#countrybat

[chiangyorange]

my piece for the 10 year anniversary mianite zine!!! i love the alternated sm i wish they literally had anything </3 the MOST color coordinated team ever

please please please check out the full zine here, there are so many amazing artists and writers who worked hard on it!!

some progress work under the cut if youre interested

i looked at countrybats skin and literally went. oh. oh no. so fuck that noise, i worked her outfit from the ground up because. wow that thing was sure dated huh. i tried putting her in a light pink. didnt work.

jeriah gave me the most trouble in designing him because his skin was almost TOO straightforward you know?? like there was no wiggle room so his overall silhouette was just a struggle.

the issue with spark and mot is that their outfits are predominately the same thing?? white shirt. black jacket black pants, so the process of making that different was also a big issue. i gave spark a VERY LOOSE medieval big fuckin jacket silhouette though, hope that came across well

mot i just NEED you to look me in the eyes and tell me that a 20 smth year old twink is capable of being a father. the answer is that he is not. i made him big. i gave him fat. he and dianite are big men in love. i will not be taking any criticisms on my mot design at this time.

[conwayfamilytree]

[syndianites]

I really like the way you write Alyssa! I’m curious on your interpretation on her as a whole?

So I've always been annoyed that she was a child compared to the rest of the alts, but I did like the fact that they gave Mot and Alyssa a relationship because in the og TR Tom and Sonja are the farthest apart, especially irl.

When it comes to Alyssa, I tend to give her a more independent, free-spirited vibe. Sure, she's a child (I normally put her around -14-16) but she also had to witness her home burn down and survive alone. I think in canon Mot picked her up almost right away, but I like to headcanon that she had to survive alone for a while and became hyper-independent because she was one of the few survivors and was already from a low-income family (the family part we don't get much information about, but I always wanted her to have come from a loving family).

For how old she was when the fire happened I'm kinda wishy-washy on because S2 canon tends to trip over itself when attempting to establish a timeline, but I generally put her around 6-8, so that she had enough time to remember her family but also be able to survive alone.

In terms of personality, she is very resourceful and self-taught in most things. Contrary to canon, I actually have Alyssa be more wary of the gods- Dianite included- because I imagine her town being less god-aligned than the others and also, being a child, Alyssa would have blamed the gods for not saving her town and family. She warms up to Dianite, of course, because through Mot she learns that the gods aren't as all-powerful as they are made out to be, but she's not the biggest fan of Ianite and definitely not a fan of Mianite after meeting Andor and Anya (who I personally love to have her be besties with).

I also imagine that she gets VERY clingly once she's warmed up to you. She lost basically everything in the fire, with only a few of her townmates surviving (I think in canon she is the only survivor, but I want her to have a heritage she can come back to and keep alive). So once she gets over the "Who the fuck is this Mot guy and where is he taking me" and the "This guy thinks I'll trust him just because he feeds me?" she ends up getting very attached to the point where people assume Mot adopted her (before he actually does).

Mot helps he re-learn to let others help her, and she helps him learn that others aren't always going to take from him without giving back.

From surviving on her own for so long, she has a great fondness for the wilderness, the woods especially, and is very outdoorsy as a result. She also tends to be adventurous and reckless, except when it comes to fire. For a long time she had a deep-seated fear of fire and even though she's gotten a better grip on it now that fear was one reason she had a hard time connecting with Dianite.

She portays herself as bold and brave, but she is always wary and nervous around new people, partly afraid to get attached and partly afraid they'll take her loved ones from her. I imagine that if she met TR she'd be very untrusting of them, Tom especially, and take a long, long time to open up to them. Ironically, I think she would take to Tom first, because Tom is a very open book and predictable, but also because he can relate, as a zombie, to losing all his loved ones and his home (which ties back into my personal backstory for Tom). Sonja would be the next she gets close to, because Sonja is gentle but also fun and silly and doesn't treat Alyssa like a child. Tucker she'd warm up to over time through Tom and Sonja and his general goofiness, but she'd take the longest with Jordan, because she initially sees him as having ulterior motives in everything he does and just wanting powerful gear and good gadgets (which is ironic since Tom acts the same, but she sees that Tom has a line when it comes to friends that she doesn't think Jordan does).

I think in canon she was taught how to use a bow by Ianite? But I generally imagine her being more of a cross bow/lance user, crossbow because when you're flying trying to keep the bow drawn can be difficult while also trying to keep your wings in check whereas a cross bow you just have to load and aim, and lance because its good for dive-bombing attacks and what she would have crudely made after the fire for hunting. The reach also helped keep the more dangerous creatures farther from her and give her a better chance to escape.

I feel like this mostly turned into a headcanon ramble, but in brief, I generally have Alyssa as outwardly bold and reckless and adventurous, while internally being very paranoid about the intentions of those around her and having a deep seated fear of fire and losing the few people she allows herself to care about. This all creates a genera show of Alyssa acting outgoing while also being very careful and feeling like she needs to be able to do everything and anything alone, even when help is available. She also generally doesn't trust the gods as /gods/ but she does end up trusting Dianite as family and Ianite to a degree.

Thanks for the ask! I have so many thoughts about all the characters

[licantropa]

Ianite’s Dream #3

[ Sonja Ep. 38]

Red - S2 Ianite

Blue - S1 Ianite

Who is this meager child? Nowhere near grown as Fox. This CountryBat was only six last I saw, rescued from that dying tribe. She bore the most potential of any child I knew; more than Andor, if such things could be quantified. Now sixteen, she flourishes like any bird; like any sky of birds.

And look at these ears of hers! And look at how she tries to please. She is full of ornaments and blooms. Yet all these fall beside the legs of working men too old and worried for a child homesick and naïve.

She wants only a touch; only a song. And they walk on.

Little do I help, for I, perhaps, am the same – too old, and trapped in some past that lies beyond the glass of a dream. They want a world from which they came, and not the world in which they are.

Do Fox, Sparklez, Jericho, and Syndicate want the same?

From my lofty perch I drop her a flower – one she already has. In its awkwardness, my gesture is a true gesture of kindness. There may be hope for Other Ianite.

[coolcattime]

I had a moment of brightness last time this time full on angst, this time full on angst. Spark and the rest of the champions that came from ruxomar live out long lives in s1 world.

As they arent in their worlds anymore the s1 gods take them under their wings. With mot gone and dianite dead, country bat is taken in under ianite. She's conflicted about this arrangement at first but, as she warms up to the idea that this ianite is different from the one she knew she grows comfortable around her. This ianite is stoic and conceals her emotions well but over the ages she becomes a close confidant to Alyssa and she becomes a full fledged ianitee.

As for spark his heart aches everytime he sees her. Everything about her screams she's not the woman he fell in love with. She's stoic, reserved and keeps a distance between the two of them. But she also has moments that remind him so much of the ianite he left behind. He caught her once tending to a flower garden in the back of her temple in the end. His ianite never really had the patience for tending the garden. She'd just comand flowers to grow and they would. But the way this new ianite relaxed and had the most gentle of smiles on her face as she set in the fields of her work reminded him of his lost love.

Jeremiah, had long since grown to distrust mianite and so he took his distance from this new grey god. To his surprise mianite allowed him his distance. The mianite Jeremiah knew would've drawn him closer in his fear of being betrayed. It took a long time for Jeremiah to approach this new mianite who took the time to sit with him and talk, he discussed philosophy, arts, and the nature of existence. He encouraged Jeremiah to act on kindness and charity yet, keep in mind the pitfalls of blind faith and pure forgiveness. He thrives with this new mianite and his heart hurts because this is what he wanted from the original.

And one day a rift appears from the sky and a figure falls from the sky. A dragon crashing to earth. All in the realm gaghers around the figure of a fallen ender dragon. Wings tattered and rotten. It's normally lustrous scales are dull and chipping. Most look on with pity for the creaure. Except the goddess lady ianite who rushes to the creatures side. She kneels beside it and touches its head gently. And in a blinding flash of purple light. Sparklez battle weary body lay on the goddesses lap. My captain. She calls gently you are home. The wounds on the captain's body bleed black. "My'lady we... we tried to stop them I'm all that's left. There is no where else to go." He says weakly. His fatigue from his eons long battle and finally being back lulled him towards sleep. "My'lady this is the last world that the darkness wishes to claim."

So you said this was full time angst, but until Sparklez comes in, I think this kinda works as a very fluffy fic.

I love so much the idea of Ianite taking in Alyssa, because gods knows she needs some stability. Her original parents died, Mot disappeared into the aether, and I don't really know how to describe Mot and Dianite's relationship, but I doubt Dianite was much of a parent to her pre-death. I think they could end up having a good bond, though I think it could be a little awkward at first because season 2 Ianite is the reason that Alyssa's parents are dead (some of the canon details of Mianite just give me pause). I also think there's definitely something interesting with Mot being gone and Jordan being gone that they could bond over.

Spark and Ianite are a much more obvious pairing, but one that I think would be much, much slower to start. As you said, he wouldn't see her as really even person like at first, since season one Ianite is much more of a goddess than season two Ianite is. For Ianite's part, I think she'd also struggle with not seeing Jordan, because this man is so different, so much older. And I think a main part of their relationship should be realising that they are different people (because I'm just really not a fan of Spark getting with season 1 Ianite, like it feels a bit off in my head). I think I'd actually make the flower garden Capsize's memorial/grave site, because I think it adds a human aspect that Spark would see the goddess as lacking.

((Side note, I actually think Spark and Redbeard could be really interesting interacting, but I don't want to go too off topic right now)).

Jeriah isn't really a character I think about much, but I think just based on what you've put here I now ship him with season one Mianite.

The whole Jordan bit is interesting, and definitely has some angst going. I think it would probably crush Ianite, seeing him return dying. I think I'd probably change it to being the next world the darkness wants to claim, for the pure reason that, I think something reason interesting for this idea would be to bring in alternative versions of dead characters from worlds that either will be targeted by the darkness, or already have been (because I think it would help connect the themes from the earlier parts of the story to the later more angsty parts).

[itsajam]

🍓Im only on 75 ep of second season but i already like this guys

[rafaerucore]

bat baby holds a special place in my heart

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Merry and Bright

Authors note: I’m not usually fond of holidays. They’re always stressful and make me anxious. But I wanted to extend a happy holidays to everyone who follows this blog, and has been around for the journey thus far. Thank you so much, every single one of you. This blog and all your support has been the best gift I could ever ask for. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Special thanks for @syndianites for editing and @lady-krystine for giving me character details. Enjoy!

Winter had shrouded the world. Tall, leaning acacia trees carried frost on their branches while the mountaintops and forests were swamped in heavy, wet snow. The whole world carried a chill. Even the sun seemed colder, doing nothing but reflecting off the snow, glimmering, blinding. Animals donned thicker pelts and traveled silently, any sound they made caught in the thick drifts of snow. In and out they went, staying out of sight. Even the people in the city were staying out of sight, each hidden in their house, little plumes of smoke rising into the sky, instead of beholding the bright, gleaming sunrise.

Only one person was outdoors, leaning against a building in full armor, a winter coat thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. If Jeriah felt the cold, he simply didn’t care. His eyes were blind to the sunrise, too lost in thought. Jeriah scratched his beard.

So much had changed. How long had it been. Ten years? Ten years since they went tumbling down the void and found themselves here, a world of strangeness. No technology. Materials were easier to come by, some found in the earth or pulled from the land, but most came from ruins. A huge tree shadowed the land and there were statues, faces built into mountain sides and by these strange ruins. Someone once lived here, they all knew it. Sure, Mot had claimed a castle, but the empty houses sent chills up Jeriah’s spine. Along the coast on the other side of the island, there was a humble city of tents and makeshift wooden buildings. Pirates or travelers, most of them, drawn to the island by the stories of some heroes. The four of them didn’t find the city on the first day, however.

Their first day on the island was spent grieving. Mot and Alyssa wept for Dianite, the rest of them for the world they had just left behind. They found the tents the third day, the gods the fourth. Somehow, this universe had mangled the gods beyond recognition. Jeriah shuddered just thinking about it.

Ianite took the form of a human woman, sure, with long purple hair, and a long, purple gown, but that’s where the similarities ended. She smelled like flowers and something unnamable. None of them could be around her for long, else their bodies would start to ache with the power barely contained in her false flesh. The Ianite Spark had known was so sweet, gentle, a good wife and a benevolent goddess. Sure, Jeriah only knew the benevolent goddess, but he understood why Spark was so shaken when she first showed herself to him. It was the same reason why Mot was scared when he met this universe’s Dianite. There was no suave businessman, only a shadow, a wraith, an invisible hand that rubbed salt into the wound of his grief. He showed himself in weak heat and raspy words, no true power, as if it had been siphoned from him. And Mianite…

Jeriah exhaled slowly, seeing his breath cloud before him. Ten years. Now the tents had turned into a proper city, bustling and prosperous. Ten years. Alyssa was a young woman, the strongest person he knew. A warrior, a diplomat, a daughter that Mot would be proud of. Mot, speaking of, was nowhere to be seen. And yet Ianite said that he was okay. That was all she said. That he was okay. The portal had broken after he left and, while Spark worked on it day in and day out, no good results ever came.

Ten years. Jeriah looked down at himself. He was older, certainly, his beard and hair greying, more from stress than age, but it made him look old. So did the feeling of another Winter Festival coming and going. The townspeople celebrated in the comforts of their homes, but Jeriah had better things to do than that. More important things. He pushed himself off the side of the building and pulled his coat tighter around himself.

It was a short walk from the town to Mianite’s temple, only half a mile along the coast. The grey sea lapped at his feet, chilling them even through his armored boots. The sun slowly rose, the grey ocean turning warm pink from its ascent. Snow and sand swished under his feet as he came to the coast, the temple across the cold, choppy sea. Jeriah dragged his boat from where it was kept-- hidden in a shallow cave on shore-- and hopped into it, sending himself out to the temple. The marble shone as white and pure as snow, yet it only filled him with dread as he came upon it. He tied the boat to one of the columns, letting it bob in the ocean. The stench of plants filled his senses, mingled with ozone and some strange, warm smell. Yes, Mianite certainly was here.

Jeriah stepped into the temple, his footsteps echoing loudly. The once gorgeous gardens were overgrown and mangled, filled with hardy weeds and all sorts of plants, like asphodel and marigold, blooming in spite of the cold. The torches were burnt out, the only light in the temple from the glowstone, which gave light but no heat. The floor was absolutely filthy, white marble marred with the footsteps of hundreds of people, thousands of footsteps all going there to kneel before him.

And there Mianite was. Strong and tall upon his throne, staring blankly as Jeriah walked in. This Mianite was the most different. A god of order and the overworld, yes, but he carried no poise or care. His hair, curly and long— down to his ankles— was braided with flowers that were kept alive by godly will alone, a crown of mallow and primrose upon his head. He wore a black toga that flowed over his tan, muscular body like ocean waves and sand. In his hands a sprig of wormwood, which he plucked at, fiddled with. The god didn’t seem to care for his duties to order anymore, only nature. Jeriah reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box.

“If this is your idea of an assassination attempt,” Mianite rumbled, “I ask you to get it over with.”

Jeriah blinked, staring up at Mianite. He did not kneel.

“It is no assassination attempt. It’s a gift, for winter festival.”

Mianite looked up from his wormwood, a long lock of hair falling in his face. His beard was filled with flowers, too. Mianite made a small gesture and the box floated out of Jeriah’s hands. He watched as Mianite caught the gift, then set it on the armrest of his throne.

“There,” He slowly drawled, “Now go. I have matters to attend to.”

Jeriah blinked.

“I stil need to talk to you—“

“I said go.” Mianite looked back to the wormwood, frowning.

“No!” Jeriah snapped, surprising himself and Mianite. But for the past ten years, there had been nothing but frustration and tiredness and, now, what could he do besides this?

“No,” Jeriah repeated, “No, I’m not leaving. You’ve been ignoring me, ignoring all of your other followers, letting nature and the universe fall into chaos. Lady Ianite has been keeping order. Not you. That is your domain.”

“And here I thought you had faith in me.”

Jeriah sputtered indignantly, glaring at Mianite. His whole body felt like it was on fire, an exhausted rage making him too bold for his own good.

“My lord, you might not be my god, but you are still a version of him, and I have some faith in you. Yet all you do is sit here, day in, day out, grieving--”

Mianite stood, glaring down at him.

“I am not grieving. You… You cannot grieve for someone who is alive,” He decreed, voice thick.

“Then what is with this, my lord? Wearing black, the flowers… It’s like you have made yourself nothing more than a living funeral service for whoever these people were. And even if they’re alive, they’re not here. I’m here! So is everyone else, the people whose footsteps stain the halls. It’s been ten years. It’s time to let go, my lord. I have, I’ve let go long ago. Because I know I’m never going back home, and... “ Jeriah took in a shaking breath, feeling tears well in his eyes. Fuck this, fuck this “...And I’ve accepted it. This is my home now, whether or not I like it. This is my world. It is yours, too, your people, who are all looking up to you. There has to be something I can do to help, to get you to stop being so… despondent. Hence the gift, my lord.”

Mianite stared blankly. He picked up the box.

“Now then. What is this?”

“A gift. To try to help cheer you up. Tis the season, my lord.”

Mianite nodded, brows furrowed, and opened the box. With shaking hands, he pulled out the contents. A candle, crudely made of white wax, the wick straight, like a soldier standing at attention. Mianite looked blankly at the candle. His brows furrowed, and the candle remained unlit, as if Mianite was fond of the cold darkness of the temple.

Jeriah turned on his heel to leave, wiping his face with his cold hands as he did so. His footsteps echoed loudly.

“Tucker. That was his name,” Mianite whispered.

Jeriah stopped dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder at Mianite.

“There was also Sonja, Jordan, and Tom. Tucker, Sonja, Jordan, Tom. Now they’re gone. They have fallen out of my sight, and I could do nothing to save them. All I could do was watch.”

Jeriah looked down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice echoing in the vast walls of the temple. But when he looked back to Mianite, the god was curled up in his throne, his face tucked between his knees. In one hand, the wormwood, in the other, the unlit candle.

Jeriah’s head spun as he left the temple, not looking back until he was safely ashore, choking back tears as salty as the freezing ocean before him.

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The forests were deep and filled with snow, the perfect place to spend a day like this. Winter festival. Ha. Alyssa felt like she had nothing to celebrate-- not since Mot left, at least. Sure, the growth of the city was beautiful, almost humbling how many people called it home, but the forest beckoned her. Maybe she could shoot something for dinner, make a stew or roast, something hot and filling for a day like this.

Alyssa held her bow steady, an arrow notched and ready for whatever might cross her path. It was a beautiful bow, carved of sturdy birch and reinforced with dark obsidian. The arrows all had a drop of dragons breath and spiders eye on the tip, a slowness potion that immobilized her prey-- long enough for a second arrow, at least.

Despite all of this, the iridescent purple string was the most interesting part of the longbow. It was made of a single strand of Ianite’s long hair, twisted and curled in on itself. Even with only two fingers touching the string, Alyssa could feel some sort of cosmic magic thrumming through her bones. The sensation felt as familiar as a hug, the feeling of the void, of Ianite. Alyssa pulled her white scarf over her mouth and nose, and crouched by a tree, waiting patiently. Ah, the winter wind over the frozen ground was such a calming noise, a haunting howl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention.

It made her feel like death was approaching. Such macabre thoughts didn’t belong in her head on what was supposed to be a festival day, a day of hope and festivity and love, and yet she couldn't shake the feeling. Death scarred her soul. Ever since she was a child. But she did have to admit, she was fond of this new world, its people-- people that didn’t seem to age, bodies weathering slowly. The cold took some, injury others, but never age, it seemed.

She did enjoy the company, though. From the people in the city Spark made, to the hunters that linger in the woods, to the hunters that secluded themselves from all people besides the ones in their stories, she enjoyed talking to them, even if they squabbled. Mot taught her how to do it properly. He was never one to deal with petty arguments. Now Mot was gone. The only answer Ianite ever gave when asked about him was ‘he’s safe’. Any more questions were met with a strange look, and Ianite saying ‘it is not my story to tell’. As if that made any sense.

Alyssa shuddered against the cold. Here again came the feeling of death approaching.

Ianite always comforted her, told her that he was okay, in a different place with Uncle Dia, who somehow wasn’t dead. Death. What a thing to think about. And even though he was alive, a part of her felt crushed with a cold weight, as if she had been buried in snow, or that there was an iron spike driven between her ribs, pinning her to the ground. He wasn’t dead. Mot lived, off in some far other-universe, but that did nothing to stop the weight from crushing her. Anything that he had left behind felt like another slap in the face. Screziato Enterprises, a castle that Mot had claimed as his own, made her feel heavy and sick, and, on some days, even the mention of the name sent her into a cold tizzy. She took a deep breath through the scarf, trying to ground herself.

Grief, that’s what it was. Grieving the fact that Mot might not ever return, and that he would never see her again. Grieving her father, her family, the life they could have had together as a big, happy family. All the things he had left behind were nothing but spectres, haunting her relentlessly. Alyssa didn’t move her hand from the bowstring.

She thought of Ianite, the day the goddess had taught her how to shoot a bow. Lady Ianite had held that bow so steady, a simple practice bow that strained and almost broke because of her inhuman strength. They shot arrows by a lake, warmed by the summer sun, all the living creatures hiding from Ianite’s strange aura. Alyssa didn’t mind it, though, the aura of Ianite felt like nothing but a gentle humming, as if someone was singing far, far away. Mot watched her shoot and said he was proud, so did Lady Ianite, and she felt as warm as the summer sun beaming down on them.

Now it was cold. Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. There, in a clearing surrounded by trees, a deer stumbled forward. The cold air hit her neck again. She drew her bow with the quiet hiss of an arrow on obsidian, breaths muffled by her scarf. For only a second, she thought of shooting her arrow into a tree. But instead, she stared into the deer’s glassy, black eyes, and loosed the arrow. It flew perfectly through the air, before impaling itself into the deer’s skull. The deer fell silently to the ground and laid there, still. Alyssa stared at it blankly, not knowing how to feel.

Alyssa pulled her scarf down. She walked through the clearing, to the deer laying on its side. Dead. Fully dead. Alyssa slowly crouched down into the snow, then laid down, her cheek in the snow. The deer died with its eyes wide open, an arrow now pinned between the two onyx pearls. Alyssa got up from the snow, grabbed it by the leg, and started pulling it through the snow, towards the city.

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Spark watched the snow fall from inside his home. It bathed the other houses in the city in sparkling white, now reflecting the yellow streetlights— an invention of his creation, with redstone packed into little glass bulbs and hooked up to wiring and sensors, only turning on when it was dark. The light they let off was pleasant and yellow. Or at least yellow-ish. It gave the whole city a homey feeling, which made sense. It was his home, after all, the city he built with his own two hands and years of work. Ten years, to be exact.

Now another winter festival had come. Not like the fall festival, where the people donned masks and ran all around the town, or in spring where they planted crops and sang songs that washed down the hill.

No, Winter Festival was a family affair. Everyone stayed in their houses, with the people they loved most. The sound was the only thing that slipped outside, laughter and happy voices that Spark heard when he walked down the streets with Jeriah earlier in the day. They talked about Ruxomar, their memories, and their plans to rebuild once they got home. Spark wanted to make Dagrun bigger than ever, and build more statues to Ianite. Jeriah, meanwhile, blabbered about alters and blood stuff fast enough to make his head spin, the bad mood he was in forgotten.

Now Jeriah was silently chopping veggies in the kitchen, not saying a word as Spark stared. The only noise in the house was Alyssa, humming to herself as she chopped chunks of deer meat for stew.

Winter festival was supposed to be a family affair. Spark shut his eyes, letting himself be carried off by memories. Helgrind and Martha bickering as always, Andor and Alva chasing one another around a tree lit up with magical lights, courtesy of Ianite. His Ianite. His goddess, his wife, the love of his life and the sun in the storm. A halo of lit candles would rest like a crown on her head, not a drop of wax scalding her porcelain features. Her dress was blue as the sky, but she wore a shawl of ice, geometric and fine, that somehow felt warm to the touch. And all of them— his whole family, children, grandchildren, sat around the fire and swapped little gifts, enjoyed the snow that fell on vast fields.

Spark sighed, the sound of Alyssa cursing behind him snapping him out of the memory. Never did he get any answer out of this Ianite- not his wife, but this universe’s goddess— about his family. All she said was that Mot was safe. Martha? Not her story to tell. Helgrind? Not her story to tell. His wife? Not her story to tell. Andor? Definitely not her story to tell.

Now all he had was Alyssa and Jeriah. His beacons. The only thing separating his dreams of home from the reality— that once there was Ruxomar and Dagrun. That once upon a time, he had a family. Now they were oh so far away…

Well. For now, at least. All he needed to do was get that portal to work, then he’d be home.

“Spark, you old coot,” Jeriah called, “come help Alyssa before she cuts herself again.”

“Now you know full damn well I don’t need any help!” Alyssa cried, pouting. Jeriah smirked.

“If I had known you were so good at cutting yourself, I’d have asked you to join the blood knights.”

“If I had known how big of an ass you were—“

Spark couldn’t help but laugh. God, they sounded just like Martha and Helgrind. Or Andor and Alva, bickering like siblings. But nonetheless, he walked over to Jeriah and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing him in a tight hug. Jeriah froze for a few seconds, then squeezed back. Alyssa soon joined, wrapping her muscular arms around the both of them. Sure, she was still holding a knife and had a bit of deer blood on her, but none of them cared.

It felt like they were home again.

But they weren’t.

They would be. And someday they would find their shoes on solid ground, home. Whatever that meant, they would find it again.

Snow fell peacefully outside for the rest of the night, and Spark’s heart overflowed with hope.

[crypyrc]

season two seems so distant

[eternalseal-remade]

hello minecrafters

[snake-draws]

guess whos rewatching mianite woops

edit: BLEASE ignore her thumb is on the wrong side

[chiangyorange]

MAN. i know why we didnt get literally any further interactions with these clowns, but like what if they did

[ainelane]

Do you guys understand how much of an amazing thing it is that SparkPlug earned the respect of all the champions and even the gods. Hell most people who talk about spark at least have a favorable view of them. He built a city for ianite made it a kingdom and a trade hub that dianite would be proud of. And one day he's gone his son has to take his place and everything falls apart. I need a mianite fan fiction about helgrind called something like 'In the Shadows of a Giant' about how having to fill the shoes of his father while being abandoned by his mother pushed him to this point and resentment of both. So imagine you're from s2 world and you see sparklez. Who looks like spark young and youthful and the guy who seemed like he would have the ability to fix everything immediately starts stealing and killing and pretending he has no idea what he did wrong

[syndianites]

For a prompt: "If you're gonna kill him I can't stop you, but he's really not worth the effort."

❤️ ❤️

"If you're gonna kill I can't stop you, but he's really not worth the effort."

Alyssa didn't jump, but it was a near thing. Her ears swivled, trying to catch the sound of breathing, footsteps, something that would give her a clue as to where the newest arrival was. All she heard was her own breathing and the ragged pants of Nadeshot below her, who struggled to catch his breath from where his windpipe was being crushed beneath her arm.

Catiously, she chanced a look around her surroundings. She almost missed them in the early sunlight of the morning. But no, there, hovering at her side was a- pirate?

She was a ghost, clearly. Between the transparent visage and the way her feet were just barely above the ground.

No matter.

"You're right, you can't stop me." Alyssa punctuated this statement by pressing down on Nadeshot's throat harder, taking sick satisfaction in the way he wheezed. "He certainly has it coming."

She got a snort from the ghost. "You're not wrong there, mate. But I'd be remised to let him die if that meant he would be haunting the land with me. I ain't looking forward to only having him as company if you decide you don't fancy talking to ghosts."

Alyssa huffed a laugh despite herself. Nadeshot had pissed her off for the last time, not only stealing from her, again, but taking something of Mot's- who had been MIA for weeks now. Sure, killing Nadeshot was a bit drastic, but it'd stop him from stealing from her and she doubted anyone else stuck in this place would miss him.

Still, she supposed the ghost was right. If she killed him she'd be subject to whatever law and court system that exists, and stand on trail, and hope that 'he stole my shit and is fucking annoying' held as a reasonable defense for killing a man.

With a great sigh she released him, taking a step back and kicking him in the side. "Run before I change my mind."

There was confusion in his eyes- clearly he couldn't see ghosts- but he griped his throat and stumbled to his feet. With one last wary glance he ran off.

Capsize stifled a laugh as Nadeshot ran. "He wont be forgetting the feeling of your arm at his throat, at least." She turned to Alyssa. "Name's Capsize, pleasure ta meet ya."

Rather than extend a hand, Capsize brought it to her chest and did a mock bow. She had no visible mark of death, no blood splatter or caved in head, or what have you. Either Capsize was a particularly powerful ghost or she'd been dead a while. Maybe both.

"Alyssa." She inclined her head. "Been dead long?"

Rude as it sounded, most ghosts that were as pristine as Capsize had long since at peace with their death. Hell, most would ignore any faux pas just to have someone to talk to.

True to form, Capsize snorted. "You could say that. I've seen you around, didn't realize you could see me, otherwise I'd have introduced myself sooner. Pardon my bluntness, but why are y'all here? If anyone was gonna fall out of the sky, I was expecting my mates."

Alyssa frowned, brushing the dirt off her knees. "Magic bullshit. Hoped into a portal and suddenly we were here instead of anywhere in our world. I imagine your friends got the same treatment- jumped into a portal and got spat back out at our place."

"Well then, guess we got a lot to talk about, huh?" Capsize smiled at her like they were already friends. It urked Alyssa, but as much as she'd want to complain she was tired of talking to Spark and Jeriah, and this world's gods were odd to talk to, considering her experiences with her worlds versions.

"I suppose we do."

----

Cue ghost shenanigans as Alyssa and Capsize try to figure out why the alts got sent here and the others got sent to Ruxomar, featuring: A return of the Shadows, talking shit about the gods, talking about feeling like they aren't enough for the gods they follow, bitching about their family, and more!

Thanks for the prompt!

[grymmzy]

Hello here is my collection of fanart for season 2 of mianite because this series consumes my life now. Please enjoy!

[coolcattime]

heyyy coolcat! I’ve had this story concept sitting on a back burner and I’m honestly not sure if I’ll ever get around to writing it but who knows maybe. I wanted to share it with you, cause I think you’ll like it, also it's my second time sending it cause my internet is being weird

A mishap with the priest nether portal sends Mot to the nether, but Spark in an attempt to go after him now has to deal with some unforeseen consequences. (It actually sends Mot to Ruxmor but they don’t know that yet)

He’s not sure where he’s standing, if he’s standing at all. Equal parts dark and light. Too much yet not enough. Through the terrifyingly loud silence, there is crying. It’s so close to him and he— likes to think it’s in his nature to help out, that’s what Dagrun was built for, what it represents to him— reaches out to whoever or whatever is near him. It reaches back and

He wakes up on the other end of the portal. Swelling heat and humidity overwhelm him instantly. Netherrack and soulsand now stuck under his fingernails, which both ground him and leave him with a gross feeling.

Not long after this is when the remaining alts find out their lady ianite died. Spark having a physical reaction as it happens and Alyssa and Jeriah being told after the fact. Spark begins to act strangely, the other two chalk it up to it being grief. The longer it goes on the more they realize something is wrong with him.

Alyssa wakes up thirsty. It’s difficult for her to find the will to move from the warmth of her blanket— so nice and cozy, it’s heavy against her, she…can almost…fall…back asleep. How unfortunate that the need to drink water is much much stronger. And oh no! What if she dehydrates right then and there, who will listen to her dad’s tale of getting lost in the new nether.

Reluctant as she may be, she steps out of bed and makes her way downstairs. Bundled up in two layers of long sleeves and fuzzy pajamas pants, she takes a quiet and slow pace down the steps.

She is standing just outside of the kitchen, it’s dark and she has a hard time seeing but she recognizes Sparks figure, which is hunched over the sink, probably doing the dishes. Jeriah had told her to do them, which wasn’t even fair since it was his turn anyways. He only pushed the chore on her because he was getting old and lazy. She told him so too, he hadn’t exactly been the happiest to hear that. Denied it all the way to bedtime.

Yet here is her grandpa doing the chore in their stead. She hadn’t seen him in days, both her and Jeriah had given him space, maybe a bit selfish of her but she’s glad to see him here even if it is the dead of night. Good to know he didn’t perish in his room, it’s certainly a positive.

She walks past him and grabs a glass, pouring herself some water from a pitcher on the counter. It’s only then that Alyssa sees that there are no dishes in the sink—by the looks of it, they have been washed, dried and put away. There is only water. Spark is hunched over in the sink, elbow deep in the water. She’s pretty sure you aren’t supposed to wake a person who’s sleepwalking but she can’t tell if he’s awake or not in the first place. She knows better than most what depression can do to a person. She’s seen her dad at his worst for years now, and she’s met that pirate from Atheoria. Not someone she’ll willingly interact with again, honestly.

She knows that this is about Spark’s wife. The woman who was is now just a faint memory to Alyssa. The only Ianite she knows is the one here. She doesn’t dare tell Spark that, especially not now.

The longer it goes on the more they realize something is wrong with him...

It had started with small moments. Spark couldn’t remember how he got to the basement, or he could not recall why he opened the front door, and embarrassingly enough he had once found himself halfway over the dock railing. Now he finds himself near the huge treehouse, Jeriah standing over him axe in hand. He had pushed him into the snow trying to wrangle the axe out of Sparks hands.

The cold heat makes him sweat. The beginning symptoms of a fever, one that’s been on the verge of starting for months now. The snow both cools and burns him. It does everything to help his sense and overwhelms them all the same. There is a contradiction that lies beneath his skin and he has no cure for this new ailment of his.

“I don’t know what your lady would’ve wanted, but I doubt getting smited by another version of her is one of those things.” Jeriah stares down at him, Spark is much too out of it to decipher if it’s anger or sadness. “Why?” He sounds tired, Spark decides. Gods, how late was it?

If Spark were to be truthful he’d say he didn’t care. He felt such steep indifference for the events that were put on pause by Jeriah, he’ll be thankful for it later, but now he truly cannot find it within himself to do something as simple as care. He leaves it at an “I don’t know, Jerry, I don’t—” He’ll later fear that feeling, it’s so unlike him…

A bit more of that happens until it’s Spark himself that gets fed up with it. He reaches out again, this time with a homemade ouija board.

The pencil barely moves, she had answered yes. It had been surprisingly easy to guess whose ghost was haunting him when his only two choices were between a dead chaos god and a dead pirate captain, and he finds himself near water more often than not. Looking at his amateur setup— it’s four ripped pieces of paper each with a different response: yes, no, I don’t know, ask elsewhere. Spark had thought that giving her more answers would make conversing easier. It does not. Regardless of how childish it is they talk as best as they can, they make do.

He had asked if it was difficult to move objects and she had responded with a yes, which was strange to him seeing as she had no difficulty moving him from point a to b. Perhaps there was something he was missing. His setup reminds him of a compass, the way he had placed the responses as points and the pencil as a needle. He looks through his things and finds one. Other than some dust on the glass, it’s in perfect condition.

“Think this’ll be easier?” He moves his arm out to where he guesses she’s standing…? He doesn’t know if ghosts do that. He feels her hand over his and the needle moves much to quickly. All at once her thoughts become his. His thoughts become hers.

There is an overwhelming absence of everything and all she can do is cry.

What was meant to be a temporary house, has now imprisoned him.

Neither was able to see their mission through and now they both exist together in separate spaces, miserable.

Eventually, it will lead to Capsize getting revived, but she doesn’t remember her time in the void space or as a ghost, for the better. But it’s hard for Spark to be angry at her for the distress caused when it was some messed up version of her and not the her that’s been revived. While I do think their relationship starts out strained, I do think that they both grow to have at least a semi-positive opinion on each other. Like Spark doesn’t like Capsize’s methodology of immediately going to tnt and violence when something doesn’t go her way, but she does it with confidence and he can respect that. And Capsize thinks fishing with Spark is enjoyable.

(I named the draft “la posición de mi posesión” and i think it’s fun to say. Also this is the second time I send you such a long ask omfg, thank you for reading it <3)

My apologies, the first time you asked this it did come through. I spent my free time yesterday factory resetting my phone and then playing d&d so I kinda didn't have time to respond.

I really really like this story idea!!! I think the idea of Spark getting possessed/ haunted by Capsize is really awesome.

I really like how the situation starts because Spark reaches out to help because it really feels interesting for him to just reach out to this mysterious presence in the darkness. I think its a really telling thing for a character to do.

I love the idea of Spark having a physical reaction to his Ianite dying even when in a completely different world. And it conesiding with the haunting beginning is such a good touch cause it can be written off at first as grief when it's a bit more of a pressing issue.

The actually haunting is really cool (like all of this is really well written but I particularly like Capsize accidently sending her and Spark to the void when trying to move the compass). And I kind of love how empathic Spark is despite being possessed multiple times. I think the way you've written Spark is really fun since I don't see a lot of him in the fandom.

As always, I love anything where Capsize is revived. I kind of love the description of the relationship between Spark and Capsize you've written since it seems very natural for the two.

Also feel free to write all the long asks you want, I really like reading them ^-^