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cochineal-leviat · 1 year

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Anniversary A Royal Visit.

Last year I uploaded the first chapter of A Royal Visit, and to celebrate its anniversary and, coincidentally, also my birthday - I wanted to draw something special to thank everyone who supported me throughout its run. From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much. This fic is what made me fall in love with writing again, and I have everyone who read it and commented on it to thank for that. Even now, I am happy that although it has been a year, people still enjoy reading it. Writing this fic was so much fun, and I have a lot of fond memories from it. So this is kind of like a birthday present from me to you guys.

I made two versions as I first started on the gijnka version to get the positions right and then the puffball version. I like both of them. They have their own charm to them. Especially as I can show off my design for gijnka Water Kirby. Surf's up, my dude.

For everyone who does not know what this is about, please go check out the fic these drawings are based on.

Art rant under Keep reading

So, I started on this piece right before A Royal Visit was finished. But I got stuck in the background. I could have just posted Kirby and Fluff smooching with a grey background or a gradient, but that didn't feel right. I wanted to capture the grandiosity and vibrancy of the finale. So I stuck to my guns to draw a background. It was horrendous. The very thought of showing it to compare the two gives me hives. I was stuck for a whole year on what to do for it, which is why if you have seen my other art gijnka Kirby and Fluff looks a little different than how I usually finish my art.

There is something funny about taking a year to finish the Gijnka version but then to complete the version with everyone's canon appearance in a week. Sure, I burrowed some of the background aspects of the Gijnka one, but it ended up being more work getting the perspective right and painting extra houses. I'm sick of architecture for the moment. I love how the houses look but also, ugh.

The water shading was the most fun to paint. I almost went overboard with it and had to tone it down. I look forward to doing more pieces with water in them, as I am a sucker for water and the ocean. (And, of course, Water Kirby)

I wanted to add more characters, but I also know that the rest of the characters that appear in the last chapter come in later in the day and that the ones on the scene, like Taranza, Magolor, Susie and Marx, would realistically not join the crowd and cheer for Kirby and Fluff. They are sitting behind the crowd, watching the spectacle.

I put the most effort into gijnka King Dedede's design, but unfortunately, the crowd covers up most of it. What a shame. Oh well, I hope everyone reading this has a wonderful day further.

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bonefall · 1 year

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Super interested in how you plan to write Leopardfoot! I feel like both fanon and canon tend to make her into a sweet mom(tm) who’s super sad that Tigerstar is evil, very similar to how Goldenflower is usually treated. What’s her thoughts on Pinestar and him leaving? How did she influence Tigerstar? What are her political beliefs?

Society has progressed past the need for sad moms who stare tearily at their evil sons and boohoo about all the murder. It's MOTHER AGENCY TIME

BB!Leopardfoot was FEROCIOUS. Her father was the indominable Adderfang, and he taught her about the importance of honor and glory. When Tigerpaw was given to Thistleclaw as an apprentice, she was proud of it. It felt perfect to her-- that her father's apprentice was now her son's mentor.

For his brief rule, she supported Sunstar completely. It helped that he came after the disastrous and embarassing exit of Pinestar, which ruined the legacy that she wanted him to give her son. Pinestar was a damn coward and a codebreaker... and she assured Tigerkit that he was more HER son than his.

She even gives him a life, for Legacy, in defiance of StarClan

She was friends with Bluemoon for a time, but after ascending to StarClan, she learned about the Forget-me-nots.

This changed her opinion of her. Leopardfoot supports Thistle Law, STRONGLY so.

She supported THISTLECLAW when he tried to forcefully void the Queen’s Rights. If Bluemoon hadn't broken the code, then what did she have to hide?

She backed off when Thrushpelt leapt to her defense though, "She didn't reveal it because she doesn't love me are you happy now??"

Leopardfoot: *awkwardly turns away feeling like an asshole now, tea SPILLED, her friend's dirty laundry EXPOSED, thought she was crusading for the law but she just dug up drama*

Towards the end of Pinestar’s reign, he was getting exhausted. He wanted peace. Leopardfoot wanted kittens around that time, and figured that there was no better cat than the son of Oakstar, architect of the infamous Crusade Era.

If Pinestar had no children, a glorious bloodline would have died out. She wanted it for her kits. Pinestar agreed on the condition that he would be their Mi, which she happily accepted.

So when Pinestar left, she jumped into the nursery to take over and had to explain to her kits where their Mi went.

She drove it home to them that he abandoned everything, because his weakness took over. They would never be like him, she promised.

Mistkit died very young. Nightpaw made it to apprenticeship before she also succumbed. Tigerclaw remembers very well how hard it was to lose his sisters.

Leopardfoot herself was taken shortly before TPB, in Spottedleaf's Plague. Her death causes Tigerclaw to have a bit of a moment.

After the trial in Bluestar's Flowers, Leopardfoot leaves StarClan along with a bunch of other Thistle Law supporters, including Thistleclaw himself. She joins the BOTTE at the end of OotS, fighting to the end with her son.

She misses him a lot, and remains in the Dark Forest to the current arc. She chose her path; and has the dignity to walk it.

She does miss StarClan sometimes though, and will tell you stories about it if you ask.

In terms of demon friends, she's somewhere in the clique between the harsher and softer spirits.

She dislikes Morningstar, Cloudberry, and Ryewhisker on the softer end, and has come to resent Thistleclaw and Finchflight on the other, but likes Darkstripe, Leopardstar, and Silverhawk.

Gets along with a range of "mid" level demons.

In particular I imagine she hangs out with Darkstripe a lot. Taste test buddy, he asks her to try his experimental recipes because she's honest but not mean. One of the few Thistle Law supporting cats he hangs out with after the double-death of Tigerstar.

He calls her Lefty. Her official nickname is "Left" but he calls her Lefty.

(Clanmew: her name is Saorpwyyar. Others call her Saopr. He calls her Sapyy.)

Her mom and dad Swiftbreeze and Adderfang are here too, following Thistleclaw like she did, but she's been minimizing her contact with her dad. She feels like she is owed an apology somehow but also doesn't have the emotional intelligence to know that it's what she wants.

She just knows that she feels really bitter talking to him, and that's unpleasant.

She used to be VITRIOLIC with Pinestar, who is also here, even going after him physically when he chose to join in with the Dark Forest trainees. But now... honestly so much shit has happened, she just doesn't like seeing him. She wishes he wasn't here.

I write her being very dignified. She doesn't like to admit publically she was ever wrong and speaks with confidence, quietly backing off and not wanting to speak about her mistakes. She loves her children and her family, but explores the world in a very "self-centric" way, trusting her feelings and personal judgement over anything logical.

A reactionary sort of person, if that makes sense.

Her Land Mar has to develop over time because she is an ex-StarClan migrant (damned souls get theirs instantly after judgement), but it's called the Fence Cliff. It's a picket fence that blocks off a sheer drop, making a sharp turn down the cliff face and acting as a walkway. Follow the fence down the slope, and you can access the Dark Forest's town biome.

#BB!Leopardfoot #Better bones au #Pinestar’s Crusade #Spottedleaf's Plague #I think I made her a land mar once before but I like this idea more #I may repurpose the old idea when I remember it for someone else #Because I like the idea of Leopard and Dark walking down her land mar to get to the town to collect odd ingredients #And have Leopard talk about how ironic it is that her life's worst moment still goes back to the choices of other people #And Dark kinda puffs and says 'im sick of people blaming everyone else for their own mistakes'#And Lef doesn't really have a response to that #And Dark backpedals not wanting to offend her #And the Cliff Fence would be a super neat setting to write such a convo in #BB!Dark Forest #Dark forest demons my beloved btw.#I was actually at one point planning a cutesy like... not-rework BB-original novella story #Of Ryewhisker gathering ingredients for an anniversary dinner #And meeting with various DF demons #But now that Darkstripe is getting a whole ass postmortem arc about healing through cooking #I might make it about him #Especially so I can put that convo in it

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redwayfarers · 19 days

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house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief. I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help.

Or so I hope. Hope’s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets.

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple.

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore.

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could.

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful.

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important.

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard.

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck.

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad.

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it.

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business.

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it.

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb.

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!”

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?”

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand.

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.”

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.”

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are?

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet.

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh.

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second.

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone.

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart.

I am tired of grief. I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer mc #inspo birb has come to town #cassander inteus #aisanne bjornsdottir #elf oc #my writing #wayfarer fic #wayfarer writing #wanted bisexuality.. got bisexuality and anxiety #two for the price of one!#also opinions written about here are not mine! i am not my characters!#just so we're clear. i am not my character. neato? neato #i know y'all are nice about it but i feel like it needs to be here #also i will cheat and use my europe timezone to post this now bc it's the 9th <3 #wfr anniversary

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