldn’t help the way she felt. Rhaegar had lost both his wife and child and was in the middle of fighting his father for the Iron Throne. He had a lot more on his plate than she.

Still, Rhaegar soothed her by running his finger along her knuckles. For a moment there is a lull of silence before Rhaegar sighs. “If you inform Robert of your pregnancy, I promise to try and convince him to let you go to the north. It’ll be safer for you there anyway. The Stormlands are too close to King’s Landing, I’m sure he’ll let you go.”

She clung to Rhaegar’s promise and with a small nod, she dropped his hand. “Alright. Alright.”

Making sure she was truly okay to continue her walk, Rhaegar begins on his path once more before Lyanna calls out to him.

“I’m really sorry. . . About (y/n). . . a-and her baby. . .”

Such a sad smile Rhaegar had. “We were going to name him Jaehaerys. (y/n) loved that name.”

It was hard for Varys to rid his mind of the image of Brandon’s wide, fearful eyes. Neck veins bulged as he was being strangled while watching his father’s own demise. The reddening of his face as he lost air, clawing of his fingers around the rope that gripped his neck so tightly. Gods, he couldn’t get the smell of burning flesh out of his system either. The day of Brandon and Rickard’s murder stuck with Varys as a reminder of the danger he was in when playing the game of thrones. One wrong move and that could easily be him. With Aerys’ patience and sanity running thin, he walked on a razor’s edge. He was unpredictable and an unpredictable king was a terrifying thing. Through his birds, Varys knew that the people of King’s Landing were talking in hushed tones; worried about the extreme use of wildfire against Rhaegar’s army. Such a reckless and fickle element, the wildfire could have easily spread to the capital and killed everyone. It was thanks to Rhaegar’s actions that the spread of the green flames had stopped in it’s tracks. That wouldn’t do for Aerys. If he found out about the positive talk on his turncloak son, no doubt the king would gather those individuals and kill them. Well, his people were already dying by the dozens. Many were starving, he had been witness to it whenever he dared to go outside. The gates to the Red Keep were now lined with the poor and starving, screaming at anyone who got near them. The use of wildfire had damaged the roads and lands that led to King’s Landing. Supplies could not be delivered to them nor any goods that the capital depended on. Food from the bountiful Reach dwindled in a blink of an eye. Even those of a higher pedigree were experiencing difficulties and often went to the king’s small council to plead for more food.

Aerys turned a deaf ear to the cries of his people, instead becoming obsessed with striking down his first born son; the son which Rhaella had struggled to conceive after so many miscarriages and stillborns.

The wildfire assault had not been approved by the small council. Actually, Aerys worked behind their backs to make sure that his plans would be successful. An outraged Grand Maester Pycelle had accosted Aerys on such a terrible act and it nearly cost him his head. He considered wildfire a damning element concocted by those who were close to the Stranger as arts such as those could only be obtained in a dark manner.

There was nothing that could be said to the king that would make him think otherwise. He believed the wildfire would help cleanse the land. An even more morbid plot that Aerys had told them about was the plan to set all of King’s Landing aflame if Rhaegar ever got to the gates. All of the members of the small council were growing more concerned by the second. There was no reasoning with King Aerys. Even looking into his eyes one would learn that his mind wasn’t all there. Many days, Aerys refused to come down from the Iron Throne, even if he was receiving many cuts from the old blades it was composed of. He would not surrender the throne to anyone. Not even for a second.

He was employing Varys’ skill more and more these days. Especially in regards to the missing knight Ser Barristan Selmy who had up and vanished. Whispers around the castle laid claim that it was Selmy who may have kidnapped the king’s youngest children.

Of course Varys knew better. In fact it was he who had orchestrated the kidnapping of the Targaryen siblings. Varys knew that many people thought him cold and conniving, but it was far from the truth. For a long time, he had worried about the young Viserys and infant Daenerys. Even before Rhaella’s passing, Varys worried about what Aerys had planned for his family on Dragonstone. Not wanting to underestimate the king’s madness, Varys thought it best to send the children away. He took it upon himself to go to Dragonstone and enlist the help of Ser Willem Darry who was all too ready to take the task. The older knight had voiced his own worries as well and had made a promise to the dying Rhaella that he would protect her children even if it meant going against Aerys. That task had been an easy one.

However, he hadn’t heard anything of Ser Selmy. The last news he received from his many little birds around the world was that Selmy had indeed left Volantis and was on a ship back to Westeros. That had been two weeks ago and no one had any clue where he was now. No mice or birds had seen Selmy in a while.

And how would he get into contact with Rhaegar now that their go-between had been murdered. Brandon Stark had been overly brave in making himself the messenger between the Spider and the Silver Prince. He didn’t know the status of Rhaegar’s army and if it still held numbers. Scouts that had been placed in the Kingswoods had reported that his men were seen fleeing in the direction of the Stormlands. Other than that, the information was mum.

He had been speaking with one of his little birds when a knight approached him, causing the young child to flee immediately.

“The king wants to see you.”

Varys never liked hearing that. It meant having to sit through the king’s ramblings and attempt to make sense of it. Continuing to pretend to serve him was wearing down on him. He must see his plans through, to the very end. Much like another foreigner he had encountered.

Young Thalina had known what her duty was to the realm and even knowing her fate was death, she did what she had to do with a gentle smile on her face. Varys never knew how much he would look up to the girl.

She had more courage than Varys could ever have. For he still feared his own death. Every time he came face to face with Aerys, he worried that that would be the last breath he took.

Even making his way to the Great Hall, beads of sweat began to collect on the back of his neck, staining the satin collar around his neck. Aerys had already killed a handful of his most loyal vassals. His fears weren’t irrational. The other members of the small council also worried when their time would come.

Despite the Great Hall having large windows that allowed the sun’s rays to illuminate the hall, the vicinity around the Iron Throne was suspended in a dark gloom that threatened to reach out to the rest of the hall. Atop of the mountain of melded swords was Aerys. His body leaned forward in an attempt to keep the sharp tips of the swords from biting into his skin. From where he stood, Varys could see the slight twitching of the king’s bony hands. His golden crown was loose on his head, the dragons sculpted into it were like a sad reminder of the glory that the Targaryens once possessed.

What alarmed Varys was the absence of the Kingsguard. All who stood sentry was Gerold Hightower.

Currently one of the pyromancers held an audience with the king. The situation was already fraught when Varys arrived. “Y-Your Grace. . . Please, we can make the amount of wildfire you ask for but it will take us time.”

“We don’t have time!” Aerys spat nearly rising from his seat. “I want it done by the week’s end!”

Trembling slightly, the pyromancer shook his head knowing that if he did not please the king’s temper that his head could be on the chopping block. “Y-Yes Your Grace. . .”

“Get him out of here. He’s got work to do along with the other mages in the Alchemist Guild.” With stern, milky eyes, Aerys instructs Ser Gerold to escort the poor pyromancer out of the Great Hall while Varys takes his place in front of the Iron Throne. Not wasting time on pleasantries, Aerys asks “What news do you have on Barristan Selmy?”

Varys wished he had that knowledge just for himself. Alas, there was nothing to report on; not something Aerys wanted to hear. His tempers were already short. Varys had to make sure to spend as little time as he could there. “I regret to inform Your Grace that there has been no sign of Barristan Selmy. We can only hope that he shows up soon or we hear news of his death.”

The Mad King snarls. “It seems even my Spider is incompetent. A knight of the Kingsguard does not just up and vanish overnight! Especially not one like Selmy. And my children?”

Luckily Varys had come up with a lie that would be good enough to satisfy Aerys at least for the time being. “One of my informants in Pentos has sighted two young children with silver hair. They match the description of Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys.”

“Anything on who took them? Don’t think I haven’t heard what people are saying. Some speculate that Selmy took them. Is there any merit to the rumor?”

Varys doubted if Selmy did return to King’s Landing that he would receive a warm welcome. True that he lied to Aerys about the reason for him being gone, nothing mattered now. Not with the king’s sanity spiraling at a dangerous level.

“It could not be determined, Your Grace. But we have a location and I have my mice keeping tabs until they have a culprit.”

“I want to send someone out to Pentos to have a look themselves.” seethes Aerys, drilling his glare at the eunuch. “And I want you to find a competent assassin to get rid of Rhaegar.”

Chancing eye contact with the Mad King, Varys pressed his lips together. “I will talk it over with the small council-”

“No. I don’t want you telling any of those fools. I want a finish to this damn war. That brat. . . I don’t want to waste anymore effort on him. I want this ended. Do you hear me, Varys?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He leans forward a few more inches. "Don't fail me Varys. Otherwise you will meet the same fate as Rickard Stark and his boy."

“Yes, Your Grace.” He felt like a damn parrot but what else could he do if he wanted to keep his head for a little bit longer?

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[vivienna-vivid]

Sinner!Kromer AU but she and Sinclair don't swap personalities. Kromer is still a fanatic and Sinclair is still insecure. Their school life goes the same as we know it for the most part, except for one small tidbit:

Kromer is a mega-fan of prosthetics.

Kromer believes that human flesh can only go so far. To ascend into a more sturdier and perfect form is the ideal. Thus, she adores prosthetics and wants a full-body one.

In this AU, Kromer came from a normal Nest family. Like in the novel, her family is relatively poor so she can't afford to get cosmetic prosthetics. So at the very least she'd like to work in a prosthetic shop after graduating, but her scores aren't the best.

Enter: Emil Sinclair. His father deals prosthetics and yet Sinclair seems a bit bothered by the topic. Does he not like prosthetics?

Two thoughts occured in Kromer: 1) "I can help him get over his anxiety and make him see how cool proathetics are!" 2) "I can use this to score a job with his dad's business!"

And thus started Kromer's friendship with Sinclair. He was very accepting of Kromer, especially since she saw how distressed the topic of prosthetics made him. Even she knows some horror stories about botched prosthetic surgeries.

But at some point Kromer started bringing magazines and articles about prosthetics. She started small: little stuff about people with one or two artificial limbs or eyes. See, Sinclair? They're functional AND they look cool! Nothing to be afraid of! Gradually she started bringing her personal stash: magazines with her dream full-body models.

Sinclair is even more troubled. He's still just as distressed over his family but now Kromer is being so overbearing. Plus, he can't really avoid her since they're already close friends. Sinclair would feel bad (plus she's usually allroaches him anyway so that's futile). So... he just bears with the growing resentment.

And then Kromer came to Sinclair's home. It wasn't anything special: they had a group project and decided to do it at Sinclair's place. Kromer was ecstatic to meet the famous Sinclairs! If she impressed them enough, she'll be working for them soon!

Sinclair's family took a quick liking to Kromer. She was inquisitive, spirited, and polite. But most importantly, she was Emil's friend. Over dinner they bonded with Kromer. They laughed and told stories with each other, except for one:

Emil Sinclair hated it. In his eyes, Kromer has just stolen his family from him. She was confident, she was outgoing, and she loved prosthetics. She was EVERYTHING Sinclair could never be: the child his parents deserved more. His resentment grew and grew after that night — towards Kromer, towards his family, and towards his weak self.

One day, a transfer student came to the school. Max Demian was his name. Kromer only caught glimpses of him but whe she did, he... he was always with Sinclair. Ever since Demian came, Sinclair hardly ever hung with her. And... that kind of hurt, especially since he wasn't as talkative to her. But it's alright, she'll live.

One day, Sinclair approached Kromer. He was a bit curt, but he was inviting her to stay the night at his place. His family would really like to see her again, he said. Kromer, happy Sinclair was talking to her again, gladly accepted.

Staying in the Sinclair estate was always nice. His family liked her lots and Mrs. Sinclair's cooking was delicious! Kromer was just about to hunker down for the night until Sinclair patted her awake. He wanted to show her something: a secret in the basement. A part of Kromer felt suspicious but she still followed. Why wouldn't she? Her friend had something cool to show.

But this secret wasn't cool. It was... sickening. Through a small vent in the basement, Kromer saw monstrous shapes rend flesh and organs apart. The stench was ghastly and the only reason she didn't scream was simply because she was paralyzed in fear.

The moment she had control over her body Kromer booked it, away from the sight and from Sinclair's home. But what scared her the most was how Sinclair quietly watched the scene without reacting one bit.

Afterwards, Kromer began avoiding Sinclair. Mercifully, he never seemed to approach her again.

So it was truly bad luck that Kromer left some of her belongings at Sinclair's house. She kept trying to ask him but their tenuous bond made it awkward. So, on Christmas, she decided to go visit his house. Maybe Mrs. Sinclair would help her out.

But instead of the warm lights she was used to, the estate was pitch dark. Silent, too. The front door wasn't locked when she tried it and a deep pit opened up in her stomach.

Kromer really shouldn't have opened the door, as the strong stench of fuel and blood rushed towards her. Before her eyes could process the horrible sight, her knees gave way. At the sight of the mangled, bloodied bodies of the Sinclair family, only her throat clenching up stopped her from screaming.

Two people stood in the midst of the massacre: a tall man in a suit of armor and Emil Sinclair himself. Both of them covered in blood, both of them holding nails and hammers. The gaze Sinclair had as he turned to look at Kromer was hellish.

"I wanted to kill you," Sinclair said, stomping at a twitching metalic hand. "That night in the basement, I was planning on killing you."

"You should've died that night. I should've just thrown you to the beasts instead of getting cold feet...!" The armored man behind Sinclair turns around and suddenly Kromer smells smoke.

Sinclair laughs bitterly, looking at his parents' corpses with tears running down his face "You did this. This was all your fault. Papa... Mama... Sis... They all changed because of you. You stole them away. You stole my family. I--" he hiccups, gripping at his bloodied nail like a lifeline "I had no choice... They were all just fakes. Yeah, my family was always dead. I was just... purifying... those bastards that took their form..."

Flames lit up behind Sinclair like a halo. And when he made his way to Kromer, Kromer could do nothing but stare at the flames. If she looked at him, she fears he'll actually kill her.

But all she got was silence. Silence, and Sinclair's burning gaze on top of her. And then...

"Guido. Let's go." "Yes, O One Who Shall Grip,"

He steps around her and leaves her with thr flames and the corpses.

As Kromer's vision turns blurry she hears Emil Sinclair say one more thing:

"The next time I see you, I'll kill you."

Kromer's world fades to black.

When she comes to, Kromer finds herself in her home.

"Sinclair... That wasn't you, was it...? No, no, it can't be. The Sinclair I know was so sweet..."

"I'll... I'll save you Sinclair, I promise."

[honoura]

disclaimer: this spawned off a twitter thread i made a while back, which itself came from something i’d noticed time and again within the xiv community: the idea that photography isn’t possible there. i’ve seen this a few times, and ultimately what i felt to be the truer statement is that digital photography as we know it in our phones, no. that is not a very accessible thing. most eorzeans aren’t getting a garland ironworks tomephone.

but that doesn’t mean they aren’t taking pictures.

A Case for Eorzean Photography

In the case of our modern world, the art of capturing an image onto paper directly from life dates back to the 1820s. It was called heliography. A wikipedia article on it can be found here. Heliography came about because its inventor wished for an efficient way to reproduce lithographs, engravings, and relief prints, three different illustration styles that had existed by now for varying lengths of time, but all still in use and being the choice method for adding images to text. I’m going to give a short bit of information on each style, because they are also very likely quite prevalent.

Woodcut (Relief)

Woodcut is as its name implies -- you carve your image into a block of wood, coat the raised portions with ink, and then use it in the press. Accessible to learn, accessible to do, if you want rp flavor there’s likely illustrators in every city-state employing this for the newspapers or illustrated editions of books.

Intaglio (Engraving)

Intaglio is my favorite printmaking method for illustrations, and probably also my favorite for FF14 because it involves playing with chemicals! Let’s get the alchemist roleplayers we know something cool to do. Anyway, with intaglio you’re using acid to burn an image into a metal plate, and the deeper the etchings the darker the shadows. Great for values, great for depth, and have I mentioned you’re just being a little scientist and an artist at the same time?

Lithography

Lithography is the one you’ve seen the most, even if you aren’t 100% sure how it works. It became very popular in the late 19th and early 20th century -- if you’ve ever gawked at vintage illustrations by Mucha or Leyendecker, those are lithographs! Some of the big plates used for them are just big rocks! Miners could 100% mine up limestone slabs for this.

Anyway, back to photographs. After heliographs cracked the capture nut suddenly everyone was getting in on it. People were mixing all kinds of chemicals to capture the world as it was at a moment onto a plate of glass (or others! they liked silver too).

Physautotypes used lavender oil as its photosensitive agent. Tree resin was also popular. Both things botanists would routinely be able to harvest and crafters able to distill. I can only imagine how it smelled to make photographs with this, I hope it was nice!

About 20 years after the earliest heliograph came daguerrotypes. Made on silver plates with a copper substrate, daguerrotypes were pricy but popular -- and they had their own special camera made rather than using a camera obscura.

Daguerrotypes were also when spirit photography came into prominence.

Ambrotypes came on the heels of daguerrotypes as a cheaper alternative made with less costly materials, and was followed by their even cheaper brethren the tintypes. Bit by bit, photographs were becoming more accessible -- not always the equipment (or the supplies), but in terms of a person or group of people having a portrait made you were starting to see that become more common.

Ambrotype above, tintype below

Let it be said also that less costly materials does not mean lower quality image -- each method had its own charm. Tintypes were sturdier than ambrotypes, but both developed quicker than daguerrotypes. Ambrotypes could also have spot colors added to them!  

Albumen prints made it to paper, and until we went digital that’s where photographs stayed, on paper! And one of their key binding materials was made from eggs, beautifully common eggs.

So Where Does This Leave Eorzea?

So why did I go into this much detail, with visual examples and links to references that include their materials? Because all these materials exist already within FFXIV. Glass, plates, the types of metals used, the types of chemicals.

They’re part of crafting logs, and gathering leves, and dungeon drops. Alchemists can make these chemical components, goldsmith quests have you making lenses and other more delicate mechanisms, carpenters could easily build boxes for camera obscura (and cameras!).

Different styles of photography and different materials used for them reflect availability of the materials -- where does this character live, what are their cultural beliefs, do they travel much outside of their home region? How much money do they have?

What if using unaspected crystals creates a different effect on the plate? With the right kind of aetherial charge, don’t you think you could photograph ghosts in actuality rather than trickery? There’s a whole quest in 1.0 where an NPC sees the ghost of the city of Sil’dih -- a ghost city!

At any rate, I just think it’s neat to look at what materials exist in this game, and how things from this world may translate to that with the understanding it will not be 21st century. We have a lot of technology that’s existed longer than we sometimes recall or acknowledge -- and it’s good material! Use that stuff! Have fun with it!

[korkietism]

I’m going to go a little wild about my young yamster hcs because they’re important to me

If you’re not caught up with my way too extensive Yami lore, Fumihiko Kuramori —-> Fumikage Tokoyami. He’s adopted by Hinako Tokoyami at around 4-6 I’m unsure. He’s now Fumikage. This occurs after that however it is important. This kid can fit so much guilt.

So Fumikage had somewhat frequent incidents before Dark Shadow was understood very well. First was Fumihiko though this continued throughout. He was an anxious child. Not born that way but rather molded as such by how his life proceeded to unfold. (At least not to that extent. Hard to tell how much of his anxiety was pre-installed and how much he gains.)

Anxiety and a highly volatile quirk which reacts to your emotions is very difficult to deal with. At night, Hinako would wake up to find scratches in their rented home walls, belongings strewn about, and most troubling, her son all bloodied. His arms picked at, scabs soon forming, dried blood under his nails.

He had developed a habit of picking his skin. He said he learned it in the childrens home, it made it easier to keep Shadow under wraps. He got in trouble when Dark Shadow made a fuss. No one understood their needs.

In my timeline quirk therapy was a must for the better of Hinako’s home. Im thinking he attended it a few times with the Kuramori’s though Shadow wasn’t well understood. Then with Hinako when he was younger, on and off, until Hinako realized that the quirk suppressants were making her boy sick and meant that it didn’t just control Dark Shadow- it severely weakened them- meaning she wasn’t seeing her children anymore. Not really.

Quirk therapy is generally helpful. Say if your kid has a fire based quirk and can’t control it, burning up themselves and everything around them, suppressants and therapy helps them to control their power in smaller outputs, so that they’re not wrestling the wild power within them, just a small amount of it, and working their way up.

With Tokoyami and shadow, it’s kind of all or nothing. The dark matter in Tokoyami is produced continuously, though the output is usually high, it can go into overdrive. His body circulates it like blood.

When he’s on suppressants, his body doesn’t know how to decrease the output. It circulates through him at full power, therefore fueling Dark Shadow and their ongoing tether. (Inspired by the way the shadow looks. Reminds me of pumping veins)

His body then slows circulation drastically as it decreases the output, so Tokoyami’s body and energy takes a toll, trying to house the shadow womb and dark matter without the strong output.

Essentially he became weak, starved for energy as the majority was going to keeping shadow and him alive, no room for other things.

(If Tokoyami were to lose Dark Shadow, he would be okay. If his quirk was stolen, the shadow womb would go with it. He would not die without it. Though it is much like housing another organ. It is not independent. If anything, the shadow matter is kind of symbiotic. It feeds off of the nutrients and energy in Tokoyamis body to keep dark shadow alive, and in turn, Tokoyami can become stronger using Dark Shadow. Additionally, Dark Shadow is simply a product of the shadow matter. He is the sentient holder. Like a guardian spirit. The dark matter can be used independent of Dark Shadow, though it’s something that needs to be carefully mastered. Learning to focus dark matter into his hands instead of into dark shadow is a very difficult task. Dark shadow doesn’t know how to do it either! They’re no expert. Shadow understands all this just as much as Tokoyami does.)

His quirk is a mystery to almost everyone. A sentient beast which feeds upon darkness, storing them within its host and circulating the dark matter like blood, where the host will convert the dark matter like oxygenated blood and send it back through the shadow, stronger and sturdier.

I can’t well describe how I see dark shadow working. Though really his quirk isn’t dark shadow. Not entirely. Dark shadow is his sibling. They just happen to be made out of energized dark matter circulating through his hosts body, which is absorbed in the darkness like oxygen.

It’s very circulatory. This is so that in the future, more cool moves I’ve thought for Tokoyami can be achieved.

Additionally, the light is his weakness for obvious reasons. It’s like dipping a lit match into a puddle. That’s dark shadow in the light.

Man it’s difficult being a heteromorphic child with a symbiotic telepathic sibling beast familiar friend thing who reacts very strongly to your every emotion that just happens to be your quirk residing within you. And when you’re born your parents expected a perfect child but were put off by your bird features though tried to cope so you hit them with the ‘wait there’s more’ and injured your father, making both your biological parents think you’re a monster so they awkwardly send you to a childrens home. You’re unsocialized and angry that your mother doesn’t understand you so you lash out at other children and then finally some nice lady takes you to some strange apartment. And changes your name. And every time it goes dark you’re spiralled into a world of dark and fear and when you wake up everything hurts and nobody likes your shadow but they’re your only friend. So you hate everyone because you’re scared. And then you realize you’ve found the one person on the face of the earth capable of loving you, your new mama, and even with your fear and your big animalistic eyes and your soft feathers she loves you and thinks you and your shadow are the cutest things. And then more trauma hits you later but we got this far.

[murmel-malt]

Face, night, & outerwear for Daera?

So sorry this took me ages, Misa! Turns out, words are hard 😭

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

My immediate go-to for what someone would notice first about her was obviously her green eyes which are not typical for a Targaryen. But that felt a little too obvious, so I am going with her attitude.  There is a fire in her eyes that is very reminiscent of the Targaryen’s mounts. Some call her stubborn, others spirited; but all agree that in the absence of a dragon to ride, Hedaera Targaryen had to become a bit of a dragon herself.

All of Daera’s wardrobe is very inspired by Mariano Fortuny’s fashion which I am obsessed with. So I included some stuff that has explicitely inspired some of Daera's outfits.

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Daera usually wears a simple chemise to bed. It’s thin enough for the warmer climate of King’s Landing and still enough that she doesn’t feel exposed. If a second layer is required for cover she throws on a usually somehow floral-y embroidered/decorated gown. She has one made of heavy velvet that acts essentially like a weighted blanket for her.

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

Living in the Crownlands she doesn’t really have to deal with extreme weather conditions so when outdoors/on the road Daera opts out of her usual wide, flowy sleeves and light colours and instead simply goes for a tighter fit and a thicker, sturdier overdress in darker colours that are less prone to show any dirt that accumulates on the road (but still never black). When she does need to protect herself from stronger elements she prefers cloaks to wrap herself up in over coats. While her travel fits are less ostentatious and somewhat toned down they are still not necessarily practical as she mostly travels in a wheelhouse and does not take part in any physical activity that requires a special attire.

[obviousniklr]

"The dREaM Arc" concept idea

This isn't canon yet to the Future Timeline story, but I'm writing this down for now, just in case :b

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Synopsis:

A psychologist offers a special job for AiJyul, and that is to hunt down people's nightmares in The REalM (The Realm of REM), with a technological device that is powered by a magical stone that is connected to The REalM. This is due to reports about people having constant bad dreams going rampant, according to the psychologist's findings.

The reason why the psychologist pick specifically the duo is... Juliet. She was born with a nightmare disorder and because of that, she's capable and has a lifetime of fuel to manifest a powerful form in The REalM, the Dreamcatcher form, where she's strong enough to execute nightmares with nightmares. As for Aires, she still remains to be on Juliet's side, not only to protect her but make sure she also wakes up alive. Though Juliet has become more tougher now, as a normal doggo she is still weak for immense abilities like the Dreamcatcher form (plus the form is incredibly mentally draining. Will explain in the next parts).

Here's the main gimmick of the Arc:

It's like a dream version of her Fangs State in reality.

When she wants to tap into this form she must go through a process. She let's her nightmares manifest out from her "unconscious psyche", but while that happens, inside it she must dominate and seal them (think of it as a false release only to trap them again in a much sturdier cage). Once successful, a halo appears on her head and sucks in the nightmares from the outside, sealing them inside her to keep them from straying away and to use them for their strength. Not letting them hurt her for a period of time.

When the seal remains active, the nightmares are innocuous to her.

But when it isn't, either beginning the process or ending it, they will try and get her again.

"Freud believed that many of our feelings, desires, and emotions are repressed or held out of awareness (in the unconscious mind) because they are simply too harmful." -verywellmind

"psyche- the human soul, mind, and spirit." -Oxford

Inside the unconscious psyche will only be full of nightmares trying to get her soul, that's why she needs to dominate them or in the last process, escape them. The escape can be in many forms that resembles "the outside". The nightmares can be in many forms depending on the person, as well as how they can behave inside the unconscious psyche.

In this story/arc, I assume it won't be long since this will affect Juliet's mental health heavily, and with that clue y'all will probably expect that there will be a slip up and a breaking point for them to discontinue this job.

" The extenza (the body) is only the extension of the self, the machine, while the cogito (the mind) encapsulates the whole essence of one's self." - Descartes

In The REalM, only the soul/mind will be present, the body will remain in the real world. the soul will be able to come back to the real world if they maintain being intact/alive in The REalM. But in the Dreamcatcher form's case, there are three layers of death: in the unconscious psyche, in The REalM, and in the real world. If one dies in the unconscious psyche, the person has to make sure they wake up immediately back to the real world. Remember I mentioned earlier that nightmares will stray away once they manifest into existence? They will also come for the person's lifeless body in The REalM if they won once, make sure there won't be a second/last. That's why traveling in The REalM is always recommend to have someone with you.

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Anyways I think that's all that I have about this idea :v. I won't make it canon yet coz I still have alot more stories and lore I wanna unpack first publicly. For now this will be just a concept idea.

And also, here's some extra things I searched about for the unconscious psyche, for proofreading 😂

And if y'all haven't caught up with the "The REalM" name by now,

Dreams can only happen during REM SLEEP 😂 thank my friend for teaching me the stages of proper sleep (which I don't do :b)

And also yes, if it isn't obvious with the super form name, this is inspired by Dreamcatcher 😂 the kpop group, specifically their Nightmare Era. Thank you Good Night for inspiring me yesterday during a motorcycle ride 😂.

[queen-scribbles]

Fine Print

Immediately post-Ruhnuk Kina/Rass ficlet bc I got a plot gizka. :D ---

The adrenaline didn't start to fade until their shuttle was lifting off from Ruhnuk in a flurry of dust plumes and downdrafts.

And even then her heart didn't slow much. This had been a close one no matter how much Kina thrived on adrenaline--and despite the fact they'd come out on top.

Kina set the autopilot to rendezvous with Shae's flagship and let out a deep breath as she sat back, glancing over at the copilot's chair. Jekiah and Akaavi were helping Shae in the back and she knew joining them would create a 'too many cooks in the cantina' situation. But Rass was sitting with one arm still curled protectively across his chest, over the burn marring his armor, jaw tight. That was something she could help.

"Hey," she began, bumping her knee against his to get his attention, "you alright? Anything broken?"

"Broken, don't think so." Rass shifted in his seat, jaw unclenching a little. He let go the shielding grip and ran his hand through his hair. "And I know what broken ribs feel like; that is distinctly absent. Aches like hell, but that's probably just bruises."

"Really?" Kina shot a skeptical look at the damage to his armor. "B'cause from where I was standin' it looked like Ri'kan had a hell of a backhand."

"Oh, he does," Rass said glibly. The half-smile he sent her looked forced around the edges. "Beskar's good stuff, Spike."

"Uh-huh." She gave him a flat look for the nickname. "Well, Tough Guy, maybe I should check anyway. Just to make sure you're not bleeding internally and gonna die a tragically young death soon as we land on the Spirit."

He laughed at that, though it was stilted and ended with a grimace. "That would be a shame."

"And since the med-techs are gonna bee busy with Shae" --and maybe Akaavi, she added to herself, remembering what he'd said about the relay station ambush-- "d'you really want them worryin' about you, too?"

Rass cocked his head, smirking faintly. "Better for you to worry about me?"

"I'm gonna do it anyway," Kina shrugged, "might as well benefit from it." Half-jokingly, she reached toward one of his armor clasps.

Something flickered in his eyes at her more-honest-than-intended comment, before amusement came back and he playfully batted her hand away. "Appreciated, but if you wanna get me out of my armor, you're gonna have to buy me dinner first."

"Not even if I say pretty please?" she teased with an exaggerated bat of her eyes. "Or remind you I did say I'd watch your back, and this counts. Y'know, in the fine print."

"Good to know, and more than a little tempting." Rass leaned his head back against the seat and watched the rapidly approaching flagship. "But I think I gotta stick to my guns on this one. Dinner. Or at least a drink."

"That's an awful fast compromise, Tough Guy," Kina grinned, still fiddling with the kolto injector she'd pulled out.

"Chalk it up to your persuasion skills." He glanced over, and there must've been something in her face that made him straighten. "Really, Kina, I'll be fine. Much like beskar, I'm sturdier than I look. And I'm pretty sure just bruises made it through."

"You'll hafta let me know if there're any pretty patterns to it," she joked. Something in her did an odd little flutter at him using her name, but she shook it off and waggled the kolto. "'Least want somethin' to help with the achiness?"

The good humor in his eyes faded to something serious. "Probably should. There's... a lot to talk to Jek about, once Mandalore's taken care of. Better to not be distracted by bruised ribs."

She almost protested, insisted on professional grounds rather than personal interest in 'getting him out of his armor', but just bit her tongue and handed over the kolto injector. "You know if you need anything you can hit me up." She smirked. "I am very good at acquiring things."

"This more of the fine print for havin' my back?" Rass teased. She didn't miss the wash of relief across his face when the kolto kicked in.

"Nah, I just like you," she grinned.

A flicker of a smile broke through the other emotions clearly taking over his thoughts. "Lucky me, then."

Kina winked at him, then turned her attention to the controls, witching back to manual for the final approach to the Spirit of Vengeance II. Her heart rate was climbing again, despite her attempts to settle it.

Just for a completely different reason now.

[greyborn2]

WIP (belated) Wednesday

Got tagged in by the fantabulous pair @thana-topsy and @kookaburra1701 but, at the time, didn't have anything cooking. Have since cracked and started working on my still-unnamed Goblin TES fic featuring the Tel Mithryn crew and 1 (one) goblin!! So ya! Have finally written up a little chunk and toooootally not just using a belated WIP wednesday as an excuse to share it;

The town of Dagon Fel had, all things considered, taken the eruption of Red Mountain remarkably well. Those vicious plumes of ash and fire that had come forth from it, scouring most other settlements from Vvardenfell, had been redirected by the cliffs of Sheogorad’s southern shore. Dagon Fel, on the northern one, had been as protected as Raven Rock behind its bulwark. In the shadow of the ruins of Mzulft, the town survived. The town thrived.

Survivors had come flocking there, first in scatterings, then in droves. Settling down and quickly overpopulating the original Nord inhabitants of the town. It became a gateway settlement – the last stop for hundreds of refugees before they moved on to Solstheim, or Skyrim. The old Nordic townhouses torn down, or burned down by ashfall, to be replaced sturdier stone dunmeri buildings. A city of tents spiraling out around it, dwarfing that core permanent settlement in size and population alike.

Always, though, in that space between tent-town and true-town, a small gap was left. A market square, one might call it if they were being generous. In the panic to flee one’s home one grabbed all manner of brick-a-brack that only later, on reflection, turned out to be useless. Antique kitchenware, ceremonial armors… books. The refugees of Dagon Fel flocked to that market to pawn off those old keepsakes in the face of desperation, hoping to make a few more septims to fund their journey further afield from the vicious glow of the mountain.

All sorts of interesting things turned up in those markets. Things people didn’t need to survive, maybe, but had worth in other ways. It was this small market of desperate fools that kept Neloth coming back to Dagon Fel, away from his tower in Solstheim. That small market and the occasional treasures it held.

The boy – Talvas – was being a nuisance, as always, as children his age were want to do. Enough to make him question why he had taken him on as an apprentice in the first place. Running here and there, poking at the piles of trash and treasures the folks were trying to peddle, tugging on Neloth’s robe’s incessantly with some new exclamation of “Look at this master!” or “What about that master?”. His high spirits were sickening and his pestering a pain. To make matters worse the boy’s hands where filthy – though his ashen skin hid the true ash on them well – and he kept. Rubbing. Those. Grubby. Hands. On. His. Best. Robes.

Neloth let out a hiss of annoyance, shooing his pest of an apprentice away again to return his attention to the reason he had come here. Not that any amount of attention would help – on the sliding scale of trash to treasure it was decidedly skewed towards the former this season. No matter how refugees tried to extort the ‘historical value’ of ancient familial records or now-useless scrolls of Almsivi Intervention they were of no use, and even less interest, to him.

Slowly but surely his circuit brought him from the trash markets to the one place in Dagon Fel that could be relied upon for some base level of quality. Even if the goods here were decidedly more… perishable.

As such places generally were, the slave markets of Dagon Fel were a sad little affair. Only the Dres tried to hide the misery places like that held. Mostly this one wasn’t even run by distinguished traders, it was just unfortunates trying to sell themselves or a family member off for some hope of escaping this ashen rock. It took Neloth a good hour of questioning and shooing away hopefuls before he even started to find some that knew the first thing about brewing tea. Even fewer seemed to have the skill… the basic decencies… he expected of a potential steward.

He had just started to talk with a promising young woman – a Nalona or Varona or something to that effect – when that blasted apprentice of his came to pester once more. Tugging away on his sleeve, leaving dusty, grimy, fingerprints on the yellowed fabric he had worked – or more accurate had someone else work – to keep so clean. “Master Neloth, sir!! Sir!!” he had said, eagerly, “Not. Now. Boy. Go find some other children to pester with your inane discoveries…” “But… Master Neloth… sir… it’s so ugly!!!” – sure enough, the boy was pointing eagerly with his other, equally filthy, hand towards a nord man of no fair looks but… no… he was pointing at what the man was holding. Not the man. What he was trying to sell. A small bundle that, after a moment, Neloth realized was a baby. Or else something decidedly baby-shaped.

“We are looking for a steward, boy. Not another infant. Now please, me and Sera Belona-” the young woman interjected with a quiet, barely audible, correction of ‘Varona, sir’ under her breath “-yes, yes, that’s what I said. We were talking, boy.”

“But… master… it’s hideous!! It has to be half… half Falmer or… or… something!! Maybe even a troll!!”

There was no arguing with him. Besides, he was mostly done with this Varona woman anyway… what could be the harm in amusing the boy just this once? Neloth let out a long sigh, gesturing towards the docks and saying a last few words to the woman before he followed his apprentice to see the sight; “You will report to my ship, at the docks. Sera Mothren will give you something more… presentable… to wear for the return voyage to Tel Mithryn. You are to treat her with all the respect you would treat me. She is an asset to my house and I will not have her disrespected.” “I… yes Serjo Neloth, sir. Understood, sir.” – she wasted no time, at least, following the orders she had been given.

All in all, Neloth wasn’t completely sure what he had expected to see bundled up in the Nord warrior’s arms, offered up for sale. Perhaps some unfortunate burn victim from the ashlands. Perhaps just a particularly hideous bosmeri babe, given the pathetically small size. No… what he saw instead caught him by no small surprise, even if he did his best to hide it.

It was an infant, yes, but nothing human or merish. Not even orcish.

If an adult of its species was a rat, this thing certainly looked the part of a newborn pup. Its flesh pinkish-grey rather than the grey-blue of an adult. Its eyes large enough to bulge out of its tiny head, though still sealed behind closed lids that had not yet opened and seen the world. Its skin wrinkled and thin enough that veins could be seen through it. More foetus than baby. Small enough that one could almost hold it all cupped in one hand. Long ears sticking out either side of its misshapen head under a soft white-haired fuzz. Viciously fanged mouth not even crying just… opening and closing. As if it expected food to be delivered straight to that vicious little maw it had. No… what his damnable apprentice had found was a goblin. A goblin babe.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Stormveil Castle Rooftops

Once I finished my rest, I took stock of my surroundings. There were two elevators that didn't work, so those weren't options. It was either out across the ramparts, or up to the higher roofs. Tossed a stick, and it said roof, so I took the stairs.

I had to fight through at least a half dozen of those red-clad soldiers to get to the roof, and one of them dropped a usable helmet. It suddenly occurred to me how strange it is that I can only use some of the equipment my enemies drop. It seemed so subtle and natural that I didn't even think about it until now. I tested it out by reaching for his sword too, but something stopped me. It was like the golden fog that sometimes appears behind me to bar my way when I fight a powerful enemy. The barrier wasn't there but it was somehow real.

So that settles that. I'll test the boundaries of it later. As for the helm itself:

Exile Hood Deep red hood that covers the whole head. Worn by soldiers sent to the penal colonies, who were required to keep their faces hidden.

That explains quite a bit. Limgrave was a penal colony. Warriors and knights were exiled here, to the fringes, where their skills were put to work subjugating these lands. Those who still made trouble were sent south, to Castle Morne, to be tortured and punished. Those who accepted their fate were made servants of the castle, at one time prisoners and wardens. Those who served well got a hero's burial, and became spirit guardians in death.

There was nowhere to go from here, unless I wanted to get adventurous. A pile of debris gave me easy access to the crenelations and from there I could make a few jumps. Let's see where this path takes me.

Well, turns out that's "nowhere" if I can't make the jump. I landed on the roof down below and immediately caught the eye of one of those bladed stormhawks. this one was bigger and sturdier than the others, and on its face it had some sort of pouch that also let it breathe fire. It was a special kind of evil to do this to an animal, though I admit, the skill with which it used the prosthetic made me think there might be more to these hawks than I thought.

I went back for another go and this time managed to make it to a small tower that had definitely seen better days. I dropped down to a roost just above that bird and sniped it before it could have another go at me.

I'll spare the blow by blow, but I made my way across broken chimneys and decorated ledges to a flat rooftop that was just full of Exile Soldiers with their crossbows trained on me. This place must be important if they've got it this well protected.

Well, well. Here we are. The two towers. Facing the courtyard, too. Though it looks like there'd been a lot of construction since that painting, it was still a popular roost for birds. Fortunately, just a bunch of eagles that didn't want any trouble, but I could easily imagine the stormhawks roosting here when the castle wasn't being invaded. It was so hard to get here though that the soldiers had to have a ladder or something, they just chose not to roll it out for me.

And my hunch was right, once I got up here, I found something very interesting indeed: A claw talisman.

A talisman depicting a claw and an assassin. The assassins of Ravenmount are killers by trade. They assail their victims while dressed as birds of prey.

Had raptor-themed assassins once made this castle their home? It seemed to fit. This place must've held birds sacred, before being supplanted by beasts, and then later the tree.

Now I made my way around the ledge, overlooking the courtyard. Fortunately, people very rarely look up. Unfortunately, I'm having a very bad day, so when I got ready to raid death from above on these two, I wound up falling off and had to fight them fair and square. It wasn't that tough a fight, but it was embarrassing.

Gonna cut this entry here. Found some strange stuff ahead.

Who are the Ravenmount Assassins? Where are they now, if not here?

Were birds worshiped here at some point?

When were the knights and soldiers exiled here?

[lbulldesigns]

Jinx and Zac Kinship

I just discovered a whole heap of new champions, in my quest to introduce more diverse characters into my AU's, and found this interesting character called Zac.

Here's a link to his backstory:

https://universe.leagueoflegends.com/en_AU/story/champion/zac/

I like to imagine an AU where he meets Baby Jinx when she's just given up the name Powder (this is recently after the events of the cannery) and helps curb her violent tendencies by teaching her right from wrong the same way he was taught, and by being there for her in her lowest moments when Silco isn't around to encourage her destructive thoughts.

In the show Jinx alludes to lessons that Silco would subject her to, this could be interpreted as him gas-bagging and monologuing constantly but given Jinx's exceptional abilities in sneaking, fighting, and threat detection; I believe that Silco would have her dropped in random spots of Zaun as a sort of sink or swim technique of teaching her to adapt to violent situations, it would also hammer home how he is her only safe haven and encourage her to always return back to him.

This is all my own speculations by the way, it might not have happened but it would be interesting and heartbreaking if it did. Also it would also be an interesting backdrop for Jinx meeting Zac and reuniting with Ekko (he had to have found her some way without Silco running him off).

Zac would spend his time exploring Zaun and on one of these excursions he comes across Baby Jinx while she's in the midst of a panic attack after being dropped off by some of Silco's people, he absorbs in her distress and approaches her to comfort her.

Jinx is more intrigued than frightened by Zac and forgets her distress long enough to ask him questions, she isn't entirely sure that Zac is real (she's experienced a few hallucinations so far) but is receptive to Zac because he isn't taunting and yelling at her like the other hallucinations.

Because Jinx feels safe around Zac she tells him everything about herself and Silly (Silco) and how he tells her to let Powder die and embrace the monster in herself, after hearing all this Zac can't help but see the similarities between them. He recognises that what Silco is doing is creating his own secret weapon in Jinx, by encouraging her to be reactive to negative situations and discouraging her from positive ones by making her distrustful of them.

When she tells Zac that Silco is the only person that will ever understand her because he's just as broken as she is, Zac responds with:

"Broken things can be built again Jinx, sturdier than before. Just because you are broken now, doesn't mean you'll be broken forever. It might take some time but we can make you sturdy again."

When Jinx tells him that she's a monster, Zac asks her if she feels guilty about setting off the bomb, when she admits that yes she does feel guilty he says:

"See. You're not a monster. I have come across people who have committed some truly heinous acts, and quite a few have little to no remorse for their actions. You are filled with remorse, and guilt, and so, so much grief. You're a good kid who did something bad, you made a bad decision but your actions were pure. And monsters, real monsters, do not regret their actions."

Jinx parts ways with Zac, both his words resonating in her mind and his promise to see her again. Zac is the first person to tell her that the cannery wasn't her fault and that it's okay for her to feel the way she feels, he has managed to ease the constant pressure that is always presence in her chest in a way that not even Silco has been able to do. And as such when she returns to Silco she's in a happier mood than she has been in since before the explosion, which makes Silco curious and so he asks her what's put her in such high spirits.

Jinx excitedly tells Silly about her new friend Zac, not thinking that Silco will have a problem with her making friends. Unbeknownst to her Silco is already plotting out a plan to locate Zac and remove this obstacle, after Jinx is done talking he orders Jinx not to go near Zac again. Naturally she asks why and he goes "because I said so" which isn't good enough for Jinx who whines that she misses having friends.

This triggers Silco and he begins a long, angry rant about how she doesn't need friends because she has him, and how Zac will just betray her in time and turn his back on her once he discovers the true her. When Jinx tries to object Silco slams his fist on his desk and exclaims "I'll hear no more objections. Do as your told!".

(this outburst might seem out of character with Silco and Jinx's relationship, but I feel like at the start that Silco would be so caught off guard at the thought of Jinx having people beside himself that he wouldn't be able to compose himself fast enough)

Jinx will stand there quietly for a moment, holding back her tears before quietly nodding. Silco, a little put off by his outburst, sends her out of his office and Jinx leaves wondering why her making a friend is a bad thing.

Shortly after Sevika enters the office, after hearing Silco's temper tantrum, and just gives him a "seriously?" look. Silco on his part just orders her to look into this Zac, Sevika raises an eyebrow and says "did you get a description of this guy before ripping into the lonely child?" Silco stares her down. Sevika resists the urge to roll her eyes before saying she'll look into it, pauses before leaving and asks Silco what she should do once she finds Zac. Silco just casually says to eliminate him, when she tries to reason that that's a bit extreme he snarls "I'll hear no objections".

Sevika leaves, a little put off by his possessiveness, and decides to stop by and see Jinx to get a description and finds her crying quietly in her room. Sevika is seriously out of her depth here and is quietly questioning Silco's decision (she would understand if Zac were a creep, but for all she knows Zac is just a kid who made the "mistake" of befriending Silco's kid). She just rests her hand on Jinx's shoulder, telling her to hang in there and waits until Jinx has calmed down a bit. She asks for Zac's description, when Jinx asks why Sevika decides to be honest and tell her that Silco wants her to find him.

"Why?" Jinx asks

"He thinks that Zac might be a threat" Sevika responds

"Why?"

"He just does"

"That's stupid" Jinx spits out and Sevika has to resist the urge to agree because she's just the grunt.

Jinx stalls for a moment and gives the most basic bones description that Sevika will never be able to use to properly identify anyone.

She barely catches her smile, she doesn't want to kill a possible kid so Jinx's "inability" to properly describe Zac works for her, and goes to leave. But at that moment her left shoulder where her arm was blown off starts hurting and she has to breathe through the pain before leaving.

Jinx sees this and thinking back on what Zac said earlier actually allows herself to consider what she did affected more than just herself, she gingerly tugs on Sevika's shirt to get her attention and apologizes for blowing off her arm. Which takes Sevika by surprise, she watches Jinx for a moment and decides to forgive Jinx for what happened.

Long story short, these small events will be the catalyst in how this Jinx starts to think differently from the Jinx in Arcane.

This Jinx:

Will be a bit more forgiving towards herself

A bit more skeptical and not as blindly loyal to Silco

A bit more friendly with Sevika, but makes sure to make it purely professional in front of Silco

Will learn how to build more community friendly inventions, as well as learning how to build infrastructure from Zac (his main thing in his bio is that he builds homes for people)

She will agree with Silco's dream but will be more judgemental of his actions, albeit silently.

Anyway long post is long, so I'll dot point that last bits of this concept.

Jinx and Ekko will reunite, except this time Jinx will explain why she can't go with him (i.e she's scared of how Silco will react)

Silco doesn't find out who Zac is but Jinx never mentions him again, so it's okay

Jinx will sneak into Singe's lab to look at his notes on Shimmer, to find out more on how it works, and will find out the truth behind what happened to her father and brothers remains (none of them died, Silco ordered for them to be experimented on)

Jinx still experiences hallucinations but only when she's extremely stressed out

Zac teaches her how to process her emotions, the same way his parents taught him, so this Jinx is more emotionally prepared

Jinx works on her own ventures, so that she's financially independent. At first this bothers Silco but then he decides that she's just willing to learn to stand on her own two feet, and being business savvy will go a long way when she takes over after his gone

Jinx finds out about Vi's real whereabouts, after following Marcus to his home and snooping through his things

And, she tries to keep the Firelights off Silco's radar by pretending that the gang is in her pocket. However they still mess with Silco's Shimmer business, their just more covert about it this is because Ekko doesn't want Jinx to get found out.

Sorry for the long ass post, I like writing my ideas down. Keeps them fresh in my mind 😊❤️❤️

[shallowoak]

Design Chatter - MLP Grand Line Gang!

>> Link to the art here! <<

I really enjoyed rambling about the East Blue Crew, so I'm back again to talk your ears off about the rest of the crew now that I've finally posted them! Once again, fair warning that this will be long and there will be spoilers!

I kept a few simple guidelines for myself in mind:

Keep it fun and surprising, in the spirit of the original!

I draw in the G4 style, but features from every gen and toy line are fair game

I love back card / blind bag style character blurbs. I live for crumbs of worldbuilding XD

I've purposefully not included cutie marks because I suck at drawing them and I'd never finish a piece if I had to draw them :v (maybe a post for another time?)

🌸Chopper🌸

In-universe:

Further than the Crystal Empire, even beyond Yakyakistan, Chopper hails from the frozen north. A skilled potion maker, he loves to brew warm healing tonics with ingredients found on the mountain. He's hoping he can learn to skywalk like the Reindeer in Robin's books!

Design:

Every now and again, it's nice to do a 1:1 translation of a character rather than a full reimagining! Reindeer appear in G4 during the special Best Gift Ever, so it's the little changes that make Chopper 'ponified'- the lighter patches on his face, ears and tummy. The swirls in his inner ears. Changing his hoof/antler colour to be just a little more pink. One thing I did add was little baby deer spots shaped like blossom for an extra pop of colour!

I chose to draw him in Defence Point because it's cuter 🥺 my mind also thought to draw Brain Point in the Equestria Girls style and I'm not sure the world is ready for that 😂 Defence Point was also supposed to harken back to a popular fluffy fan character- before I found out their creator isn't someone I want to be celebrating. But you live and learn when trying to reference fandom culture 🤷

📚Robin📚

In-universe:

Many hooves make light work! Having studied at the Mythica University and Golden Oak libraries alike, this magic scholar always has a spell to get her crew out of a pinch! During her travels, the wily CP9 tried restraining her magic with a tennis ball!

Design:

Hm. Put into pony form, Robin kind of looks like Twilight. Similar key colours and hairstyles can't really be avoided. I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing, though. Something about this combination must just give off 'bookish'! Besides, there are plenty of character foils to Twilight that look like her in canon, too. Moondancer, Sunset, Starlight... Robin could fall into this category- a promising student led astray by forces beyond her control. It certainly isn't easy being a magic student.

Rather than an odd outward appearance, Robin's fear factor is based on people's perceptions of her abilities. I feel like she's similar to Nami in looking normal and still getting demonised. Left to her own devices, she just likes to travel and study! So I didn't want to give her a super edgy design and feed into those misconceptions. Robin is at her coolest when she chooses to be wicked for herself!

She's a normal pony, but she's still a little more dark and mysterious than someone like Twilight. That sweeping black mane, heavy hooves, and curved horn—not to mention that colourful glint in her eye—make her sturdier than a Unicorn like Sanji, and her calm confidence lets you know it! I like to think Nami has inspired her to look into getting a big flowery leg design, but she's a little worried about being even more recognisable.

⭐Franky⭐

In-universe:

Self-acceptance and found family are super! Building each other up is almost as satisfying as building new airships... almost. This loud n' proud Griffon makes Canterlot cruisers and Ornithian pirate ships alike! Lately, within the crew, he's been helping Usopp come to terms with being a Cutie Mark-less creature. Every creature has worth and is deserving of love, with or without a mark!

Design:

Franky just kinda washed up from somewhere and that really ignited my imagination when it came to his appearance. From the start, I was adamant that he should be a creature with 'fingers'. There's something about crafting with your hands that can't be recreated with Unicorn magic.

MLP Griffons are known for their strong personalities and love of precious metals- so I thought one was a great fit for the unapologetic, totally authentic Franky! This larger body also gives him more space to customise, more feathers and fluff to style!

Horse noses are very closely linked to the shape of their mouths, so having the top half of his beak be metal avoided a lot of weird imagery. His pre-time skip design shows less of his cyborg nature, but being able to use bird forelegs definitely helped to dampen the weirdness of his bulky arms more than the noodly legs of a pony. Without the differentiation between fore and upper leg, I think he'd just look swollen! Besides, you do not want to take a strong right with added claws 😬

I think it's definitely easier to imagine a solo Griffon making ships than a solo pony! His large wings and long tail help keep him safe and balanced while he works high up, and his muscular back limbs help shift heavy materials. Those back legs are coloured to look like his Speedo, as they appear less fluffy than the rest of him.

🎶Brook🎶

In-universe:

This lifelong sailor knows no pony is an island. Music can bring every creature and animal on the seas together- if only you stop to listen ❤️ All our paths are bound to cross again one day, even if the seas are wide! Magic works in mysterious ways, no bones about it!

Design:

I felt that if I was going to go to the effort of drawing a full pony skeleton, I didn't want to then cover my hard work up with clothes. Now I'm thinking I should've- the structure on those limbs was hard to draw! I looked at real horse skellies, the Hidden Dissectibles figures, and even the 'Don't Mine at Night' MLP crossover parody song... None of it made it any easier 😂 would not recommend.

Seeing as there wasn't much I could do with his base design, I decided instead to add to it! In the climax of the Rainbow Rocks movie, the Siren villains summon giant magical projections of themselves to attack. This reminded me of Brook's soul leaving his body- so that's what I drew! Though it doesn't have any mind control powers, I still wouldn't advise touching this frosty apparition... or any of the sound waves it produces!

☀️Jinbei☀️

In-universe:

Design:

Keeps up with 'current' affairs! This sagely Seapony is a pillar of the community as well as Equestria! He helps the crew stay on course (emotionally and literally) as the world changes and expands around them- it's always an exciting time both above and below the surface!

I should've been more forward-thinking and drawn him up for Mermay! Seaponies have a long history with the MLP universe, appearing alongside their land counterparts at the start of G1- a fact I think is very fitting for his character. Of course, Jinbei's design is based on Whale Sharks, and Fishmen/Merfolk as a whole are so unique with how they can be designed. Seaponies too are different in every generation- so I had a lot of fun incorporating as many unique elements as I could!

I couldn't exactly make a horse wide and flat to mimic a Whale Shark's body as he does in his canon appearance, so I decided instead to lean in more to the cute spots and shark-shaped tail fin! Then I extended his sideburns to create a softer border between his body colours and to add back some visual interest lost by removing the large membrane fin G4 Seaponies have. Jinbei is already pretty hefty and strong, so a little extra fluff doesn't noticeably slow him down.

It's certainly more difficult to imagine hair as fins; they're so much more rigid. Without individual strands or the ability to curl like natural hair, it's a lot harder to suggest diverse textures. But I still think the semi-transparent look is a lot of fun to look at and layer, and it helps his blonde streaks stand out!

Though I could've put the sun brand on his flank, it just didn't look or feel right when we're so used to seeing it on his chest. Seaponies don't usually get their own marks, and the sun is a widely used symbol of freedom. Leaving his flank free still gives me the option of giving him a unique mark in the future- he's still a prominent individual in his own right!