#also this WILL be an AU actually ive decided

[that-sudsy]

Sudsy: TF141 AU angst werewolf

Sheriff’s Howl

Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader

You live in a small town, having moved there from the city in search of the quiet countryside you had always dreamed of. Since your arrival, your backlog of tasks has slowly begun to dwindle, and your learning curve has been sharper than you ever anticipated. You’ve taught yourself various skills you never thought you’d actually master.

The small town features a cozy bar and a sheriff's office, creating a picturesque setting that feels like home. You own a small stall next to your neighbor's bookstore, where you sell your homegrown tomatoes and lovingly crocheted blankets.

Every morning at exactly 9 AM, he passes by—Simon Riley, the town sheriff. He greets you with a tip of his cowboy hat and a wink, his blonde hair glistening in the sunlight, and his smile igniting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

No matter how much you try to deny it, you have fallen for Simon. His charm has captivated you, and you’ve been dating for a while now. Each morning, you bring him a sandwich, and he brings you a steaming cup of hot chocolate. You share your plans for the day, basking in the warmth of each other’s company.

But one day, the routine is shattered. As you arrange your basket of fresh vegetables, you notice not Simon, but the local ambulance speeding past. A knot of worry tightens in your stomach. You rush to your neighbor, Price, who is engrossed in a book at the bookstore. (He's also the local history teacher at the elementary school)

“Hey, Price, have you seen Simon?” you ask, your voice tinged with concern.

He looks up, brow furrowed. “Oh, I heard he was dealing with a report duty in the woods.”

“What kind of report duty?” you inquire, anxiety creeping into your voice.

“Oh, you know, those sightings of a beast. I bet it’s just another false alarm,” he replies dismissively.

You’ve heard the rumors before, but never thought they could be serious. Thanking Price, you return to your stall, your mind racing. What if it was true? What if there was a real emergency?

As you ponder this, you spot Phillip Graves, your other neighbor known for his wild theories about werewolves. He walks by, a bag slung over his shoulder, and you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine.

Later that day, Rodolfo, the local vet, stops by your stall to buy tomatoes and potatoes.

“Have you heard?” he asks, his voice low.

“Heard what?” you reply, your heart pounding.

“The sheriff was taken to the hospital because he was attacked by something huge.”

Your blood runs cold. “Simon?”

Rodolfo nods gravely. “Yep.”

Panic surges through you. What if he’s suffering? What if he needs someone by his side? Without a second thought, you remove your apron and shout to Rodolfo as you ran to your truck “Watch my stall for me!”

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at the hospital, your heart racing. You find Simon lying in a hospital bed, an IV drip attached to his arm, bandages covering scratches on his handsome face and torso. You rush to his side, your voice trembling with worry “Oh, Simon…”

*Five Months Later*

You and Simon decide to have a little cookout in your backyard, finally stringing up those fairy lights that cast a warm glow over the space. The fire pit crackles, and Simon stands by the grill, flipping patties while you set the table.

But you’ve noticed a change in him since the incident. He’s more sensitive, more on edge, and the carefree smile you once adored seems to have faded. You want to help him relax, to bring back the joy you once shared.

As you sit beside him, passing a bottle of whiskey between your hands, you speak softly, “Simon, there’s something different about you lately. Since that accident…”

He hesitates, his gaze fixed on the ground. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… different. More sensitive, quite.... more angry than usual,” you say carefully, not wanting to push him.

He looks at you, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he opens and closes his hand, revealing scars that snake up his arm and across his chest.

“Ever since the attack, I’ve never felt right. I feel… painfully different. I can smell things from a mile away. I see in the dark, and my gums hurt when I eat something soft. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he admits, his eyes filled with sadness and worry.

“I get headaches and body aches like never before, doll,” he adds, standing to tend to the meat.

You wish you could take his pain away, but how? You rise and wrap your arms around him from behind, whispering soothing words and planting gentle kisses on his shoulder. You both enjoy dinner together, the warmth of the fire and the food momentarily easing the tension in the air.

As the moon rises high, casting a silvery glow over your backyard, you settle into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound breaking the stillness. You don’t know it yet, but the “wolf” that has been the subject of so many rumors is no ordinary beast. The bite Simon received that fateful day has cursed him, marking him as one of the cursed kind—a werewolf. Tonight, under the full moon’s relentless gaze, the transformation will begin.

You’re deep in conversation when Simon suddenly pauses, his breath hitching as he grips the edge of the table. A low, primal growl reverberates through the woods, sending chills down your spine. Simon's body goes rigid, his breath becoming ragged, echoing the sounds of a wild animal. You watch in horror as claws extend from his fingertips, teeth elongate into deadly points, and his eyes glow with an eerie yellow light.

“Simon!” you gasp, your heart racing as you struggle to comprehend the surreal sight unfolding before you.

Tears well in your eyes, disbelief washing over you as you witness the man you love transforming into something unrecognizable. The warmth of the evening is replaced by a chilling realization that the world you thought you knew is about to change forever.

The werewolf snapped at you as you flinched in shock before it Howled to the moon and ran away, you were trembling in fear and disbelief what you just saw.

The town is soon tormented by chaos, flames licking at the edges of the forest as the men of the town—including Phillip Graves, the hunter; Sheriff Johnny MacTavish; the vet Rodolfo Parra; the store owner and history teacher John Price; and the town's doctor Kyle—form a search team to hunt down the beast. They are ready to take it down and end it. They didn't know it was their friend. Since the monster it's self doednt recognize them.

You, on the other hand, are running after them, desperate to explain that the werewolf isn’t just a monster; it is Simon.

Screams echo through the night as you dash along the road. Just as you begin to lose track of where they are, you hear a group of people groaning in struggle and yelling, compelling you to sprint toward the source of the commotion.

In the heart of the forest, you see the werewolf tossing and swatting people aside as Phillip shoots a tranquilizer dart at the creature. The other men pull ropes, attempting to pin the beast down.

“No! That’s Simon!” you scream, but Sheriff John MacTavish holds you back.

“No, it’s a monster out of our control. He isn’t Simon,” he insists.

“No! I saw it with my own eyes! That’s Simon! He just needs help!” you struggle against his grip, tears streaming down your face as fear grips your heart.

As if on cue, the moonlight is suddenly obscured by clouds, causing the werewolf to groan and shrink, shedding skin and fur as it cracks its limbs back to human size before the astonished eyes of the townsfolk.

“Impossible,” someone mutters, probably Rodolfo.

Simon is back, curled up in a kneeling position, bare and bruised, sweat glistening on his body, fresh cuts and scrapes visible. He looks at the men surrounding him, weapons drawn and ready to fire.

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Please, get back! I can’t control it!” he pleads, struggling against the tension in his muscles, as if he is fighting against an invisible weight.

But everyone is too slow to react. The moonlight breaks through the clouds, shining down on Simon and triggering his transformation once more. The werewolf roars, swatting away anyone in its path, drowning out your desperate cries.

As Alejandro fires a shot that hits the werewolf in the chest, it bleeds before dashing away into the darkness. You race after him, grabbing one of the guns Phillip had distributed, while Johnny, the sheriff, tries to calm the panicked crowd.

You don’t wait for backup; you venture into the woods alone, following the sounds of the chaos. The darkness envelops you, but you press on, determined to find Simon. You can hear the werewolf moving around you, its growls echoing through the trees. Suddenly, it charges toward you, and you barely dodge its massive form, but it swats you aside, sending you crashing against the hard trunk of a tree. Pain radiates through your body, but you refuse to give up. You need to know if there is still hope for Simon.

After what feels like an eternity of searching, you finally spot him by the river, bloodied and in pain. As you approach, you step on a twig, causing him to turn his gaze toward you.

“Please don’t come near me. I’m a monster. I’ll hurt you,” he warns, his voice laced with desperation.

But you are too stubborn to listen. You keep moving forward, closing the distance between you. “That wasn’t you" you insist.

“I can’t control it! It has hunger and thirst. Please, just end this before I hurt more people and make me suffer. Please,” he begs, his eyes filled with anguish.

You feel your heart shatter at his words, knowing what he is asking of you. You can’t do it.

He whispers your name, “Silver bullet would help. Please,” he pleads, looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes you love so much.

You opened your mouth but no voice would come out, he interrupted you with a whisper “There’s no cure! There’s no way! I can’t control it!”

“Please, baby. End my suffering. It hurts. I don’t want to hurt you,” he implores, his voice breaking.

“No! There has to be a way! Maybe I can cage you or… or find a cure! Please, Simon, don’t leave me! Don’t make me do this! Not like this...theres still hope” you sob, holding the rifle tightly not wanting to give it to him. Because you don't want to believe that there's no hope

He looks at you, and for a moment, you see the man you love before the moonlight shines down on him again. You can see the veins and skin ripping as he transforms, but in a moment of desperation, you pull the trigger. The echo of the gunshot reverberates through the woods, and you drop the rifle, collapsing to your knees, sobbing as you crawl to Simon’s body.

You pull him into your lap, holding him close. “Simon,” you cry into his blonde hair, which still smells like mint. You loved him, and now he’s gone. You hold him as if letting go would make him disappear.

“Simon, I’m so sorry,” you weep. “I love you.” You use your sleeve to wipe the blood from his delicate face, feeling his warmth fading away. You hold him tighter, desperate to keep him with you.

As the sound of sirens approaches, the first cop cars arrive at the scene. Sheriff John MacTavish is the first to step out of the truck, removing his cowboy hat in shock.

“Oh no,” he breathes.

“Get the stretcher!” someone yells in the background.

The lights flicker and blare red and blue as you hold Simon’s lifeless body. The first werewolf case, the one that bit Simon, remains unsolved. But would you ever find closure? Since then, Simon’s case has been dubbed the Sheriff’s Howl. Why? Because there’s a pattern—

[hall0wedwyrm]

I think we should have Herobrine and Sonic.EXE as bitter exs as a treat

[velvetwyrme]

Forgive me i do not know much about jazzprowl,,, who are pterrorgal20 and bugboi 😔😔😔

(Is pterrorgal Prowl’s pterodactyl Green?? But then who is bugboi…. I am not sure 😔)

yes!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ur spot on for both 🥹!!! ahrdjfkkengkebgkebfk,,

Green (Prowls pterodactyl/pet flyt) -> pterrorgal20 (Felicity Greene)

Bob (Sunstreakers insecticon) -> bugboi (Bob)

completely useless detail but i did reference/colourdrop this panel specifically LMAO

if u look closely theres also. one more person i hinted at, whos name i was even less subtle with but the placement i WAS subtle with so ill just say outright:

Buster (Thundercracker's dog) is also there EHTJFHRKFJ and she has a silly pic of TC as her pfp LMAO,,

also ur so so valid agrjflfbdkdbfkf,,, im being incredibly biased and self indulgent so it is. a particular niche for sure LMAO. im glad you're enjoying it regardless though :]c!!!

[nyx-fey]

Was trying to finish a TFP fic, when Keferon's apocalyptic ponyo au absolutely full-body possessed me. Ended up writing about dratchet instead lol

https://www.tumblr.com/keferon/777869602801795072/alright-hear-me-out-ratchet-as-a-steller-sea-lion?source=share

(I know Gemma Inkyboots on Ao3 already has a couple (really, really good- you should read them if you haven't already) fics on apocalyptic ponyo dratchet, so in the effort of staying unique I'm focusing on the au's pre-dratchet backstory. There's not gonna be much, if any romance, and a lot of angst.)

Also trigger warning just in case, the injuries that Ratchet sustains in this AU are really, really bad. I'm not sure if the way I described it here was enough to quantify straight up body horror, but it is a bit visceral. Probably don't read if that wigs you out.

(also this is my first time posting anything I've written here pretty please be patient if I've done some sort of faux pas, just let me know and I'll try to fix it)

In The Poachers Net

Ch.1

His body was on fire.

Patient has multiple deep lacerations, is hemorrhaging from the superficial palmer vein, tarsal plexus, and median arteries. Serious blood loss. Possible bacteria introduction from unclean blades. High risk of infection.

Salt from the sea seared against his open wounds. Every movement, every tiny flinch sent lancing pain through the fibers of his body. He couldn't stop, he couldn't get away from it, he couldn't escape-

Multiple traumatic muscle strains, ranging from grade II tears, to complete ruptures. Especially along the right and left supraspinatus tendons, and the right and left rotator cuffs. Complete ruptures of both the flexor hallucis, and flexor digitorum.

He. He was sinking. He was sinking too fast. He couldn't swim, couldn't get back up. He couldn't get away from the boats. He couldn't get away from them.

Luxation of both glenohumeral joints, and Subluxation of left pelvic girdle joint. Compound fractures on both the left and right humerus, with further greenstick and comminuted fractures on the right humerus. Possible impact fractures across multiple lumbar vertebrae, further examination required before treatment can proceed.

Away away he needs to get away. He needs to escape. HE NEEDED TO SWIM.

Amp. Amputation-

He could just make out the surface, through the shadows of the ships and the mud kicked up from the nets and anchors and hooks. The light of a distant sunset just barely breaking across the waves.

It was red with blood.

Patient is experiencing tachycardia, and oncoming hypothermia . Hemorrhagic shock highly likely, if not already ongoing.

He couldn't reach it. He hadn't taken a breath before they'd dropped him back into the ocean, too caught up in the confusion and ropes and pain, god so much pain.

It is impossible to know at this time if the patient's confusion and dizziness is caused by shock, panic, or hypoxemia.

He needed to breathe, he needed air. His lungs already hurt from screaming, and he'd probably swallowed some sea water in his panicked drop. But the light from the surface was so far away, and it was only getting farther. His arms weren't strong enough on their own to lift him to the surface, not over the weight of his tail-

His tail-

He wasn't. He wasn't going to make it. Every desperate push was only working to burn through what little oxygen he had left. He couldn't call for help. Not anymore, not with no air, and a ragged voice. He wouldn't want it to come anyway, if someone else got caught up in this blood bath because they were trying to save him-

Please someone, anyone save him-

Patient has begun experiencing symptoms of hypercapnia, exacerbated by an acute stress response and physical exertion. Submersion injuries expected.

He could hear his heartbeat, ringing deep within his ears, but he couldn't tell if it was too slow or too fast anymore; His count kept getting lost in that distant red, and faint thumping of the waves. The shadows from the boats overhead were blurring together, growing into a large inescapable mass that blocked out the sun.

The pain was starting to fade, everything was getting colder.

His lungs burned.

You are going to die.

Ratchet tried desperately to steer his thoughts towards home. He wanted, more than anything, for his last moments to be spent remembering family and laughter and safety and warmth.

But all he could think about as his vision clouded over was the cold creeping dread of feeling another poachers' net wrap around his form, dragging his dead weight right back into hell.

The last thing Ratchet saw before everything went dark was a blinding light, and the color gold.

[lovesickeros]

☆ love; heretical and divine

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 0.8k

To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.

To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.

To love a God is to sin.

The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.

But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.

She loves a God like a lover should.

A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.

She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.

No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.

The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.

It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.

For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.

She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.

She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.

But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.

Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.

There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.

To love is to be human, and they are no God.

Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..

She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.

To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.

Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.

An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.

[sualne]

wish me luck as i attempt to rewrite the modern au from the ground up for the third time.

[sirenspells]

[Amnesiac Omori AU]

Grown up Omori concepts! My idea for the final chapter of the fic for this AU is that it's an epilogue that takes place ten years in the future (so he's ~22 years old in this pic), so it's got me thinking about what Omori's like when he's older

Notes:

He dyed his hair partially white to honor his past self and to signify how he's accepted his past as part of himself

He's aroace! Never ends up settling down with anyone and is perfectly happy and content about it <3

Not depicted here but for his career I imagine he goes into computer programming!

I'm thinking he maybe becomes roommates with Andrew, no matter what though him and Andrew remain very close

The main conflict for the epilogue's story is that Omori develops a tendency to overwork himself, which is something his friends help him deal with

[oifaaa]

Currently trying to resist the urge to actually draw that self-indulgent DC star wars au I thought up a couple years ago

[rubber-glovs]

Oooohhh the urge to yap about my ocs and the world they live in......

[soundprisms]

been spinning a tercesverse pjo au around in my head lately. pretty set on apollo kid yoji (first ever apollo kid to prefer swords to archery. uses his supernatural aim to destroy at basketball instead) but still trying to decide on max-ernest and cass's godly parents. been thinking either athena or hermes kid for max-ernest. hermes kid cass seems self-explanatory but also it doesn't really fit. idk what else would though. maybe demeter?

also been trying to figure out how clay/the sos fits into this au. on one hand there is something that could be done with the terces society as adult-dominated vaguely child soldiery camp jupiter vs much more chill fun capture the flag playing earth ranch as chb. but on the other hand terces trio being romans means i can't do athena kid max-ernest and also camp jupiter is just much less fun of a setting to me. so i don't know

[arson-09]

Im almost done with my cowboy tamlin art guys ive just been going thru the slump with a new sketchbook (i get overwhelmed by all the new space and forget how to draw) but i still rlly like it :) hopefully will post it this week🤞

[pyrriax]

hello here to ask about the seraphim au again lol

what are wisps? how is disability handled among seraphs? what is the most common way for them to get disabled? how fucked up is spoke exactly? like does he have abnormally long limbs? does he have limbs that he really shouldnt? is there a way for the ones in the fray to get up to the vesper esp with all the ruin? are there any other weapons of war lying around aside from centurions?

this au is really interesting and i love finding out more about it :D

Hello welcome back! I'm happy to answer your questions i love talking about this thing ^_^

Yet another long post ahead, but I've gone ahead and answered all of your questions in as much detail as I can without fully spoiling anything! 👍

What is a Wisp? (Where do they come from, what're they like?)

Wisps are another common creature, originating from cast magic. They vary in size, shape, color, and type, although the most common are ones which have a tendency to either cause small explosions, or light fires. Because of the way their bodies are comprised primarily of magic, they are constantly expending this energy, and thus don't accumulate it the same way that most things do.

These wisps are a common pest in the Vesper, a little like rats, but also a bit more potentially damaging, as they're drawn to places with a high magic content and flow. Although, they're rarely found at the pools in the Fray. This is mostly because Centurions have taken to killing them on sight, since they are quite fond of feeding off the energy which is used to keep them functional. It's a special thing, and it's their favorite.

Once upon a time, they actually had a use, but now they're just considered a bit of a waste product from magic casting.

(Although, that hasn't stopped some curious Seraphs from wondering if it'd be possible to domesticate them in a sense. They aren't inherently harmful, even if they have a habit of starting little fires or blowing cracks in walls. Some wisps simply sap energy and laze about, and though they become rarer later on, these are the ones that stick around places the longest.)

Certain wisps expend their excess energy with mimicry and shapeshifting, some of my references for them are birds like European Starlings and Superb Lyrebirds. Often times, their mimicry can make them even more of a nuisance, especially before the Seraph's extinction, as they were known to lead Seraphim astray by mimicking distress calls and even the sounds of clashing metal. Shapeshifting-wise, they tended to prefer creatures of a similar mass, so most often they'd take forms no bigger than medium sized cats, since anything larger is significantly bigger than any typical wisp. These ones didn't often last long after being created, but they were well documented.

They used to be kept out of important places in the Vesper with gates and small spells, but as those diminished, they began to creep in once again. Their presence sped up the collapse, but it couldn't exactly be prevented.

How is disability handled among seraphs? (Along with a brief explanation of some pieces of Seraphim culture)

Overall, it's treated as something to be respected, as it tends to be the result of actions not the Seraph's own, or of actions that were for the greater good of either the Seraph, or the Vesper as a whole. But, there are certain things which are much more looked down upon, and that is typically things like blindness or missing wings. These types of injuries, and related disabilities (stunted flight, limited vision [in cases where the blindness is partial], etc.), are viewed as almost childish, due to the fact they're especially common occurrences for Seraphim youth.

Older Seraphs commonly deal with lower mobility, at least in comparison to their younger counterparts. While Seraphs will snip and bite at each other (both literally and metaphorically), they are still a social species and care for their ill and disabled. Typically, any care being done for a Seraph will be done by those closer to them, mostly their inner circle and occasionally those associated with those Seraphs.

In cases of lost limbs, for any reason (regardless of how it may be viewed), if all the injury does is heal over and become more of a typical stump, the spot will be adorned with jewelry, and even tattoos or specifically dyed feathers, depending on the specific spot. Rather than being something hidden, these things are typically decorated, highlighted as a show of life and living. This is a bit of a remnant of an old myth which was lost long before anything was written, but it speaks of highlighting these losses as a triumph of life. It's a little bit of a "this is our gift from the stars [in reference to an almost-god] and we must show our appreciation, lest it be taken from us." Along with that, it's viewed as a way of warding off Wisps and other pests from these vulnerable spots.

Common patterns & symbols in these types of jewelry include but aren't limited to: ferns / laurel, flowers (varying types depending on the city, although the most common ones in Vesper are lily of the valley and bleeding hearts), spirals, and insects (again, of varying types depending on the city, the most common ones in Vesper are beetles or millipedes, although the latter are much less common.)

These pieces are made out of a variety of materials, but typically the basis is metals, either cast and shaped or twisted wire, depending on the Seraph's preferences. Pieces of the grown stars used for Centurions are also common place, along with common crystals. Everything used is subject to change, as these are personal to the Seraphs and will reflect their preferences, and even their favorite things. Over time, this jewelry may be reforged and adapted to better suit the Seraph, as time goes on.

What is the most common way for Seraphs to end up disabled? (And maybe a little hint of lore, as a treat)

So, I've mentioned some of the most commonly disabling things, but how the hell does that even happen?

Seraphs have their nasty habit of fighting amongst themselves, which is only more common with the younger of the bunch. While it isn't pleasant, it isn't unheard of for these fights to reach the point of weak points being clawed at/out. Which often entails wings being at the least taken out of their sockets, and at worst clawed off. In the same thread, eyes are also a common spot to be gone after.

But, as time went on, these types of fights became less common, so scars and marks from these fights are more often seen on the fully grown Seraphs. At least, this is the most accepted answer. Though, the truth of it is that usually, Seraphs lost limb and life to the fights which were so often instigated. While it's been most attributed to overly violent youth, it was much more an effect of war. At least, that was before the Centurions.

After them, however, things shifted. Without nearly as many Seraphs out actively participating in the fight aside from those that remained to ensure the Centurions' function, the most commonly disabling occurrences were related to either overexertion of magic over a long period of time (leading to effects a little similar to chronic fatigue & pain) and flight related injury. Though, that was tied with... Poaching related damage to stars.

Damaged stars? Poaching?

As I've already mentioned briefly here, Seraphim stars became a useful weapon due to their properties. While I won't elaborate much more than that for some mild spoiler reasons, let it be known that Seraphs were once revered as gods, but this began to turn into resentment over time. But, what does a damaged star entail for them?

A Seraph with a damaged star (whether it be cracked or chipped, both having different but lasting effects) doesn't often live more than a handful of years longer, as the magic that typically circulates through their body will begin to stagnate. This causes to formation of a sediment of sorts that accumulates in extremities and places like the eyes, mouth, and will even begin to seep into the keratin in their body, as well as their bones/marrow, coloring any new growth anything from pink to deep blues and greens.

While Seraphs are known for having a variety of colors which naturally and commonly occur in their feathers and flesh, these colors are associated heavily with this type of ailment, and those with these colors are often avoided by some of the more paranoid. (There is no risk to other Seraphim, this is a lot like how people will avoid those they perceive as ill / sick even when they know it won't affect them.)

Cracked Stars (All pieces present, but with slight separation or small fragments loose): Slower overall progression, characterized by weakness and general lethargy, along with sharp pain and numbness in extremities as time goes on, since the magic that Seraphs rely on doesn't flow quite how it's supposed to, along with the appearance of the aforementioned colors, since they tend to live long enough for it to completely change their appearance.

Chipped Stars (Pieces are missing, typically from failed removal attempts): Much faster progression, often to an almost violent effect, as instead of accumulating slowly, the magic which would form a sediment will instead begin to crystalize rapidly, making them only really able to live about a year after at most. This can also be the most sudden, as a chipped star likely won't be noticed until there are Wisps circling the Seraph, and sharp pain and complete loss of feeling (a side effect of the magic that's basically pouring out of them, which will make them much like the Centurions in this regard, as they cannot contain the magic.)

Malformed Stars (Not injury based, but included due to the relation and similarities): Some Seraphs are born with malformed stars and will have coloration associated with cracked stars from the very start. Although, it's entirely possible that they can live for a while longer than those whose stars get cracked, as their bodies are given the opportunity to properly adjust, as well as the lack of excess magic directly leaking into their bodies. Varying from Seraph to Seraph, they can have much more volatile magic, or that's less potent than is typical.

So what the fuck is the deal with Spoke? (Why is he like that?)

Spoke is a case of a potentially good thing being used in the worst way possible. Grown stars (or artificial stars, or anything to that degree) are perfect for Centurions, being able to be used as a baseline for the creation of pseudo-personage, a pseudo-soul, if you will. But, the problem is when they interact with another soul. Natural souls will eat away at artificial ones, and this lead to an extremely volatile reaction within Spoke. Along with the issue of souls, human bodies are not exactly made to regulate the magic that comes with these stars, and it causes... Complications.

Caught in an odd place where he both does and doesn't even physically exist at all, Spoke is a little like the ghosts that've taken to haunting the library in the absence of Seraphs. Varying even minute to minute, he can go from looking a little off (almost a little uncanny, in a way. Limbs slightly the wrong proportions, just enough to ring as odd, but not completely distorted) to being almost unrecognizable as human at all, practically surrounded by a thick layer of ambient magic, which can make him look like a bit like a shadow.

Although, as time goes on, this becomes much less varied, and instead, it manifests in the beginnings of Seraph-like features, including an additional set of non-functional eyes. As well, there is a certain dark-green-almost-black that makes his extremities look almost necrotic, although they aren't. This is just a manifestation of the excess magic, much like how it looks for Seraphim with cracked stars. For a period of time, he had grown the beginnings of an additional limb (although, it never got far, as it began to become excruciatingly painful for him), but it was removed.

Spoke is basically in limbo between being alive and dead, which has had its own interesting effects on his psyche, and really, if any true Seraph were there, he likely would've been mercy killed to spare him from this. But, he's happy as can be, despite the agonies. Much like any other human with a star place in them, there is most definitely a noticeable mark that resulted from it, something which has only grown over time. A little like what could've just been a scar at the start begins to morph into creeping vines, looking more and more like they've been struck with lightning.

(This is probably the most subject-to-change-as-i-write thing here, since I'm not 100% set on the primary appearance of it. There are major differences between Seraphim-stars and Grown-stars, and one of those major differences is that Seraphim-stars are much more stable, as they've had a long period of time to be refined and cultivated. Meanwhile grown-stars aren't given that kind of time, and are only an approximation of the real thing. While they can heal and prolong life, they lack the rhyme or reason that Seraphim ones will abide by. They don't know when to quit. They will form tumors and create what I can only describe as an excess of life, they make people sick, they shouldn't be used on organic things even if it's the only option. There's a reason Seraphs will sooner die than use one. They are viable for Centurions purely because of the lack of organic growth.)

Let's talk the Fray (and a little bit about the War, shall we?)

is there a way for the ones in the fray to get up to the vesper esp with all the ruin?

Really, it depends on the scenario! Before the death of the Seraphs, going between the two places was inconvenient, but possible. Typically it involved making some kind of trade with one of the Seraphim in order to be brought to the Vesper, although this was rare. The handful of human mages that did exist were able to move freely between the two places, but they disappeared not long after they began to be noticed. Though, they made a little bit of a resurgence as almost ghost-like figures, after the Seraphs' death.

Seraphim were able to go between the two places, as they never lost their flight, but even those who struggled with it were able to use their magic in order to go between. Centurions were unable to go between the two, as they were designated their places and functionally left to continue that task ad infinium. Humans were a rare sight, but on occasion human merchants were known to get up to the Vesper, usually using crude airships.

are there any other weapons of war lying around aside from centurions?

To be a little ominous for the sake of not spoiling too much: yes. Yes, there are, and they are only getting worse for wear, and even if their creators are long dead, they are not. They're still there, waiting to be called upon once again, to lay the world to even greater waste. Slumbering giants, if you will. I'll be elaborating on these especially in the main fic I have planned, so this is a "wait and see" kind of deal ^_^

Also if you've gotten this far I want to point you toward some art that vaguely inspired the baseline I have for wisps because I love this art and it fascinates me!

first piece is by ida lissner, second by tealnewcombart on etsy, third by tracy debenport!

i couldn't find the much more vibrantly colored type of almost psychedelic art that i've really drawn a fair bit of inspiration from, at least with the colors, these show a lot of the Shapes that i think of with them

[sanchoyo]

sometimes i come on here to write 'au where my ocs-' type posts then i realize because they're my characters it doesnt have to be an au. it can be real. because it is my story and there are no rules except the ones I set for myself. the world is a beautiful place...

[trashcreatyre]

I have decide that IF they are yuri, it is much, MUCH later in the story.

[unfortunate--moth]

When I say the tag works starting from today, I mean the earliest it goes back to is. The first post you made responding to my post today. At least in the search function

I managed to get the tag function working direct from the post itself so I guess its fine but um :(

- Milgranon

once again knocking 2 in 1

but ohhh okay i wasnt completely sure what you meant!! i hope that it starts working soon?? i dont know why it does that. since im back home and on my computer i might try to see if its a problem on my end.

also... omg i almost forgot about the cellblock au. i haven't thought about rain code in a hot minute because ive gotten hit with a lot of different hyperfixation beams but yeah that also reminded me i have a fic for rc that i never finished. man.

i like that au though!! that and the uhhh master detectives milgram au. i love just squashing things i like together and putting them into a blender. its a lot of fun doing stuff like that. i'd like to do it with more things i like in the future maybe!

[waywardsalt]

there is undeniable opportunity to make bellum x linebeck fucked up but i dont have it in me. im a sucker for it just being fine with a side of like. light nautical crimes against nature but i cant make it toxic or w/e after a certain point. theyre chilling