#diamot

[dizzyst4rs]

1 of 2 commissions for @smmybb of his designs of mot & dianite from mianite! i know. very little abt mianite but i enjoyed drawing these two a lot ;w;

[3fling]

day 3 • mottled

mot: i’d never hurt a mate a’ dia’s

tom: oh, phew

mot: oh no, mate, i’m gonna fuck you up

[the-moon-pal]

IV for Dia/Mot

Hold ur husband for good luck

[montrovy]

Didn’t vibe with finishing this but still wanted to post this so, H

[correctmianitequotes]

Dianite: This is my ex-boyfriend.

Mot: You’ve got to stop introducing me like that.

Mot: I’m his husband.

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Starry

Jericho threw the door to the Inn open, making eye contract with Tom, who was behind the bar, polishing a glass.

“Hey Tucker! Look! I’m a fuckin bartender.”

Tucker looked at the nearly empty room. A man was passed out, head on the table, a glass of... something in his hand. There were little particles floating in it, like stars in the sky. Jericho picked it up, sniffing it. Gingerly, he sipped it, the strong taste overwhelming and disgusting, burning his mouth. Ew. He set it down, debating if the bad drink was a zombie thing or a Tom thing. Probably both.

“Alright. Where’s everyone else? I need to tell them something. And why are you-“

“Ladia asked me to help clean up a little. So I did! I found a really cool looking rock, and it’s mine now. But the guy came in asking for a drink so I got him one!”

Jericho ran his hands over his face.

“Look, where’s Wag? Where’s Sparkelz? Martha? Dianite? Mot?”

Tom set the glass down.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Where are they.”

Tom raised his hands in defeat, staring at the ceiling, thinking.

“Sleeping, I don’t know, probably with Ladia, new house.”

“New house?”

“Yeah, Dia and Mot got a house in the city.”

“With what money?!?!”

“Oh, they’re like, super fucking rich now.”

“Since when???”

Tom shrugged, “Dunno? They mentioned a bet of some sort a week ago, and now they’ve got a goddamn house.”

“Why was I never told about this?!?”

Tom jumped over the bar, nearly hitting the ceiling, landing without an ounce of grace.

“Because you were too busy getting dicked down by that wizard bitch. I can’t pronounce his name.”

Jericho flushed bright red, smacking Tom over the head.

“That’s not what we’re doing, and his name is Gijsbert. I need to tell you something.”

“That you’re fucking the wizard? I knew it! You’re traitoring all of us for wizard co-“

Jericho shoved him, Tom cackling. “No! Not that! Jesus, Tom!”

“Then what is it?”

“Stop interrupting me!” Jericho cried. Tom blinked owlishly. He was wearing a little leather sheath around his waist for that knife he got, thank god.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said with the tone of a man who knew he was doing something.

“Well-“

“It’s not my fault you talk so slow!”

“If you would just-“

“Come on, spill the beans. But it can’t be that bad-“

“There are shadows here.”

Tom shut his jaw with a click. His hand went to the knife on his hip. His green skin seemed just a little paler, if that was even possible.

“Like that Historian dude?” He whispered, “And the guys from the first island?”

Jericho nodded.

“We got to go tell them. Come on- follow me, I know where they live. Dia and Mot, I mean.”

Tom pushed past him and out of the bar, into the night enveloping Vatredas.

—

“It’s fucking locked?” Jericho whined. Tom shot him a glare from where he kneeled by the lock. He had two sticks he found in the ground and sharpened to thin, sharp points with his knife. Unsurprisingly, they made pisspoor lock picks. The house looked lovely, Jericho had to admit, stone brick and some sort of dark wood- it almost looked like a Dianite version of Martha’s house, except just a little more compact.

Tom leaned back from the lock, studying it with the gaze of a man who has never picked a lock before. That is to say, confused.

“I could kick it down,” he offered.

Jericho groaned, took a few steps backwards, cracking his neck. “Alright, I’m gonna do something, do me a favor and don’t scream.”

Tom looked up from the lock, face utterly confused, and not just from the lock.

Jericho waved his hand to shut him up, and thought of being on the inside of that door. A little flower petal slipping through the cracks of door. Swirling, slipping, then on the inside... The world swirled around him. He opened his eyes.

The foyer (was it called a foyer?) was just as nice as the outside, lit by lanterns and some strange orbs that floated in the air- probably magic. Not much tech in this universe, it seemed. He turned towards the door, undid the lock, and swung it open. Tom gaped at him, somehow more confused looking.

“You fuckin?”

Jericho waved his hand.

“It’s nothing. Um. Let’s go.”

“It’s not nothing! You! You fuckin! Wizard!!!”

“Come on, Tom, this is important!”

“Yeah! You teleported for the love of- how??”

Jericho covered his face with his hands, took a deep breath, then sighed.

“Let’s tell them,” Jericho said, “and then I’ll explain.”

Tom nodded, shakily standing up from outside the door.

“Yeah, you owe me an explanation.”

Heavy footsteps came from down the hall. Jericho whipped around, and there Dianite was, soaking wet, in nothing but a loosely tied bathrobe.

“I believe I’m owed an explanation as well,” Dianite cooed.

“Jericho can teleport!” Tom blurted. Dianite raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to say something, but Jericho quickly interrupted.

“There are shadows here,” he said.

Dianite’s face fell. He looked grim, as grim as one look while wearing a bathrobe.

“Then you both best make yourself at home. We have much to discuss.”

—

They ended up in the kitchen. Dianite made the three of them coffee, hot and fresh. It tasted nothing like the crap Gijsbert made, black and sour without sugar or cream. The fact it was warm instead of cold with disinterest (more like forgetfulness) made it just a little better.

Jericho took another sip.

“I don’t know much. All I know, really, is that they’re here. And they were in the first world as well, and... they’re bad news. Gijsbert is supposed to tell me more tomorrow. I’d like you to be there, since you, uh, know them.”

Dianite sighed.

“I don’t have my powers, Joshua.”

“It’s Jericho.”

“...Nevermind. I don’t have my magic. Can’t summon things, fly, anything. Still got my moxy, so does Mot... Tom,” Jericho sighed as Dianite turned to him, feeling the conversation start to go off it’s rails, “Do you know what size ring Mot wears?”

Tom shrugged, “Size 8? Mans got tiny hands.” He sipped his coffee.

“Good. I’m going to ask him to marry me.”

“Fun.” Tom said, taking another sip.

Dianite and Jericho made eye contact.

Tom spat out his coffee in shock, the words finally sinking in. He spilled it on himself, shreiking and cursing as he set the mug on the table, jolting out of the table and jumping in place. Jericho tilted his head, unable to tell if it was from pain or excitement.

“MARRY?”

“Tom, calm down.“ Jericho tried. Dianite was chuckling, the bastard.

“CALM DOWN? OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY YOU!”

“Tom, please,”

“HOLY SHIT! CAN I BE A FLOWER BOY? CAN WE BE FLOWER BOYS?”

“Tom, the shadows-“

“Actually,” Dianite said smoothly, “I was thinking you’d be my best man, Tom.”

Tom let out a wordless screech and Dianite laughed, hardy and happy.

“Alright, boyo. Keep it a secret. And Jericho?”

Jericho straightened up in his seat.

“Yes?”

“Let’s wait until tomorrow to discuss the shadows. We needn’t jump in head first while still uninformed. Now then,” he stood, speaking with an air of formality, “both of you, out. I have a bath to get back to.”

Jericho bit his lip, irritated beyond belief, but said nothing. If only he could’ve gotten Gijsbert to talk-

“Tomorrow, yeah, alright, sounds good.”

Jericho stood, knocking back the rest of his coffee like a shot, and walked to the door, Tom buzzing around him like a loud and coffee scented fly. He spoke in a rush, too fast to catch-

“Where are you going?”

Jericho sighed, almost sounding like a growl.

“Back to the library. Or the Inn. I need to sleep.”

“How can you sleep?” Tom shouted, “isn’t that amazing news!?!”

“Look, man, I just want it to be tomorrow already.”

Tom nodded, a little too frantic, taking Jericho by the wrist.

“Then stay up a little later, with me. The sun will rise when it rises but- look!” He gestured broadly to the sky, “It’s a nice night! All those stars!”

Jericho didn’t look at the sky, instead staring at the horizon. The sun would rise, eventually, and sunrise would destroy the black water of the sky. He slipped his wrist from Tom’s hold, watching as he stared at the sky, as if it would always be there, as if it would always be a glittering, golden night filled with stars.

He looked away from the sky. Staring at Jericho with a small, hopeful smile. Jericho shook his head.

They walked in silence back to the inn.

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Market

Dianite and Mot went to market at the crack of dawn at Dianite’s insistence. Mot tried to hide his excitement, just because he enjoyed seeing Dianite try to literally pull him along, tugging at him and, at one point, even trying to lift him at one point. But eventually, they got to the marketplace, right in the middle of Vatredas. The sun had barely risen, and yet there were still a crowd of finely clothed merchants setting up their stalls.

Mot watched as Dianite halted in his tracks, a smile on his face. When he first saw the market it took him back to his home and the domain he had over the merchants of Ruxomar, and his hands itched to be behind one of those stalls, selling and trading and haggling over the prices of spices and silks and whatever else was coming through. Even if everything went to shit, there’d always be commerce, trade. Goodness knows what it was doing to Dianite, literal God of trade and commerce.

Instead of thinking about that, he wandered to the nearest stall. A pair of ruby earrings sat in a bed of velvet, delicately wrapped in gold, not gaudy, but simple, lovely. Dianite came up behind him.

“Mot, my flower, my darling, my dearest. Holder of my heart...”

“What?” Mot said, as if his cheeks weren’t burning red against the green scar on his face.

“You remember what we did in that one town?”

“Be more specific, sweetheart,” Mot joked, “we’ve been to many, many towns.”

“I’m talking about that charming little port town with that wonderful view-“

“Oh. That? Really. You think you pull that off again?”

Dianite laughed, “Of course! I may not have my magic, but that was all talent, hard fought and learned talent!”

Mot rolled his eyes, but he was smiling under his scarf.

“Alright then. Make this whole market yours in a week, starting with...” Mot looked around, then crouched down, picking a little dandelion, “...This. And you can trade your way up, my Lord.”

“This is a weed?”

Mot wrapped his arms around Dianite’s neck, standing on his tip toes to kiss him on the jaw.

“In the right hands,” Mot cooed, “It’s as good as gold.”

Dianite pulled down his scarf and kissed him, pulling back with an indignant squawk when he remembered where he first heard that said.

“I said that! To you! All those years ago...”

“Then go prove it’s true.”

Mot pulled up his scarf, walking away to find a good place to stand.

The show was about to start.

—

Mot watched from the sidelines as the market flooded with people. He could clearly see Dianite, standing tall above almost all the other people in the market. He wasn’t small by any means (unless next to Ladia) and the red... definitely made him stand out. He was still for a couple of moments and then-

Then!

He stopped a young, well dressed man in his tracks, holding the flower like the most precious thing in the world. There was talking, only a little, then the man was passing him a pouch of something- tea? Mot couldn’t tell from how far away he was. But Dianite took it, gave him the flower, and went along his merry way.

He tried keeping track of the goods exchanging hands, but in the crowd, it was impossible, especially with how fast Dianite worked. One second he was carrying the pouch, then a bolt of silk, then what looked like a fur of some sort- back and forth, darting like a bee between flowers.

His smile was the brightest thing Mot had seen in years. It caught the sun like a diamond, glinting and beautiful, precious yet stronger than anything. Dianite pushed his way out of the crowd, stumbling up to Mot.

“Successful?” Mot asked. Dianite nodded, holding up a pouch of coins, before slipping it into his jacket pocket.

“I got you something.”

“Really now? What is it?”

Dianite shyly passed him a box, about as wide as his hand, and he opened it, gasping. It was like the earrings in the merchant booth, delicate gold and dazzling ruby, Mot feeling tears well up in his eyes as he removed it from its velvet nest, cradling it in his hands.

“I saw you looking at those earrings,” Dia said, ever so smooth, “but I know your ears aren’t pierced, so I got you the, er, necklace equivalent.”

“Oh, I love it...” Mot slowly put it on, clipping it behind his head, letting it rest, right on his chest, hidden by his scarf but still wonderful, beautiful, all his. He stood, suddenly filled with determination.

“Could you pluck me a flower, Dia?”

Dianite smiled, getting down on one knee and plucking a little blue wildflower from a crack in the road.

“Anything for you,” he said, smiling.

Mot stared down at him- a literal god, kneeling at his feet, vowing to do anything for him...

He smiled, taking the flower from Dianite’s grasp. Their fingers brushed a second too long.

“I’m going to go trade you under the table.”

Dianite, still kneeling, nodded.

“I’m counting on it.”

[correctmianitequotes]

Dianite, interviewing a 16 year old Mot: What's your biggest weakness?

Mot: I can be uncooperative.

Dianite: Can you elaborate?

Mot: No.