#oc: snowmelt

[spoonhead]

here have some silly old drawings featuring a random dragon design and what's basically a summary of chapter 7 in my fic Frozen Desert

[dawnoftheeclipse]

Dawn on the Eclipse. Prologue 1

Start/Previous/Next/Last

Look at all these faces!

[bluebelly-sun-serpentine]

snowmelt, August 2023

[flamingostalker]

okay time to type paragraphs about my tolkien oc’s thank you.

First we have my one and only Thackery From Down the Lane. He’s a dwobbit. He’s like 4’5 ft tall and one time he lifted a cask in each arm like they were naught but dried leaves. He lives in the shire and all the hobbit parents are wary of him. All his peers like him though cuz he saved Hyacinth and Bluebell from falling into a creek during the spring snowmelt when they were kids. He gives piggyback rides.

Then we have aforementioned Hyacinth and Bluebell. They were born on the same day to different families but they’ve been together ever since. They’re both hobbits. (Bluebell was called Brongo at birth but she wasn’t happy with that so Hyacinth helped her think of a new name.) They were wary of Thackery until he saved them so now they’re besties.

There is also. Dwarf vegan in my mind. And he likes clay so he does cool pottery and modeling type stuff. I don’t have a name for him yet but. He. I’m holding him like a bird in my hands. Still thinking about him.

[mamamittens]

Crunch time, now 1/3 of the way through the event! Hopefully I'll keep up this rad progress tomorrow!

Onto the "totally not putting off going to sleep" OC talk!

So, I'm a bit fuzzy at the moment, so this will likely be pretty rambly.

The two islands Nikia essentially grows up on are symbiotic in nature from the wildlife that migrates between them (birds and fish) as well as the people. They're also low-key tourist destinations with stunning vistas of both beach and winter wonderland variety. More as Nikia is an adult compared to when she was a child. It is, also, a bit of a hot spot for kidnapping. Plenty of places to go missing, drunk tourists, and 'exotic' locals to nab.

The height of this problem was when Nikia was young, leading to the kidnapping of her mother before she was returned and the islands were taken under the pirates protection. They're the reason the islands are so... Organized. And low-key murdery as hell about slavers returning. If a tourist feels they're being watched, it's because they are. Very closely. What was once a weak spot slavers took advantage of is now many convenient places to get rid of people in. Funny how that works.

Due to the touristy nature, it's not uncommon for someone unattached to suddenly 'fall pregnant'. Which is how both Nikia and her older brother occured. It's not discouraged but not explicitly encouraged either. Gotta freshen up that gene pool somehow, after all. And several of the festivals explicitly have sections where locals can... Proposition tourists for a good time. Such as the Snowmelt festival where women can offer potential partners berries as an invitation for 'fruitful' fun.

There isn't an emphasis on family lines, though a few do focus on more selective parameters for their partners. Nikia's family is known for their wider wingspans relative to others and fairly monotone plumage. Her mother's more gray with blue and brother nearly black. They also tend to have stray feathers across their shoulders and back, something more common with long-term families on the Winter Island. Nikia is no exception to this. The stray feathers are viewed a bit like being excessively hairy. Some are really into that but most can view it as unsanitary or gross.

I sort of considered Nikia having feathers in her hair (like, growing out) but decided it would be too much of a pain to draw consistently.

Jumping topics, rangers are a lot like park rangers. Usually meant to look after trails, tourists, and investigating any untoward activity along the way. But being a ranger on Summer Isle is quite different from being a ranger on Winter Isle. For starters, winter rangers are expected to be alone a lot more often. So part of the requirement list is hobbies as well as semi frequent check ins to make sure no one is going insane.

In her spare time (of which there is a surprising amount), she plays an instrument (whatever strikes her fancy), reads, cooks, hunts, or writes. She handles it better than most her age and position given her youth as a chronic shut in.

[stumbleimg]

Foggy Snowmelt - Washington State [OC] [2000x3000]

[playandwander]

Snowmelt bringing Falls to life - Washington State [OC] [2000x3000] https://ift.tt/QWqpEcR

[goatpaste]

been redrawing some of my next gen mlp designs on DA recently

the two in the middle row were designed by Horseytown on DA!

[Commission Prices] [Patreon] [Etsy]

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Fanfiction Masterlist (Mobile Friendly) 18+

I realize I've never made a mobile friendly version of my masterlist, so here it is!

For information about requests, please visit this post: Request Rules

The vast majority of my works have adult themes, please refrain from reading if you are a minor or uncomfortable with certain subjects!

♥ = Smut and/or other adult themes

◙ = V!0lence and/or sensitive themes

☼ = Commissions

♠ = Prompt requests

Series:

My Little Secret: A female modern!reader adventure in which the reader discovers a man, Arthur Morgan, is a century - old vampire. Status - ongoing

My Little Secret part 1

My Little Secret part 2

My Little Secret part 3

My Little Secret part 4 ◙

My Little Secret part 5

My Little Secret part 6

My Little Secret part 7

My Little Secret: The Beginning *Please note this is NOT the beginning of the series and should be read in the order presented. (contains mild spoilers for the end of the game)

My Little Secret part 8

My Little Secret part 9

My Little Secret part 10 ◙

My Little Secret part 11 ♥

My Little Secret part 12

My Little Secret part 13 ♥

Part 14 coming soon!

And I'll Succumb To You: Set in the game time, @1pha!Arthur x Omega!reader. (Research about a/b/o if you're not familiar with this trope!) Status - ongoing

And I’ll Succumb To You part 1 ♥

And I’ll Succumb To You part 2 ♥

And I’ll Succumb To You part 3 ♥

Part 4 coming soon!

Arthur x modern!reader. My oldest series to this blog. This contains mostly oneshots (requests or otherwise) of Arthur leaving his video game life and experiencing the modern world. Status - discontinued

As We Meet ☼

Something to Remember ♥

The Hidden Truth part 1

The Hidden Truth part 2

The Hidden Truth part 3

A Sweet Release ♥

A Happy Hunt

Midnight Rumble ♥

The Beauty of a Friday Night

As Sweet As Sugar ♥

Envy

Birthday Surprise ♥

Pretty Little Black Dress ♥

Driving Lessons

An Artist’s Words

I’ll Comfort You

For the First Time ♥

How Do You Feel?

All Fair’s Fun

Under The Stars ♥

Sweltering ♥

Horses and Hard Labor

A Book of Thoughts

Appreciation

One Call Away ☼

Hands of Creation

Spooky Scary Special

Leather Bound ♥ (d0m!reader)

Who Did This/Please Stay With Me ♠

I Told You Not to Fall in Love With Me ♠ (not canon to this series)

Come With Me ♠

Promise Me You’ll Come Back ♠

Look At Me (#1) ♠

That Was Kind of Hot ♠

This is Going to Hurt ♠

This Is New/That Was Kind of Hot ♥♠

Unusual Bonding ♥

Oneshots: Stories written that don't necessarily fit the narrative of my other series, whether it's in-game or modern.

In-Game Arthur x Reader:

The Baby of An Outlaw

One Hell of A Vacation ◙

Ups and Downes

Ain’t a Favor ♥

Mine Now ♥ (High Honor and Low Honor version exclusive!)

It Started With A Skeleton ☼

Whispered at Dawn

When I’m With You, I’m Home ♠

Is That My Shirt? ♠

I’m Not Drunk Enough for This/When You Smile, I fall Apart ♠

You Can Do This ♠

I Know It Hurts/You’re everything to Me ♥♠

Come With Me (#2) ♠

This Isn’t Who I Am ♠

A Hundred Stitches ♥◙

Alternative Action ♥◙ (reader is punished when she disobeys Arthur)

Tied ♥ (s.u.b!Arthur)

Rekindled ♥

Tricksters (Giveaway prize) ♥

A Tail for Two (Giveaway prize)

Claimed ♥

Daydreams and Freedom (domestic, baby talk)

Always A First ♥

Savor ♥

Where We Rest in the Storm ♥ (@1pha!reader x Omega!Arthur)

Rest For the Wicked

Only Just A Dream ◙

Undoubtedly Deceived ◙

Dangerously Daring ♥

Modern!Arthur x Reader:

Look At Me (#2) ♥♠ (d0m!Arthur)

Look At Me (#3) ♥♠ (s.u.b!Arthur)

This Isn’t What It Looks Like ♠

Impromptu Office Meeting ♥

Among These Pages ♥

Of My Barest Thoughts ◙ (Postpartum body dysmorphia)

Favorite Way to End the Day ♥

Ficlets: Small drabbles.

Stop It ♥ (modern!Arthur)

Grind ♥ (game!reader)

Other: Event works

Ghost Hunting With An Outlaw (Arthur x Eleanor Ivie, a friend's OC - giveaway prize)

Snowmelt ♥ (Charles Smith x female!reader)

[spoonhead]

-broken family-

designs for Tundra's family in my wof fic! I wanted to do size comparisons + designs for all my characters, and I'll probably do more minor characters later (Gator, General Sparrow, etc etc)

Tundra is a small Sand/Ice hybrid and is considered thin and scrawny by dragon standards. even as an adult he'll still be small, which he gets from his mother.

Fennec is a fairly average sized Sandwing, although still naturally thin. her colors are solid markings, not gradients like Snowmelt's.

Snowmelt is a large Icewing and the bulkiest in the family. he's naturally built big and his colors were inspired by the melting snow you see on the side of the road. *this is before the timeskip. afterwards, his left forearm is permanently scarred and leaves him limping*

~individual refs under cut~

*friendly reminder that i do take requests! send me your ocs and i'll draw them if i have time :)*

[stand-up-and-fight-daleks]

[fic] Little Prince

I wrote this for @arofili for the Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday 2021 -gift exchange. The authors have been revealed, so I’m posting it on here as well.

Characters: Fíli, Kíli, Dís, Thorin, Dwalin, OCs

Rating: T

Warnings: Grief, complicated relationships, family issues, light angst

Summary: People called Fíli a prince, sometimes.

It would be years and years still, before he realised that the honorific wasn't kindly meant.

AO3

Fíli was a prince, he knew, although he didn’t usually feel like it at all. He spent most of his days with other dwarflings, and his brother of course, though Kíli was still so small that he wasn’t a terribly useful playmate yet. (Older and larger dwarflings said the same of Fíli himself, at times, which he found monumentally unfair, since he wasn’t a baby like Kíli was, he was full five years older! Which, in all fairness, was so close in age that any closer and they might as well have been twins. But that wasn’t the point! Unlike Kíli, he certainly never fell over his own feet when trying to run.)

Princes were something else, something out of the tales that uncle Thorin told, and aunt Hrís and even mister Balin, sometimes, when they could wheedle stories out of him. Broadbeams and Firebeards had lords of their own, but princes belonged to the past, to a lost Kingdom far away, to a different kind of life that had been stolen from them long before Fíli had been born. Not that he could imagine living any other kind of life. When he tried, he imagined their small, simple house and worn furniture, only made out of solid gold, and they kept turning back into how they were in real life if he stopped imagining hard enough.

But people did call him a prince sometimes, and Kíli too. Usually it was half-strangers whose names he couldn’t quite remember, though he probably should have, and almost always it was because their gaggle of playing dwarflings was getting in the way of grown-ups and their very important business.

It never sounded very nice, for some reason, but it would be years and years still, before Fíli realised that the honorific wasn't kindly meant.

*

They overheard it, in the spring following that horrible, hard winter when their Dad had died.

One rarely, if ever, overhears any nice things being said.

The rain had finally ceased, after more than a week of constant deluge that had kept everyone inside, except for those who were unlucky enough to have business outside. The streets were still muddy, running with rivulets of rain and snowmelt from the mountains. They were sure to ruin their clothes today, and they really should have been in the forge, helping out, or then on their lessons with mister Balin, but Mum had shoved them out of the door regardless, and told them to stay out until they’d spent all their excess energy running around somewhere that wasn’t inside the house. As if it was their doing that dishes sometimes broke in their general vicinity, through no fault of their own, for sure.

Fair, maybe some fault was theirs, but someone really should find a way of making more durable ceramics.

It appeared that every other parent in the Blue Mountains had made a similar sort of decision, so Fíli and Kíli had plenty of friends to play with. They couldn’t play King of the Mountain, because the enormous mound of snow at the end of one dead-end street had finally melted down to a sad pile of sooty slush that was only barely clinging to life in the warm spring sun. After some time – and no small amount of squabbling – they settled on playing hide and seek. They scattered in all directions, laughing and hooting as they went, except for Bálur who’d drawn the lot of the searcher.

Fíli and Kíli always hid together. It might not have been the smartest of strategies, because they sometimes forgot that staying hidden meant that you also had to stay quiet, but hiding alone was dull, so-

“-- poor lass is still so young herself, and the boys barely more than babes.”

“Are they Víli’s sons?” spat another voice, and that one Fíli recognised. “Could’ve fooled me. The precious little princes are Thorin’s sister’s sons, his heirs and not Víli’s, so I don’t see why I should trouble myself much over them.”

It was their Dad’s much older brother, their uncle who lived in the far southern edge of the Blue Mountains. They hadn’t seen him since the funeral, and not too many times before that.

Fíli bit his lip and clapped his hand on Kíli’s mouth to keep him quiet.

“Géli, aren’t you being a little unkind?” the stranger asked hesitantly. “One of your own blood will be King one day, you should be proud.”

“Will he now? King of what?” uncle Géli sneered. “The King and the Princess, and all those fine Lords and Ladies, they were all beggars when they came here, and are little better now, cleaning out flooded and collapsed caverns you or me wouldn’t even dare have nightmares about living in. It should’ve been her that joined our family, not Víli going over to theirs. I told him, I told him, but they got what they needed out of my poor brother and now he’s dead.”

“You’re still grieving,” the stranger said, his voice now a little sterner though no less uncomfortable. “You’re grieving, and you’ll regret speaking like that when your pain eases.”

“Yes, I grieve for my brother, as is proper. I loved him, and love him still, and a good thing that I do, since his widow hardly cares,” uncle Géli said by the way of farewell, and then he left, gravel crunching angrily under his boots as he went.

Fíli wasn’t sure how they got out of their hiding place, but once they did, Kíli took away running like a bolt from a crossbow. Fíli had no chance but to follow, from street to alley to street, and then up the mountainside where they weren’t allowed to go. Among the jagged rocks and broken pillars that had been cleared out of their future home there was a nook under a ledge that looked mostly solid, and that’s where Kíli collapsed, crying his eyes out.

Fíli sat next to him and pulled him to a hug. Pain and humiliation and rejection were twisting like a knife inside him, but his tears refused to fall. He felt numb, and cold all over although the day was warm, and he thought that this was maybe how Mum had felt when Dad had died. She had just stared at him for the longest time when he’d been brought home, long enough that people had started to fidget, and then she had sighed, just once, and started to prepare for the funeral.

Not that there had been much to prepare.

There hadn’t been enough food or fuel to spare for a proper feast, and barely enough ale to avoid a public embarrassment. A sad affair in more ways than one; Fíli could remember funeral rites performed over the body that looked like his Dad and yet didn’t look like him at all. There had been another set of rites after the first ones, because Broadbeams and Longbeards didn’t have the same way of paying their proper respects to their dead. Then Dad had been interred in stone, and then it was over and they didn’t have a Dad anymore.

The rest of the winter had been a blur. He could only remember being sad, the days and weeks that followed Dad’s death. But now it was spring and he forgot to be sad, sometimes. He would wake up happy and he’d be laughing, and then he’d remember and feel bad about being happy, when he really, really should’ve been sad.

Just like now.

Dad hadn’t even been dead for half a year, why had he been playing hide and seek with the other dwarflings who all still had their Dads?

Fresh wave of grief washed over him, and along it came guilt, so much guilt that Fíli thought it would choke him. He buried his face in Kíli’s hair and something finally cracked inside him and that something was what let him cry.

*

They were found at sunset, red eyed, exhausted, and far past just hungry and cold. Mister Dwalin was practically shaking with fury as he spotted them, his feet somehow barely slipping on the loose rocks as he strode towards them with a constant stream of haven’t you’ve been told to stay out of here’s and everyone sick with worry’s, at least until he got a proper look at them and clamped his mouth shut. Fíli didn’t want to imagine what they were looking like, if it had such an effect. He was just distantly glad when mister Dwalin picked them up and started to carry them down the mountainside. Moments earlier it had seemed impossible to just go back home after they’d been gone for so long, but now all he wanted was food and for Mum to tuck them into their warm bed for the night.

But when they got back home, Mum wasn’t there, and neither was uncle Thorin, and supper had long since cooled on the stove. Even the fire in the fireplace was down to just embers, though still giving up enough warmth that Fíli was grateful for it.

“Everyone’s out looking for you,” mister Dwalin said before they asked and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor next to the fireplace. “Eat.”

“It’s all cold,” Kíli had the time to whine before mister Dwalin grabbed a loaf of bread, tore it in half and tossed it to them before turning his attention to restarting the fire.

*

“He was lying,” Kíli said vehemently through a mouthful of bread on the same second that mister Dwalin stepped out of the door to alert everyone that they had been found. “He was lying and wrong, and Mum did love Dad, just like in the stories.”

“Of course,” Fíli said, fairly certain that he’d just told a lie.

No one loved each other like they did in the stories, except maybe Kíli, who fell in love about once a week; when with a playful magpie that kept following him and pulling his hair, when with the baker who gave them a sweet roll with their bread and told them they were good lads for running a basic errand. Kíli had even asked mister Balin about how you were supposed to recognise the eternal sort of love among all the others, and then he’d ignored every single word, when mister Balin had explained that ‘eternal love’ was what the dramatic sort of poets made out of the very sensible habit of marrying only once to prevent wars of inheritance between half-siblings. That had happened a lot, back when the world was young and dwarves could still afford to go to war against each other as well as orcs. Not that being full siblings had always prevented wars either, to make no mention of uncles or cousins.

Fíli couldn’t imagine anything like that happening now, not even with Ori’s older brothers who fought as easy as breathing, and about as regularly. Not that any armies would’ve been foolish enough to get involved in their bickering, even if they had tried to declare a war on each other over whatever’d gotten their beards in a knot this week.

Kíli was a little strange like that, so worried about storybook love perhaps not being real that he hadn’t even noticed what had hit Fíli right away – that their uncle didn’t seem to care about them at all. That was wrong, wrong, wrong; even if you didn’t like your own blood you were still supposed to care. Kin was what people had even when they had nothing else, that was how the world was made, that was how it was supposed to work!

Except when people went to war against their own blood.

Except for all the times in all the histories where being kin was no kind of shield at all.

Or, Fíli thought mutinously, maybe the stories got it right sometimes. It seemed like parents sometimes died in half a sentence, simply vanished from the story like they’d never existed at all, and afterwards their children were left with two kinds of uncles. And always, always it was father’s brother who was the rival and the betrayer and mother’s brother who took his sister’s children in and treated them like they were his own.

Maybe that was how the world was made.

Fíli didn’t like the thought much.

He wanted to think that uncle Thorin sang them to sleep and spared his rare dessert for them because he liked them, not because some storybook rules made him do it, whether he wanted to or not.

He wanted to think that the stranger had been right, that uncle Géli would regret saying all those things after some time had passed. That he hadn’t been destined to hate them from the start whether he wanted to or not.

He wanted to believe their Dad had mattered.

Then Mum and uncle Thorin burst through the door, white-faced with anger, or maybe fear, and Fíli didn’t have time to think much anything else for a while.

*

Kíli was dead to the world before his head hit the pillow, but Fíli didn’t want to sleep just yet.

“’m not tired yet,” he mumbled and doggedly sat up.

“I can see that,” Mum whispered. “But how about you lie down and see what happens anyway?”

That sounded like a trick to make him fall asleep even though he wasn’t actually tired, and he said as much.

Mum laughed.

“Well, what would you like to do, since you’re definitely not tired? How about a game of dice? Or you could lie down and see if you can count to hundred, that might be fun.”

“Tell me something about Dad? Something I haven’t heard before?”

Mum sighed slowly, her laughter fading away.

“I didn’t know him for very long at all,” she said quietly. “Your aunt Hetli is his father’s sister and knew him all his life, she could tell you more than I can.”

“Something?” Fíli pleaded. “Please?”

It felt suddenly very important to hear something about Dad, anything at all, to prove he wasn’t fading into nothing like that great, big pile of snow at the end of the street.

“All right. Something.” Mum thought for a while. “Did you know your Dad once gave me a wooden knife?”

“What under Earth is a wooden knife good for?”

“Nothing.” Mum smiled a little. “He simply had a spare piece of wood and a spare moment of time and he didn’t like to sit still doing nothing for long.”

“It wasn’t meant for anything, and not worth anything either. I didn’t know what to make of it, or him, we’d barely arrived to the Blue Mountains a month before. He told me to use it for kindling if I wanted to.”

“Did you?”

“No, I still have it. It made me smile. That might’ve been what it was for. And maybe showing off, just a little.”

“Dad was good at carving,” Fíli whispered.

Thinking about the wooden animals and tools Dad had made for him and Kíli felt like a shard of glass lodged in his throat.

“He was,” Mum said sadly. “Try to sleep now, it’s far past your bedtime.”

Fíli settled obediently back down. Mum kissed his forehead and crept out of the room.

Now he was feeling wide awake for real.

*

Fíli’s eyes burned with exhaustion, but he couldn’t fall asleep. He’d forgotten how you were supposed to do that, since it didn’t usually take such an effort. He tried not to toss and turn too much, though. Kíli slept like a rock and probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d climbed to the ceiling rafters and jumped down on him, but it still felt impolite to disturb him. When he finally gave up and crawled out of bed, he made sure to tuck the blankets around Kíli as well as he could, so that if he did wake up, at least he wouldn’t be cold.

It wasn’t like Fíli was the only one who was still awake. He could hear low voices from behind the door that had been left slightly ajar, just like every night. But unlike every other night, Fíli crept closer to the door and carefully nudged it open a little more, so that he’d be able to hear the conversation better. Only maybe he hadn’t been as careful as he should’ve been, because the voices fell silent and then footsteps approached. Uncle Thorin opened the door and Fíli did his best to look innocent, even though he was out of bed and technically eavesdropping, or at least trying to.

“Can’t sleep?” uncle Thorin asked quietly.

Fíli shook his head.

Uncle Thorin didn’t say anything else. He picked him up and pushed the door almost shut, the way it had been, before walking back to his well-battered armchair close by the fire.

“Where’s Mum?” Fíli asked, craning his neck.

Mister Dwalin was there, but since he was almost always there, that didn’t really count.

“She’ll be back soon. She went out to clear some things with someone.”

“She went to yell at uncle Géli?”

Uncle Thorin choked on his pipe a little.

“She went to speak with your aunt. I expect Hetli will yell at him.”

“She’s back from the south?”

“Arrived today. Which you would’ve known, if you’d have been anywhere to be found.”

There was no edge to uncle Thorin’s reproach, but Fíli still felt a little bad about it.

“I don’t think uncle Géli likes us much,” Fíli said hesitantly. “Or at all, more like.”

“Géli is a miserable bastard, who’s met you all of four times,” uncle Thorin said tartly. “It’s me he doesn’t like much.”

“Or at all,” mister Dwalin put in.

“Or at all,” uncle Thorin admitted.

“And you with your winning personality.”

Fíli had a feeling that uncle Thorin might have thrown something at mister Dwalin, if it hadn’t been the middle of the night, and if he’d been holding something other than Fíli. As it was, he was reduced to puffing his pipe at him in a would-be rude manner. It didn’t have much of an effect.

Whatever uncle Thorin and mister Dwalin had been talking about had clearly been something they didn’t want Fíli to hear, because they didn’t continue their conversation. He wished they’d talk about something, but they seemed content to keep smoking in silence, so Fíli had nothing to distract him from the questions that were bubbling inside him. Problem was, there were too many questions and feelings all jumbled together and he wasn’t really sure how to make them turn into words anyone else might understand.

“Would you still like us if you didn’t have to?” Fíli blurted out his first coherent thought.

He felt uncle Thorin’s muscles tense.

“If I didn’t have to?” uncle Thorin said through clenched teeth.

He put his pipe down.

It occurred to Fíli suddenly that uncle Thorin’s light joking with mister Dwalin might have been for his benefit only, and that uncle Thorin was actually really very angry.

“Sorry?” he tried quickly.

“Don’t. Don’t apologise,” uncle Thorin said tightly. “You have done nothing wrong.”

Mister Dwalin had stopped smoking too. He didn’t look very happy either.

“You’re my blood,” uncle Thorin said. He was getting his voice back under control, but his muscles were still clenched up so tight it felt like sitting in a lap of a stone carving. “You matter to me more than my life. I am sorry, if I’ve given you cause to believe otherwise.”

“But if we weren’t?” Fíli insisted. Uncle Thorin didn’t understand. “If Mum wasn’t your sister? If you were like uncle Géli?”

“Maker spare us,” mister Dwalin muttered.

“Fíli,” uncle Thorin said carefully. “You are my sister’s sons. That is how things are. But do you think I would care for you less, if you were my brother’s? Do you think I would shun Frerin’s children, if he had lived old enough to have any?”

It sounded stupid, to hear it said like that.

What did fairy-tales know.

“Can you tell me a story?” Fíli asked regardless.

Listening to silence wasn’t doing him any good and the crackling fire wasn’t loud enough to drown his remaining doubts. Besides the story was one he had heard a thousand times before, so he didn’t actually have to pay attention to it.

Uncle Thorin’s voice washed over him and carried him to sleep in minutes.

*

Fíli wasn’t sure, when people stopped calling him a prince. Maybe it happened bit by bit, much like the Longbeards slowly settling into their new life on the Blue Mountains. He was glad for the change. The voices were always kinder when they used his name, even if they were still yelling at him to get out of the way of the merchants’ wagons.

If there was something he did know for certain, it was that a year later, when mister Dwalin put a steel sword in his hand for the first time, was also the first time in his life that he felt like a prince for real.

[fullmoonfireball]

🖊 any one! pick the one you like!

the phrasing of “the one [I] like”, implying I only like one of my OCs, is killing me

anyways lets go with uhhhhhhh Penelope/CPI!Penny since i have quite a bit about her i havent posted:

Penelope’s allergic to fish, which is a big reason why she and her dad are vegetarian.

Herbert’s go-to nickname for her is “princess” 

She has a part-time job at the Snowmelt Shop, and she has a little igloo around Mt. Blizzard for when she doesn’t want to go back to the iceberg base.

Her ~brilliant, flawless disguise~ was her dad’s idea. He was both the one to send her to the island so she could spy on those birds, and y’know. the one who came up with using the Paper Cone™.

Thanks to this she’s a minor antagonist at first and it’s weird.

She probably tried to talk the agents-to-be out of sending Jazz to Herbert’s base in Icy Infiltration because “it’s probably really dangerous there!”

However, she’s the “player character” for Gathering Storm, Hot Bottle, and Double Click while Jazz is... unavailable.

Around the beginning of Gathering Storm, Rookie invited her along to help with... whatever they were going to do before Herbert started making threats. 

Despite having given her dad info on where the island’s weak points are, Penny is like.. horrified that he actually attacked? She didn’t think he would go that far, and ESPECIALLY not that he’d (almost) hurt anyone. Like, she was already kinda doubting her dad because the penguins she was sent to spy on were genuinely really nice, but that was the last straw.

So Penny feels awful for what happened  and keeps apologizing (though AA and JPG don’t understand why) as she helps fix everything up.

Hot Bottle is just further pushing Pen' from villainy, even if she’s SUPER reluctant to actually follow Herbert's trail because she really doesn’t want to confront him.

Honestly I just have her doing Double Click instead of Jazz because I think there’s a lot of good comedic potential with 1) Pen’ already being fluent in crab so she can talk with Klutzy and 2) her answering honestly to “Are you a penguin?” and it going completely over Rookie’s head.

[mamamittens]

Powdered Sugar

this is self inserty nonsense after reality checking myself yesterday, feel free to ignore it. Because I love the bread man but I am also painfully introverted and would absolutely do this irl. You would not catch my demi ass doing 'love at first sight' let alone one night stands.

So this is also SFW and could be considered either platonic or romantic.

ThatchXSI/OC

Warnings: Mentions of hypothermia and related problems.

Concept art I made while developing the character properly.

What I wouldn't give to nap in a cocoon of soft feathers in an isolated winter cabin (✿◡‿◡)

Word Count: 4904

The Summer and Winter Isles were a relatively new discovery for the crew. More well known for an ‘out of the way getaway’, the two islands hosted a wide variety of activities for anyone willing to make the trip. Oyaji was more than happy to make the stop, even allowing his sons to choose between the two islands for a brief holiday. They were close enough that you could feasibly book a trip from one island to the other in a daily service mostly used to trade goods between them. Many chose to stay on the Summer Isle for the ideal beach weather and fantastic spa resort. Though a few were willing to give the Winter Isle a chance.

Especially after they heard it was famous for natural hot springs.

Thatch, ultimately a man of culture, had a very different reason for going to the Winter Isle. It was rumored to hold a curious variety of natural goods that you couldn’t find anywhere else. Like Frostburn Berries, which were a pale blue with red veins and were ranked as the third hottest berry on the Grand line. Or even Snowmelt Apples, which were pure white with a pale blue core and famed for their natural health benefits with a delicate, sweet taste. Since the whole crew was spread between the two isles, the kitchens on the Moby Dick were closed, so Thatch had all the time he wanted to explore and try these new ingredients for himself.

He didn’t quite expect the amount of Skypieans though… or maybe they’re related to Shandians? Apparently, they’re natives to the island and have a few differences from their more… sky bound counterparts. For one, their wings were a fair bit larger than the average Skypiean, and Winter Isles natives have fluffier wings as well. Odds were that every other shop or business he came across was ran by one, though that isn’t to say that no other species lived on the isles naturally. He saw quite a few fishmen on the Summer Isles that were clearly local, and several comfortable human families on both isles.

It was fascinating to see—especially when he rarely saw any Skypieans on his travels—or Shandians for that matter.

At a stall selling winter gear for newcomers, one such winged lady chatted on about the various amenities.

“One of those Whitebeards, huh? Well, try not to start any trouble while you’re here! Hate to set off an avalanche and bury the hot springs for a while. Nikia would get pissed with you, too.” Thatch looked up from his inspection of a ‘all-natural feather down’ coat, curious if the natives provide the feathers themselves, and didn’t even need to ask who she meant, “Nikia is considered the star of the rescue team. Not too friendly with people, but she’s real good at what she does. Stays up in a cabin on the mountain near the springs. If you ever get lost, find high ground and look for a red light. There are several rangers who live in cabins up there, including Nikia, and they never turn down travelers.”

“Huh… I’ll keep that in mind. Say, do you know where I can look for ingredients? I’m the commander of the fourth division and culinary chef. I heard there are a lot of interesting foods on this isle and wanted to try it for myself.” Thatch asked since the lady was being so helpful already.

She paused, pursing her lips.

“Well, that depends on what you want to find. Wander around for long enough and you’ll stumble onto something interesting to cook here. Don’t wander for too long though, we get snowstorms on a dime around this time of year and you don’t want to be caught in a whiteout.” She responded, walking around the store to pick up various items for him, “We have several species of fish that only thrive in this area, you can go to the ice lake over yonder and fish them up yourself or buy them in the marketplace. Of course, you could also just pick up the other local foods there too, but if you’re desperate to get em fresh just look for animal tracks. They grow really fast so most of the natural wildlife regularly visit the same areas for them.”

Thatch nodded, making a mental note to keep an eye out for tracks. He looked over the supplies she brought to the counter. They all looked well made and specifically for exploration. Thick snow boots, insulated overalls, and a pack with multiple padded sections. Presumably for supplies. She also set aside a bottle of what he was pretty damn sure was high grade booze.

“What’s that for? Isn’t it a bad idea to go hiking in the snow drunk?” Thatch asked. While he could absolutely hold his liquor, that was in casual settings. Parties and celebrations. Not in a near inhospitable wilderness. She cracked a smile and laughed.

“If you get too cold, a sip of this will warm you back up enough to find shelter. Frostburn Berry Booze. Definitely don’t down it in one go, but little nips should help here and there. I hear you Whitebeards can hold your drink so I thought this would go over better than super thick gloves. Which you should still wear by the way, but good luck picking anything in them.”

“You make booze out of those?!” Thatch asked, immediately making a note to buy some for Oyaji. Maybe he’d tell him before he took a bit drink of it… or maybe not.

This time the lady cackled.

“Sure do! Good luck, commander!” The lady cheered as he paid for his supplies and set out.

He was a Whitebeard Commander! He could handle a snowy mountain—especially with all this preparation!

He couldn’t wait to see what delicious food he could cook up with his inevitable bounty.

--*--

Nikia sighed, stretched out languidly on the window seat, wings twitching to resettle feathers after her short nap. Her cabin was just on the right side of toasty warm compared to the chilled windows she had slept beside. It had been a quiet week so far. Most of the snowstorms had rolled in slow enough that no one had gotten caught up unaware. And anyone that got lost for too long were easily found by the other rescue teams. As the least social person in her family, she was rarely bothered outside of work reasons.

Her cabin was mostly considered an emergency spot for lost travelers and a place to get the feeling back in their toes before heading over to the hot springs. So unless it was dire, they rarely called on her to find people out in the snow. It helped that most of her family was really good at finding people on the mountain. She wasn’t even the only one with a remote cabin for ‘lost travelers’ either, just the most well known one and had the largest space. For rather practical reasons, actually.

See, while her family and other locals all had wings—reportedly a bit larger than Skypieans—she was the only one unfortunate enough to grow them so large they dwarfed her body. So, the more modest cabins were a tad impractical, as they rarely had room for her to stretch without going outside. But they were soft and fluffy like clouds, so she thought it was a decent enough trade to occasionally have to attend to lost groups. In her spare time, she wrote books, which brought in their own money over time. Not that she needed it, with her housing being provided for her due to her ‘ranger’ status.

But still, it was a pretty nice life she had made for herself. Perfectly at ease being alone for long periods of time. Not that she was left alone for long enough to bother her very often. There were plenty of stupid people that visited Winter Isle.

“Bb-ring. Bb-ring. Bb-ring.” Shelldon dryly called out from his open terrarium where he rested most of the time. Sighing, Nikia walked over and answered the den den mushi, adjusting her round glasses back onto her face.

“Yellow, this is Nikia, Rescue Ranger supreme, how may I help you?” Nikia cheered in a falsetto tone.

Ginger’s familiar voice spoke up.

“Oh thank goodness you answered, Niki! One of those Whitebeard pirates went up the mountain for ingredients a few hours ago and none of the other rangers has seen him.” Nikia waited a moment longer as Ginger seemed to move away from her own receiver, “She’s the best at finding people, I promise! It’s too dangerous to go out right now!”

“His folks getting worried, Ginger? Actually, I think I hear the wind picking up… we got a storm rolling in, don’t we?” Nikia sighed, “Is he the only one?” Ginger’s voice faded out as she soothed whoever was with her for a few more moments.

“Yes! He’s the only one! Everyone else is accounted for between the cabins and the hot spring buildings. He’s wearing bright yellow snow gear last I saw him with a large brown pompadour. I don’t know if he put his hair down to wear a hat or not.” Nikia nodded.

“Alright, I’ll go out and look for him. Any allergies or medical problems before I get dressed?” Nikia asked, mentally preparing any recipes to warm him up.

Even with the gear Ginger sells, several hours outside is a bit much. The man is probably freezing cold right now, assuming he didn’t get lucky and find a den with wildlife chill with having a surprise roommate.

“Commander Thatch doesn’t have any allergies or medical problems! Please find him, ma’am!” Someone called out desperately.

“Alright, I’m on my way. I’ll give you a call back when I find him, Ginger.” Nikia said before hanging up.

Shoving on her own insulated winter gear, Nikia set out ingredients and added wood from her porch to sit near the fireplace. The recessed floor was already set up for emergency guests who needed to extra warmth, so she didn’t need to worry about that. Grabbing her rope and shoving on gloves, Nikia clambered up the roof hatch.

It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, but within the hour both the storm and nightfall will be here. She needed to work fast. Hopefully this ‘Thatch’ wasn’t too big, or she’d have to drag him on a sled.

Putting on her helmet, Nikia took a deep breath and expanded her wings, allowing the wind to sweep between the primary feathers as she bent her knees.

The familiar slopes of the mountain came alive in her mind as she mentally searched for the stranger. Letting out a pleased note, Nikia took off.

For once, the person she was looking for was really close by. Collapsed, but still breathing. He was clearly trying to make it to her cabin before his legs gave out from under him. At the very least he had the sense to wear a hat, any sign of a ‘pompadour’ lost under the fuzzy wool. He was also taller than her.

His pale face turned towards her, eyes squinting up into the shade her wingspan provided as she landed in the snow before him. An old scar curved around one eye but otherwise, he looked pretty ordinary. Maybe a bit too cold to be considered ‘handsome’ though. Lifting her visor, Nikia spoke up over the thick snowfall.

“Bit cold for a scavenger hunt, buddy! You Thatch?” Nikia asked. After a long moment where the man visibly seemed to struggle, he nodded.

“Y-Yeah.” The man whispered hoarsely.

“Well, you’re in good hands now. Can you hold onto me or do I need to secure you?” Nikia asked, carefully lifting him from the mounting snow. His arms were shaking but firm as he shuddered, eagerly clinging to her for any semblance of warmth. With quick work, Nikia secured a rope around the lines of her gear made for just this. Crossing around his back to help him hold on. Carefully, Nikia shut her visor and lowered them both, chuckling at the horrified whine the man let slip. Like he thought she did all that work just to set him down into he snow again. “Easy, sir. Just need some leverage for takeoff.”

Thatch barely had time to groan in question before she was airborne. His arms tightened around her shoulders like a vice in panic as she gripped his thighs to prevent him from kicking. While the added weight burned, Nikia felt comfortable enough with the distance from her cabin to pull it off. Though perhaps she should have warned the man beforehand.

Eh. It was a little funny.

With only some struggle between the weight of a full grown man and the frigid wind, Nikia made good time. The lights of her cabin a beacon in the growing twilight. Setting back down a few feet from her enclosed porch, Nikia released Thatch from the ropes and partly dragged him in. The man was still shaking, so she had to help remove his boots and outerwear.

“I know, you’re freezing, but that fire can’t help you through five layers in insulation fast enough. Just curl up and relax while I get you sometime warm to eat.” Nikia reassured him as she dropped him into the pile of warm blankets in the ‘conversational fire pit’. Thatch sighed through chattering teeth as he followed her instructions.

A short call to ginger as the soup warmed up later and Nikia brought out a big bowl for him.

Somehow, Thatch had managed to roll himself up in a ball trying to get warm, soft brown eyes following her with a shaky smile.

“T-Thanks.” He stuttered, releasing his hands to accept the bowl.

Nikia snorted. He was shaking so bad he’d spill the bowl all over himself if he tried.

“Uh, no. Not until you stop emulating an earthquake, bud.” Nikia dismissed, scooping up a spoonful and offering it.

The blush as he accepted his fate certainly brought much needed warmth to his pallor if nothing else. Thankfully for both of them, he was able to hold the bowl on his own after about half the contents were gone.

“T-This is good…” He muttered, eating faster as Nikia went to add some logs to the fireplace.

“I should hope so. It would be kind of mean to force you to eat garbage in your state.” Nikia muttered before looking back over at him, “How are you doing now?”

Thatch smiled as he took another spoonful of soup.

“Better. Still feel cold though—fuck—I wasn’t expecting it to be this cold outside.” Thatch complained, “Is it normal to feel it in my bones?”

“Considering how long you were outside, yeah. Just count yourself lucky you can move your extremities. I’ve never had to amputate and I don’t think you’d like me to start now.” Nikia teased, taking the empty bowl, “Full? Good. I think it’s time we both got some sleep. The storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon.”

“Wish Ace was here. He’s a little heater, even if he does complain when I hug him for too long.” Thatch grumbled, curling back into his cocoon of blankets. Turning off the lights, Nikia chuckled.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m a ‘little heater’ but as long as you keep your hands where they belong, I don’t mind. Unfortunately, it really won’t be a good sign if you’re still cold in the morning.” Nikia offered. Usually, she wouldn’t offer this to a stranger, but Whitebeard’s reputation spoke for itself. And as a commander, she expected Thatch to have the moral fiber necessary to not make a big deal out of a basic survival tactic.

Thatch looked at her with wide eyes before grinning.

“Well, I won’t say no to a pretty lady! Uh… how is this going to work?” Thatch faltered for a moment. While he was absolutely bigger than her in terms of height, her wingspan was nothing to sneeze at. She put her glasses onto the mantle for safe keeping.

“No pulling feathers out, for one. Unless you want to piss me off and get kicked out onto the porch.” Nikia replied dryly, sliding in next to him and stretching out one of her wings, “Now lay down and don’t hog the covers. If you behave, I might make breakfast.” Nikia offered.

Hesitantly, Thatch leaned back onto the thick feathers, reluctantly releasing his hold on the mountain of blankets he’d commandeered. With some adjusting and a very firm pull to drag him closer—otherwise what was the point of offering the warmth of skin contact?—Nikia pulled her free wing over them. Creating a warm pocket of air Thatch clearly appreciated.

After several long moments Thatch curling his arms around her back, mindful of her wings, a slight tremor still present. His voice rumbled in her ear where it was pressed against his shirt.

“You’re Nikia, right?” Thatch asked softly.

She snorted, realizing she hadn’t even introduced herself.

“The one and only. Now go to sleep before I make you.”

“Okay… I’m making breakfast though. It’s the least I can do.”

Refraining from smacking him, Nikia sighed.

“…This is literally my job.”

“Blessing stupid men with your warmth and presence?”

“Saving stupid men from hypothermia.” Nikia growled, “Now. Go. To. Sleep. Most people thermoregulate best when they rest. It should take care of any lingering chill before you get sick. And I’m taking you to the village if you get sick long before I play nursemaid.”

“… I mean, you kind of already are—”

“Sleep.”

“Yes ma’am.”

--*--

Thatch wasn’t actually sure where he was when he woke up. Clearly, he slept for longer than he intended to. Fuzzy with sleep, Thatch eagerly curled closer to whoever his bed partner was. He felt so warm it almost distracted him from realizing he didn’t recognize anything. Whoever’s shoulder he was nuzzling didn’t smell familiar, nor did they feel familiar. And while he was no stranger to one night stands, he was a little too clothed for that to be the case.

There did seem to be a surplus amount of feathers around him though. Adding to the soft smell of snow, salt, and something earthy. Pulling away, his memories came back to him slowly.

Nikia was pretty short next to him, massive snowy wings encasing them with black speckles like the freckles on her pale skin. Dressed comfortably for sleep, it was clear she didn’t get up to anything either. Soft brown hair curled around her face as her nose twitched. Thatch was only a little disappointed before he remembered how exactly he ended up where he was.

Right.

The sudden snow storm. By that point he had already decided to give foraging a rest and headed to where he could see a red light. And then his legs gave out from the cold. And he actually thought he had died when someone descended from above with massive wings and a black helmet.

Thankfully, he was plenty warm now. But he distinctly remembers promising breakfast, and Thatch would be damned before he broke that promise to the young lady. Carefully, he pulled away while trying not to lean too heavily on the massive wing he was laying on before. Feathers almost ridiculously soft and thick under his hands, Thatch briefly wondered how often Nikia had to clean them. If she could even reach all of them to begin with.

The cabin was large, ceiling high enough that Oyaji could easily sit inside with a loft up above with a hatch to the roof. Bookcases spanned most of the walls filled with colorful tomes. He even recognized a few of them, much to his surprise. Pearl of the Sea and The Adventures of Captain Billy and His First Mate, among them. Every book that had come out yet, in fact. Which was surprising to Thatch because while the adventure series was fairly popular among pirates, the romance book wasn’t a hit at all as far as he knew. Ironically, Thatch had only read the adventure series because he recognized the author from the little known romance novel and had gotten hooked.

Maybe he could chat with Nikia about this new, shared interest over breakfast? Or maybe she knew better spots to find the fresh ingredients he had hoped to experiment with. He wasn’t picky. With a quick glance at the fireplace, Thatch magnanimously decided to add a few more logs to the pile, watching them catch before moving onto his actual intended task.

After a quick inspection of the kitchen—and a solid minute of admiring the winter landscape outside the window—Thatch got to work. Nikia was pretty stocked for someone living in an isolated cabin on a mountain. In fact, she had many of the curious ingredients Thatch had come here to find in specialized containers on the windowsills. While a fridge would be Thatch first guess to put them, they probably lasted longer right where they were. Still! He wasn’t here to admire the ingenious set up of the cabin.

He was here to make breakfast.

Pancakes, specifically. There was even syrup he could use! He’d never heard of the type though, and after sampling it with a clean spoon, he found he liked the rich taste of… he paused and looked at the bottle again. Snowmelt trees? The same tree the apples came from? Well, how can he say no to that?

It was actually kind of fun cooking in a kitchen he was unfamiliar with. Every drawer and ingredient felt like an adventure to his senses. New spices he’d never heard of, fruits he’d never seen, and even an open recipe book on soups for wintertime delighted him to no end. Still, he never lost sight of his goal, easily whipping up pancakes with his new ingredients. Thankfully, flour and milk were the same regardless of their origin or he might have had trouble.

“Do you help yourself to everyone’s kitchen, or just mine?” Thatch nearly threw the batter bowl through the window. A soft, accented voice grumbling just behind him. Turning his head nervously, Thatch laughed when he realized who it was.

Somehow, Nikia was able to sneak up on him despite her massive wingspan, which he thought would make more noise. Enough to tell him when she woke up at least.

“Hey! I promised breakfast!” Thatch defended himself. Nikia sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose with a roll of her eyes. They were just slightly too blue to be gray and softer than any other he’d seen despite the sharp cut of her gaze. It felt like she was cutting clear through him in an instant.

“Yeah. I suppose you did. I also told you it was unnecessary. I was literally just doing my job.” Nikia swept past him, smacking his side with a wing ‘accidentally’ as she got herself a glass of what looked like juice. Thankfully he was sturdy enough to hold his ground against the assault of feathers.

But Nikia didn’t interfere with his cooking any further than that, so he took the blank check for what it was and went back to work.

In short order he had a decent spread of pancakes and some sort of bacon ready to go. Naturally, he set out plates for the both of them, eager to see how she liked his cooking.

He was a little disappointed at her lackluster reaction. While it was clear she enjoyed the perfectly golden pancakes, as well as the crispy bacon, her expression barely wavered from ‘vaguely annoyed and tired’. Maybe he’d been spoiled with black holes like Ace who loudly and vigorously enjoyed his work. Or maybe he’d need to work harder to break what he was pretty sure was just a strong ‘resting bitch face’. Marco had something similar after all.

Nikia seemed a bit serious, though. Deadpan and focused on her job, Thatch could recall her comment about amputation that he was too tired to think about at the time. The lady at the stall did tell him she wasn’t very friendly.

Then again, neither was Ace when they first met.

Grinning, Thatch resolved himself to his new goal.

Get Nikia to smile. Much like Ace, Thatch was sure Nikia’s smile was bright and beautiful somewhere under that cold exterior. She could have let him warm up by the fire alone, after all. It probably would have been smarter, in fact.

But she didn’t. And Thatch would bet his best cookbook it was because she was actually really sweet. And he wanted to prove it.

--*--

“Ring. Ring. Ring.” Marco picked up the receiver from the den den mushi set beside him as he reclined on the beach next to Oyaji, enjoying the beautiful weather on the Summer Isle.

“This is Marco, yoi.”

“Fantastic. This is Nikia, from the Winter Isle.” Marco glanced over the horizon towards the distant isle. The person sounded annoyed and feminine, the snail mimicking a deadpan expression.

“…Yes?”

“I need you to get your man.” Marco snorted and Oyaji bellowed with laughter.

“Uh… And who would that be, yoi?”

“A Commander Thatch? He’s yours, right? I didn’t call some other Marco, not with Whitebeard?” Marco sighed.

“Yeah, he’s ours. What’d he do?” Marco laid back down, mentally and emotionally preparing himself for whatever bullshit Thatch was getting up to now.

“He won’t fucking leave.” Nikia hissed, “He keeps cooking meals in my kitchen and going out to get more shit to cook more shit. Does he not have a whole damn kitchen on your ship?! Is it not enriched enough for him?”

Oyaji kept laughing.

“Who are you talking to, Nikia? I wanted to ask you for your opinion on this new recipe I tried—Oh! Hi Marco!” Thatch called out.

“Would you just begone already you foul specter of my household! Why do you keep cooking shit for me?!”

“Thatch… Why are you haunting random civilians?” Marco asked dryly, already suspecting what was going on.

Thatch only got like this when he was trying to impress someone, after all.

“She saved my life, Marco! I only wanted to return the favor with a good meal!” Thatch defended himself.

“It! Is! My! Job! Go away!” something heavy smacked into something else repeatedly, like this Nikia was using a pillow to beat into Marco’s brother. Which he probably deserves.

“Thatch, I think she’d appreciate your absence more than your presence.” Marco informed him. It had only been three days, how had Thatch inspired this strong of a response already?

“But I’m so close, I can feel it!” Thatch proclaimed before whispering, “She almost smiled at a joke I made last night!”

Marco sighed.

“Thatch… you cannot harass someone into returning a crush. Leave the poor woman alone.” Marco could hear Thatch sputter over Oyaji’s laughter.

“I am not! It’s called courting—”

“My kitchen is not your experiment lab! Leave already!”

“Are you sure she knows that?” Marco asked.

“Is this about the guy--?”

“Who you scared shitless last night? A little! My job is literally to prevent people from becoming popsicles! And I can’t do that if you terrify them into wanting to run back out into a snowstorm!”

“In all fairness, I only said that because he was being inappropriate!”

“Oh, he’s hardly the only one that’s bought into the ‘share warmth for survival but make it sexy’ trope! Usually, I find that a handful of Frostburn Berries in their soup clears that misconception right up!”

“Thatch, if I have to leave this perfectly lovely beach to drag you out of a snow covered mountain, I’m dumping you into the ocean.” Marco dryly informed him, “So either leave or fix it.”

“Agh! Fine! I’m sorry!” Thatch cried out, “Let me make it up to you with this lovely—”

“Leave!”

The line went dead as Oyaji laughed again.

“Ah. Young love.”

When the week was up and they collected the whole crew, Thatch was one of the last ones to arrive. Bundles of new ingredients and—for some reason—a new set of pillows and blankets.

Thatch was beaming as he waved a small piece of paper in Marco’s face. He could only make out a few numbers and a name before Thatch stowed it away.

“I was right!” Thatch crowed victoriously.

Marco raised his brow.

“About…?”

“She has a beautiful smile! And a lovely laugh!”

“Ah, so she didn’t try to smother you in your sleep. Strong woman.” Ace commented as he walked by with a new smattering of freckles and a deeper tan.

Thatch immediately launched into an explanation of his ‘guardian angel’ and how beautiful she was. And secretly kind. And had good taste in books. And so on and so forth.

“Hey, isn’t that the name of that author you like?” Ace asked with a scrunched up nose.

Thatch froze, horror on his face.

“WAIT. HOLD ON. FUCK—I GOTTA GO BACK AND ASK—”

Marco grabbed the back of his shirt.

“Absolutely not. I think she’d actually murder you if you stormed back now after whatever miracle you pulled off before.”

“You’re right! I’ll call her!” Marco did his best to suppress a massive sigh.

He wished them both good luck.

[stumbleimg]

Waterfall swollen by snowmelt in the Sierra Ancha Wilderness, Arizona [6336x9504][OC]

[theharellan]

please don’t reblog this post if we’re not mutuals!

Holidays among the elvhen rebellion and the agents of Fen’Harel are difficult to pin down. It would be easy to say that, because they were a cause that struggled against the gods, they avoided any holiday that once bore the influence of the evanuris, but holidays often continue to hold meaning even among former believers. They represent community, morals, history, etc, and are still celebrated in the sanctuary of Fen’Harel or wherever else the rebels found themselves.

Days significant to the rebellion alone evolved as their cause continued. Many marked the day their vallaslin was removed, or for agents who kept their vallaslin (not uncommon by any means, some for ease of infiltration and others for personal reasons) then the day they took a new name may be marked instead. This was actually quite novel in Elvhenan, as I don’t believe exact dates of birth were often marked. Solas himself has no idea when he was born, although he has a better idea of the day his vallaslin was removed.

How the day is spent would depend on the person, for some it may be jubilant celebration and others a day of quiet reflection. For two examples from my own pool of agent ocs, Vher will find something to treat themself with and will try to spend the day with friends, while Adahleni is more likely to meditate upon the ways he has grown since taking a new name.

The method through which vallaslin was removed had a ritual evolve around it, first a conversation would be had before a decision was made. There were elves who remained in the sanctuary full-time who were available to new recruits or refugees considering the process, and on occasion Fen’Harel himself might intercede, although oftentimes in disguise as he was aware that despite his disavowal of his own divinity his words lent greater weight and stood a greater chance of influencing their decision. Those he was closer to (Felassan, for instance) he would sooner talk openly with.

The removal itself was often done in groups, and not strictly performed by Fen’Harel, as I do think that others could have learned the process of removing them. Words would be said before and after, although the speaker’s role varied. One of the aforementioned elves may speak a few words on the group’s behalf, with the ritual ending once the words Solas speaks in the grove are spoken: ar lasa mala revas. Afterwards, many wash themselves in the water surrounding Fen’Harel’s sanctuary before rejoining their siblings in arms, catching glimpses of their reflections for the first time in the still pools of water caught between the rocks.

Solas himself doesn’t mark the day, having a different relationship with it than many. His own removal was not so ritualised, performed by himself in a moment of trauma, and done in a period where his grasp on time was not concrete enough that he knows the day for certain. He only knows it was springtime, for the snowmelt had swelled the rivers of the lands he walked through.

[sleepingdragonhq]

is that cha eunwoo? no, that’s just loire han. he is a half-veela and studies at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry as a seventh year slytherin. rumor has it he inherited the curse that killed his father and is struggling to find a cure for it. some say he is dedicated and welcoming but i’ve heard others say he can be delicate and secretive. ( fox / 18 / est / he&him )

hey loire han! has anyone told you that you look exactly like cha eunwoo, or is that just me? either way, it’s good to see you! you’ve got 24 hours to get to your dorm, or someone might take your spot!