#but this concept is actually my favorite

[rjshope]

very dangerous for my namjinsanity

[rafey-baby]

forbidden fruit

Once upon a time there was a princess and a hunter...

snow white!reader x hunter!rafe

c/w: mentions of violence, her being naive & sheltered, him being slightly suggestive? also if it’s not obvious this is *loosely* based on the story of snow white, 18+ mdni!

wc: 3k

ahh the first part is here xx

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Do you have a favorite flower?”  

The quietness that follows makes her wonder if the brooding man alongside her had heard her question at all.   

She’s not entirely certain why the queen had been so adamant that this grumpy huntsman was to accompany her on this peculiar evening walk, when she’s never even uttered a word to him before— doesn’t even know his name.   

When she’d asked why they had to go so suddenly and after the sunset had already colored the skyline with its cherry tinge, he’d merely muttered something along the lines of ‘following Her Majesty’s orders’.   

She’s well aware of her stepmother’s disdain for her, never quite understanding why her father had married such a cold woman to begin with. However, it has never been in her wishes to upset her any further than she apparently does by simply existing, which is why she’d quietly agreed without much resistance— even if the request had seemed rather strange to her.       

“Uh…I dunno, they all sort of look the same to me, Your Highness,” the sudden rumble interrupts her thoughts.   

“Oh,” she’s slightly taken aback by the gravel in his tone, offering him her own answer nonetheless. “I love daisies.”

“Right,” he mumbles out; mind apparently lost somewhere else entirely as he keeps leading her deeper and deeper into the grim, bleak woods. With every step she takes, the leafy trees begin to turn into something impending, sinister— their slender branches beginning to resemble bony fingers, merely waiting for the right moment to latch onto her and claw at her arms.  

Therefore, she’d much rather hear his voice instead of this daunting lull in their conversation (if she could even call it that). Unfortunately, what she’s gathered from their brief interactions so far, is that the preferred topic of discussion for a man— a hunter like him, is silence. 

And that’s something the murky forest around them is already far too generously presenting her with; this late into the day not even the bluebirds chirp their delightful melodies to make the eerily serene atmosphere of this prolonged journey of theirs a little less dreadful.  

“What’s, um, what’s your name?” she attempts to have him speak some more.   

“Rafe,” he merely offers her a fleeting glance; as if it’s the most tedious thing in the world to even utter out his own name to her.  

Rafe. 

Upon further observation of the rugged lines of his face, she decides it suits him. What doesn’t suit him, however, is the ever-present scowl staining his (rather handsome) features. It’s almost as if something is tormenting him, acidic, putrid on his tongue.  

“Is something wrong?” she questions next, him being vague on purpose not exactly soothing her concerns regarding this entirely too ominous trip.  

They’ve been strolling along some path he apparently has in his mind for quite some time now, at this point nearly reaching the very core of the vast forest that surrounds the entirety of the kingdom.  

“Everything’s fine,” his tone is gruff— a heavy palm on the small of her back nudging her forward when she momentarily halts her movements.   

“Do we have to go so far? M’getting cold,” she complains because even if the palace hasn’t felt like home ever since her dear father’s passing, she wants nothing more now than to return to the thermal fireplace and silky sheets in her bedchamber.

All of a sudden, the snapping of a branch somewhere close causes her to flinch. 

In tandem, they both turn towards the noise as it transforms into foreboding rustling of leaves and something akin to footfall against the muddy ground; forcing a shiver to crawl under her skin.   

She’s beginning to prepare herself to face some gruesome monster when out of the blue, the smallest white-tailed deer she’s ever laid her eyes upon, pokes its head from behind a tree trunk.   

She gasps in adoration; tiptoeing closer to the trembling animal before crouching down.   

“Hello there. Why are you here all by yourself?” she asks with a tender coo, mindfully reaching a hand out to pet its ruffled head.  

Seemingly liking her, it takes a careful step towards her in a moment of bravery; teddy bear eyes curious.   

“Well, aren’t you adorable? I wish I had something for you to eat but I don’t,” she croons out as it nestles its slobbery nose into the hollow of her hand, when all at once, its button eyes dilate and its fleecy ears lift up in alarm.  

“Wha—” she doesn’t have the time to finish her sentence before it’s hurriedly scrambling away from her and disappearing into the viridescent foliage in the blink of an eye.   

She looks over her shoulder to locate the source of such horror, coming face-to-face with a gleaming blade and Rafe’s threatening eyes fixed on her suddenly immobile form.   

“What are you—” her words wither away on her frightened tongue when he abruptly brings the hunting knife to her throat— terror wrapping around her like yarn, tautening around her organs and making her helpless heart thump against her ribcage in a state of hysteria. 

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, alright? I promise I’ll make it quick,” he sounds determined, her unnerved eyes round out. 

“Rafe, you don’t— you don’t have to do this,” she manages out before she feels the harsh edge cut into her delicate skin just the slightest bit— a droplet of crimson trickling down her neck and towards her heaving chest.  

His gaze tracks the rivulet as it dribbles down all the way into her cleavage; leaving a scarlet trail to stain her skin in its wake as her pounding head begins to spin. 

She sits there on the forest floor, unmoving and unable to properly suck in air through her lungs as trepidation slithers itself into the crevices of her bones; merging into her marrow and turning her limbs into icebound liquid. 

“You think I want to?” he mutters out through his teeth.   

“I— I don’t understand...why are you doing this?” she squeaks out when he squeezes the handle in his fist— seemingly torn between two alternatives yanking him into separate directions, their claws scraping at both of his arms.  

“Cause the queen wants your heart on a platter n’ I’m supposed to be doin’ what Her Majesty tells me to, yeah?” he spits out the title as if it’s rotten; as if it’s tasted acrid in his mouth for a long while now.   

“My heart? Why would she want my heart?” she asks with something akin to hurt in her voice; not realizing her stepmother’s hatred towards her branched as far as wanting her dead.   

“Cause she’s lost her fuckin’ mind,” he huffs out; still tightly gripping onto the weapon. “...but then you look at me with those fuckin’ eyes and how am I— how am I supposed to…kill that?” he rambles more to himself than her, making her brows knit together even further.  

“You don’t— you don’t have to, you can let me go and I’ll— I’ll hide in the forest,” she suggests, voice wavering.  

“And freeze to death?” he scoffs.  

“I thought you wanted me dead?” she sounds disconcerted.  

“I don’t want you dead!” his volume is as clamorous as thunder, frustrated.   

“But you’re holding a knife to my throat?” her voice trembles; the frigid steel still imprinting her skin.  

“Yeah, cause I’m supposed to fuckin’ kill you, alright?”  

“I…I don’t understand,” her tone is a muted whisper and at last, he loosens his hold on the knife— a faint thud echoing in the space between them as it hits the soil covered in moss. 

Then, he’s shaking his head, seemingly exasperated with the girl before him. “Talkin’ to fuckin’ deers n’ shit. I mean, who the hell does that?”   

“I…I do? They’re my friends, why wouldn’t I talk to them?” she bats her lashes at him, seemingly confused out her innocent little mind. 

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he lets out bitter scoff. “Now tell me, what am I supposed to do with you, hm?”   

“You’re not going to…” she swallows the rest of the words— too vile, brutal for her to say out loud.   

“Since you’re makin’ it so fuckin’ hard, no,” he lets out a displeased breath before presenting his palm for her to hold onto.  

“Get up,” he orders, nearly glaring at her.  

“Oh, um, thank you,” she blinks up at his frowning countenance, gingerly grasping onto his much bigger hand and letting him lift her up with ease.  

“Right, uh, why don’t we get you somewhere warm, yeah? You must be freezin’ only wearin’ that dress,” he clears his throat when he notices a tremor rattling through her in tandem with a frosty breeze sweeping past them.  

Taken aback by his sudden concern over her well-being, she merely stands there with a blank expression before he flits his eyes over to hers; seemingly expecting a response. 

“Oh, um...I think— I think I saw a cottage on our way here,” hesitation tinges her suggestion.  

“You did? Where?”  

“It was, um…” she pads along the faint traces of their original route she had sidetracked from in order to greet the baby deer— his heavy footsteps following close behind.   

“There,” she points her index finger towards a small hut partly hidden away behind old, lush trees. 

When they step onto the threshold, she softly knocks on the mahogany door decorated with intricate swirls and designs embedded into the wood.   

“Hello? Would it be possible if we could come in to warm up a little bit? It’s terribly cold out here,” she politely asks.   

However, they’re not granted any sort of a reply.   

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Rafe notes as he peers through the windows into the unlit interior, before trying his luck and pushing down the handle.  

To both of their surprise, the door is unlocked.   

“Rafe! We can’t just break into someone’s home,” she scolds him with wide eyes.   

“S’not breakin’ in if the door’s open,” he merely shrugs before cautiously stepping inside— having to duck his head since the roof is hanging far too low for his tall figure.   

He looks around the compact space, as if to make sure they truly are alone, before glancing over his shoulder at her still tentative form shivering in the doorway. “What are you waitin’ for? Come in. Unless you wanna get sick standin’ out there?”   

She feels guilt eat away at her soul when she gingerly steps inside the cozy cabin, feeling far too much like an intruder, even if Rafe doesn’t seem all that bothered by entering a complete stranger’s place of residence without permission.  

“Shit, why are these chairs so small?” he complains when the wooden stool creaks under his weigh; threatening to crack as he lights up some candles he found— the walls soon bathing under the burnt-orange flames.    

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” she suggests meekly.   

“S’not like we have options to choose from,” he points out; stretching his big arms over his head in an attempt to get comfortable.  

“You’re right...I’m sure whoever lives here will understand we needed a place to stay, right?” she tries to convince herself in hopes of brushing her worries under the rug.  

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Let’s see if they have anything to eat around here,” he dismisses her as he stands tall on his feet once more, before he’s opening and closing the cabinets and cupboards in a search for food.  

“Why do they have so many fuckin’ apples in here?” he mindlessly questions when he sees a pile of the red fruit hiding behind one door.  

“Oh, I could make you an apple pie?” 

He turns to look at her beaming with that sudden grand idea of hers.  

“Uh, m’not sure if that’s…”  

“Do you not like them?” she sounds nearly concerned, as if not liking apple pies should be considered a crime in the fairytale world inside her skull.   

“Nah, I do, I just— shouldn’t we be comin’ up with some plan to keep you safe n’ shit? And not bakin’ pies. We don’t really have all the time in the world before the queen finds out you’re alive,” he mutters out. 

“Well, I don’t know about you but I can’t think with an empty stomach. And, um, it would also be a thank you for you sparing my life,” she timidly looks up at him. 

He clears his throat at that, seemingly surprised by her sentimentality; feeling unworthy of the gratitude she’s so willingly offering him. “Right, yeah, uh, alright. Well, you do that and I’ll go get us some firewood or somethin’, yeah?”  

“That sounds perfect,” she smiles.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   

Later, when he returns to the cottage, the saccharine smell of oven-baked apples instantaneously whirls around him— holding him in a cinnamon-scented embrace and dragging a grumble from his stomach.   

“Oh, you’re back just in time!” she exclaims as she sets down two porcelain plates for them.  

“I might’ve went a little overboard with the cinnamon but I hope you don’t mind?” she asks while cutting through the steaming pie that’s making him practically drool.   

“Uh, nah, I…love cinnamon,” he murmurs, not sure why he just said that since he doesn’t particularly even like cinnamon. However, he’s certain that nothing that smells like that could possibly taste bad.  

“Really? Me too!”  

He thinks this is the first time he’s seen her eyes glitter in that way; as if he’s just single-handedly hung the moon or professed his undying love for her. It makes something unfamiliar poke at his insides— scratching at his organs and begging to be let out. However, he decides not to pay it any mind as he sits down on the kitchen chair that’s still entirely too tiny for him.   

“Do you like it?” she asks with her gaze glued to his expression when he takes his first bite. She hasn’t even touched her own slice; opting to stare at him instead and momentarily, he wonders why she’s so eager to please him.   

“This might just be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” he can’t help but groan out loud in response to the luscious flavors practically melting on his tongue.  

She swallows at that, mind seemingly stuck somewhere else entirely before she softly clears her throat. “You, um, you think so?”   

“Uh huh,” he hums out with delight before shoving another forkful of softened apple pieces and golden-brown crust into his mouth— a smirk soon blossoming on his face when he catches on to the double entendre of his mindless compliment that apparently turned her all shy.     

“Someone’s got a dirty mind,” he chuckles, mocking her.   

“I…” she opens and then closes her mouth like a goldfish. “I do not—”   

“Alright, you caught me. Second best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” he decides to toy with this sweet little princess some more, for some reason wants to see her all flustered; in some crooked way enjoys having an effect on her.   

“Um, right…yeah,” she stumbles over her words; eyes flickering towards her plate as she finally digs into her own portion.   

He’s all too preoccupied grinning at the way she’s avoiding his gaze when out of the blue, the sight of a bed peeking through the slightly ajar bedroom door catches his attention.  

And it’s not so much the piece of furniture that halts his chewing and makes a crease form between his brows, but more so the size of it. It forces his feet to move on their own accord to the room where he’s met with six more beds— just as minuscule as the first one.  

At that, he wonders if he really was so caught up with the princess that his brain couldn’t fit the very clear pieces together any earlier.   

“Oh shit, I think I know these guys n’ I don’t think they’ll be too happy to see me here when they get back,” he mutters while padding back towards the kitchen. 

“What do you mean?” concern paints over her features.   

“Nah, nothin’ just…uh, they don’t like me very much, so we gotta leave. I mean, they probably won’t mind you bein’ here all that much. They’re probably real friendly if you don’t piss them off like I have,” he scratches at the back of his head.      “What did you do?”  

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Uh, I have this cabin for when I’m hunting, but s’not very close. Think we should be safe there for tonight though. Unless you wanna stay here?”   

“No, I wanna go with you. I— I don’t want to stay here alone,” she’s quick to answer. 

“You sure?” he raises his brows.  

She nods.   

“Yeah? S’probably gonna be a few hours on foot. Think you can walk for that long in the woods, princess?” he asks next, his cadence turning into something playful.   

“Of course I can. I have two healthy legs,” she sounds almost offended. 

“I can see that,” an entertained smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And you’re not scared of the dark either?” he adds, almost as if testing her.  

“Of course not,” she lies through her teeth— eliciting a humored chuckle from him.  

“Mm. Could’ve sworn you were getting a little jumpy on our way here, but must’ve imagined it, right?” he drawls out, eyes narrowing in a challenge. 

“Yeah…” she doesn’t give in, a smile beginning to pull at her lips to match his own; neither of them seeming to mind when something feather-light takes the place of the once leaden ambience between them. 

Momentarily, she wonders why she’d never talked to this strangely captivating hunter before— his blue velvet eyes nearly entrancing, compelling her into an incantation she seems to unconsciously gravitate towards.   

However, the spell is soon broken when he takes a step closer, leaning over towards the table to blow off the flickering blaze of the candles— a dusky obscurity dancing around them once more. 

[vacz]

I present to you my idea of a alternative bad ending for Wirt...

THE HUNTER

Instead of Beast!Wirt is Woodsman!wirt

After accepting the deal with the Beast, Wirt became the new lantern barer in hopes to keep Greg alive. He took the job to cut down the ellewoods and make them oil to feed the lantern so Greg's soul would never turn off, exactly what the woodsman used to do with his daughter. But as different from the woodsman, Wirt does know where the ellewoods truly came from, so the Beast has decided to take advantage of it and included him a little bit more into his chase for new victims. Now having Wirt helping the Beast to guide lost souls to the wrong path, it has become so much easier for the Beast to trap new souls

Wirt's role was this for a time: Becoming the new woodsman and finding lost kids to give them wrong directions or ideas. Despise how much he refused in the beginning, soon the Beast made him understand that this was the price for his mistakes, unless he wanted to Greg pay the price instead...

Until one night, Wirt had to confront a travel soul. A boy like him, wanting to save his little brother from the cruel breaches of the tree growing on his helpless body, and finally leave the woods with him, like Wirt himself once did. However, the Beast pressured and demanded him to take action himself, but unlike the old woodsman, Wirt did cut the boy down.

And since that incident, Wirt now has a new task to commit every time a new soul enters into the unknown.

He could barely sleep at night before, now he can't sleep at all. Wirt has stopped taking care of himself, at least he washes his hair and clothes once in a time but time itself seems so uselessly long for him until the point that things don't seem to matter anymore, nothing matters for Wirt, not even himself and his feelings... except keeping the lantern lit

The Beast knows better than anyone that Wirt's mind has become so weak until the point that he can't even survive by himself. He had succeeded in destroying this boy whole identity, only leaving a white paper to work on, so now he tries mold Wirt according his own twisted needs. Ironically, thanks to the Beast's influence, Wirt remembers the reason why he has to keep going with this but also he slowly starts to see people in a similar way that the beast's twisted perception does; trees to feed the lantern, not ready to burn yet but they must be prepared.

It's not surprising how much he has given up to the Beast. But unlike him, Wirt doesn't like to "play" or manipulate their victims, because he doesn't want to know them at all. Wirt already knows how these people will end, and he doesn't want to feel worse than he feels now, so he mostly tries to make his interactions shorter or cut them down directly, the quicker the easier it is for him to adopt this 'human dissociation' mentally

Of course, when he chooses violence, people tend to run rather than do what he plead, so he has to chase after them. Running after someone is exhausting for Wirt because he isn't that athletic in that aspect, and it's frustrating when he can't reach them. There are times when they manage to escape and some others that they don't

Wirt hates running after them, because it makes the situation more torturous and he gets exhausted. But if they don't start running, he is the one who tells them to do so. He doesn't understand very well why he does this but he likes to think that is a way to give them a chance to escape so he doesn't have to be the one to end with them, after all Wirt wants to believe that he is not evil

And yet, at the same time Wirt finds some kind of satisfaction on it... He is scared of what he is becoming.

Of course, he has this little duality inside his brain. The Beast has done a good job to keep Wirt in his role but still that doesn't make Wirt's guilt disappear at all

At least, his guilt has been manifested into a voice, represented by the rock fact. Even if the rock fact was meant for Greg to make silly but un-true facts, Wirt's interpretation of his own rock facts are the cruelest truths he refuses to believe. The rock fact represents that honest and logical part of him that is still there, under the tone of the self hate Wirt has grown on himself.

Of course, when he is around people for a longer period than he feels he should, Wirt stops trying to act normal and let himself to act a little... dramatic, in hopes to scare them or "prepare" himself mentally to go and chase them down with the axe

For this, he likes to use the rock fact. He always keeps it in his hair and uses it to try to re-create a rock fact like the ones Greg used to make, but instead of charming or adorable he looks insane, and he already knows that. Of course, he tries to re-create them seriously when he is alone but still fails miserably

Wirt does this in a poor intent to feel in touch with Greg, even tho they usually talk a lot with each other

Jason Funderberker has been gone for a long time by now, so the Beast is the only company Wirt has left, but most of the time he is alone.

He doesn't devout that his brother is there anymore, after all, Now Wirt can hear Greg's voice coming out of the lantern so what would be a better proof than that?. Greg is the only person left who seems to not hate him or is scared of him, the little ray of sunshine in his poor cruel life. If you tell him otherwise, Wirt won't want to believe you, even if deep down somehow, someway no matter how delusional he may be... He knows is true

Of course, I wouldn't recommend saying this because after having a nervous breakdown he will absolutely go after you with all pure rage.

Now here are some questions and its explanations:

Where does this idea come from?

Where does the name "The Hunter' come from?

What's Wirt and The Beast's relationship?

Wirt, The Woodsman, The Hunter and The Beast

Where does this idea come from?

It's no surprise that it comes from the idea of a bad ending for Wirt, one that is more fitting with the logic of the series. Because let's be real;

If he accepted the deal he wouldn't turn into the new beast because The Beast's motivation was to survive, he doesn't seem to want a replacement or transpass the role to anyone. In that case he would have already done it with The Woodsman.

The unknown was completely fine with the Beast gone so is not that he is THAT important for the forest to need a replacement.

Also, remember this little scene? it's from chapter 1: The Old Grist Mill. When Wirt and Greg just entered the unknown and suddenly heard the Woodsman cutting wood, before talking to him, Wirt said:

"Do you think it's some kind of deranged lunatic with an axe waiting out there in the darkness for innocent victims?"

So I thought; What if in the bad ending... He became that deranged lunatic?

Where does the name "The Hunter" come from"?

In the concept:

Since there are times when Wirt's victims escape, those who survived spread the word of a maniac who is wandering around the woods, looking for new victims, and once he finds them he will chase them until he can cut them down to the bone with his axe

They named him "The Hunter"

Wirt knows about his new reputation, since the travelers call him that once he reveals his real intentions, but he isn't really aware of all the rumors and stories people of the unknown had made about him, he knows that he will not like them but at the same time he is very curious about it. Some of them are true and others are just exaggerating. But at this point, Wirt Hunter had accepted that now he is one of the particular characters of the unknown.

In technical explanation:

In Over The Garden Wall we saw that most of the characters are named by "the what" for example: The Beast and The woodsman, they had no name by their own outside of their archetype. So I thought that in Wirt's case he would have a name like that, losing his own as a representation of how he has lost his own original identity. Wirt is no longer "the worthy one" anymore because he is more lost than the woodsman ever was, and there is no chance to bring him back, so he became "The Hunter" for the unique faction that makes himself distinguish from The Woodsman: The killing

The woodsman is just a man who lives in the woods and cuts trees, it just happens that the Beast used one to keep the lantern on. However.... The Hunter is someone that hunts, the whole point of a hunter is that he chases living beings and strap them, mostly for need. That is something The Beast himself does in his own way, which makes Wirt and The Beast more similar and unionite than the previous dynamic with The Woodsman, or even I dare say they are just alike; The Creature and The Man who hunts for surviving

Also, more into Bad End Friend's territory; Every evil alternate version has their own unique name, for example the icon trio, Bipper and Ice Finn (Also officially named "The Snowman") but then we have just "Beast Wirt" and until now NOBODY has come up with an actual name that fits him. I remember that someone already suggested the name "The Hunter" for Beast Wirt but it didn't make much sense (At least to me). However, in a woodsman context I think it could work better.

What's Wirt and Beast's relationship?

In Wirt's perspective

Basically a case of Stockholm Syndrome: At first he felt more like a prisoner, The Beast was a figure who he should follow if he wants to keep Greg alive, he is more than Wirt and his power overcomes his young self. However as the time passed, Wirt realized that the Beast can also be very merciful and at the same time rightfully ruthless as his monstrous nature allows him, as he has 'shown' him acts of trust. For Wirt, The Beast is a dark but fair being, not as evil as everyone told. The Beast acts similarly like a father would do towards Wirt, but without that human openly caring love. He is strict and cold, but is for Wirt and Greg's own good

In Beast's perspective:

Wirt is nothing but an interesting experiment. The Beast has been manipulating every little detail of Wirt's surroundings, so he decides to obey him by own choice, which worked out way better than expected. He has seen Wirt changing to fit into his needs, becoming more useful and useful than last time. Anytime the Beast has thought he reached the limit, Wirt proves him wrong and finds a way to pass it and go on anyway. His determination is so fascinating to the Beast that he continues to see how far he could go

Their dynamic:

Naive teen being manipulated by his father figure to be useful for his plans or desires (but even more mess up)

Examples of this kind of dynamic are Rapunzel and Mother Gothel from Tangled (2010) or Hunter and Belos from The Owl House (2020)

Wirt has been alone for so long to the point that he holds tightly to anything that could give him a minimum sign of love, and The Beast knows that more than anyone

He has taken advantage of this, so by convincing Wirt to isolate himself and showing barely love, Hunter would listen and obey him without any doubt. It doesn't matter if The Beast is the main responsible for his situation, things have been twisted so much to that point that Wirt fully believes that this is all his fault. He must do the right thing at any cost, after all, he would do anything for the ones he loves right Gregory?

Wirt, The Woodsman, The Hunter and The Beast

These are the four identities Wirt adopts in the time on the unknown, like states of his sanity slowly decaying

Wirt

The anxious teen we all know and love, the guy he has been during his journey until the point where he faced the Beast face to face

The Woodsman

Wirt post-deal

At first:

He doubts that Greg may be in the lantern, and now he regrets his decision. However he doesn't know what to do now because the guilt for Greg will not leave him in peace, and so Wirt feels like he doesn't deserve to go home, he can't go back, no without Greg. So he still lives in the forest, feeding the lantern and hearing the Beast's words, however The Beast insists that Greg is indeed in the lantern, but Wirt isn't sure whether to believe him or not

Even if Wirt knows he needs the ellewood, like the woodsman, he tries to help and warns about the Beast to those who came into the unknown

The Beast warned him about helping people, but he didn't listen to him until one night. There was an incident where he almost lost Greg's light forever for the lack of ellewood. Since then, Wirt finally cooperates with the Beast

At last:

Wirt knows what he must do. He misguides those who pass through the way in forms to get enough ellewood for Greg, always making sure to keep himself distance and not get too close with them. However there are times where he can't NOT sympathize with the travelers and so he offers his genuine help

The Beast wasn't comfortable knowing that Wirt still kept helping people.

The Hunter

Wirt post-murder

At first:

After his first kill, Wirt felt so guilty that he stopped taking care of his health (He stopped eating, bathing, and stuff) and encaged himself inside the house with all the bottles of oil, fearing that he would hurt someone again

At this time Wirt started to hear the voices of Greg, the rock and the crying of the lost souls, and talk to them until he ran out of oil

When he finally went outside, his body was too weak to even walk and he fell on the grass unconsciously. At that moment the Beast thought Wirt died and so he was about to take off the lantern, but the boy's hands wouldn't stop grabbing it with all the fury. The Beast kept trying until suddenly Wirt woke up and said to him that as long as his brother needs him he would be still here. For his stupid unbreakable determination, the beast didn't see any other option but to take care of the kid

As he recovered, The Beast started to convince him of the idea of taking people as nothing but ellewoods he needs. Wirt didn't like it at first, but the Beast's kind act and the poor health state he put himself into finally made him accept the new task.

At last (actual state):

Most of the time he is alone, searching around the forest for more ellewood to feed Greg with, day and night. He doesn't fully sleep, he takes naps in the afternoon so he can be wake up all night as he wants. To eat he hunts animals, fish, rabbits and some other birds or frogs, whatever living being he finds. To entertain himself he recites poetry and sings songs that the Beast has taught him, all loud like someone would listen to him. At home he writes his poems and composes his own music, mostly for clarinet.

At times the voices are louder and other times they are quiet. If it's Greg then it would be a nice time, if it's the rock fact it's a guarantee he would be at least pissed off, and if it is the distant crying of the lost souls then paranoid it is.

When someone crosses his way, it depends on how things are going to see how things will end. When he just indicates the direction you'll better leave as soon as you can, because the longer you stay and talk to him Wirt will act weirder in hopes for you to leave him alone, otherwise, if you cross the line with your words, he probably will run out of patience and starts to prepare the axe

But it also depends on how likeable he finds you. He could not care and warned you before he attacks you as usual, he could hate you so much to the point that he attacks you with no warning, he could like you and give you five seconds of advantage, and if he likes you a little bit more he would become obsessed with you and will maintain you inside his house so the Beast will not know about your existence as long you don't go outside

The Beast

The Beast (According to the Woodsman's words) is the death of all hope. How low would you have to go so you lost your whole humanity to become the living embodiment of one of the darkness concepts in human kind?

If Wirt ever became the Beast, he should have been falling in grace until the lowest point a person could go. So in my idea of The Hunter, I like to imagine that the differences between The Beast and Wirt would slowly fade away until they are one in the same

Inside The Hunter, Wirt has not only become lost in life but he has also lost his identity, his spirit, his desires and his home. The one thing left to lose is his humanity... His soul

The only thing that separates him from The Beast, is him holding on to the last piece of humanity he has left; Greg

Day after day his sanity is drifting away, but it's because of Greg's existence that he is connected with his humanity, because his actions are meant for Greg's surviving, not his

If Wirt descends to absolute madness and forgets completely about Greg but also openly enjoys his cruelest actions, to the Unknown's eyes, he would no longer be worthy of humanity, and as a punishment he would be cursed to be the successor of the Beast

And becoming worse.

Like I have been having this idea in my mind for a while now and I wanted to share it. I hope you liked my idea and the drawings I made because it really took me a lot of time trying to finish this post because you know... Christmas and happy new year (ah yes, what a happy post to show in these lovely times, yeah!)

SO WHAT YOU THINK?

[mint-tea-ashes]

Can I offer you an Ash holding different berries in this trying time?

[moonpatroclus]

“𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬… 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲”

When I saw the “slice of life” prompt for @azrisweek , my immediate thought was some quiet, intimate slow dancing. In my mind, I imagine this isn’t after a big fancy ball or party, it’s just a random evening- nothing special about it other than the fact they get to spend it together.

Thank you, thank you a million times to the wonderful b_astora for working on this piece for me. She was so kind to squeeze me into her schedule, and I’m so happy with the way she brought this idea to life💗

Please do not repost

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[odd-chips]

Here's a big post of some of my doodles of [Cap'n and crew] that I haven't posted yet! Couple are comics, couple are shitposts, you know how it goes.

(Also have some extra character tidbits beneath the cut!)

Cap'n (she/they) has become a Spongebob-adjacent "married to the job" type with sprinklings of "they are not immune to rose-tinted Company propaganda". Cartoonishly loyal to work, she's more upset about lying to the boss about her condition over actually becoming a monster on work time (though she isn't particularly a fan of being a monster, either).

Skeets (she/her) was already implied to be pretty optimistic and curious, but I've doubled down on this. She's constantly curious about entities and the state of her co-workers, asking questions and absorbing new information. She's also extremely lucky when it comes to encountering entities.

Mav (she/him), as implied by her nearly leaving Cap'n behind in the first comic, has become a "I won't hesitate, bitch" bitch. Split second decisions aren't an issue for her, she WILL shoot first and ask questions later. (She also now has a gambling addiction, haha. LOVES betting credits on things)

Kid (he/him) is now Irish. I will not elaborate. He's kind of literally the same otherwise. He's also in major inherited debt because of a Company-caused clerical error, but don't worry about it.

Uh. That's about it, I suppose!

[disruptivevoib]

Thermoing my dynamics, dear lawyer. Self-Satire is important, if not key to getting the whole VIBE down.

[ricky-mortis]

I have a lot of thoughts about Tinky fucking Ted up- have some doodles about it

[navree]

"rhaenys could have ended the war by dracarysing all the greens right there" yes because a distant relation to the throne deciding to barbecue an anointed and publicly positively hailed king and his entire family who is well loved within the city and in multiple other parts of the country for the sake of the succession of a far-away princess no one was ever on board with who hasn't been seen by the populace in literal years, her psycho husband, her three obvious bastards, and two toddlers from the psycho husband would go over super well with westeros and especially in king's landing where scores of the still-cheering population were killed for no reason by that same dragon who would do the barbecuing, because when targaryens act unilaterally without thinking of how the people would react there's never any problem, which is why the storming of the dragonpit and robert's rebellion were actually just collective delusions dreamed up by readers who hate rhaenyra and not key parts of the story and house targaryen's history that directly contributed to their demise and are intrinsic to the plot

truly team black stans are made up of only the most genius and media literate amongst us

[solaestial]

SLEEPWALK - Hitorie

(link to song translation)

[tubbytarchia]

I was speedrunning traffic/hermit merch ideas because I really wanna be a vendor this summer so uhh would you guys buy these lol

Edit: BEANS ALSO. THE SQUISHY COTTON BEANS BUT WITH LIKE. Bdubs' or Scar's face (they have the most marketable faces idk what to tell you)

Edit again: made another post about shipping (as in, parcels)

[spookygibberish]

im sorry but i haven't found a definition of anomie that ive understood yet, could you explain it in your own words please?

i dont think i have felt anything like that

I think Anomie can most succinctly be summed up the "We Live in a Society" emotion, at least in my experience. It IS social isolation, and profound alienation, but i feel like those terms don't fully capture what it entails and why it arises. It's a feeling of disconnection arising from the acute awareness of the inconsistencies inherent to living day to day when faced with the greater context of the rest of the world. The flagrant inconsistencies between what is seen and what is known. When I was working in a grocery store It was an overpowering background noise. It's the thing that made me feel in ineffably cold from hearing a chirpy advertisement proclaiming it's National Hot Dog Day on the radio, all while working a miserable barely minimum wage job that increasingly felt like it didn't matter at all despite not actually being a pointless job, just one largely (but not entirely) mechanically divorced from any sense of human connection or community, while knowing that I am American and Safe and knowing what America Is and what America Does and how there's this horrible exterior reality of suffering and death and exploitation feeding every cell in an ecosystem of comfort and discomfort that I have no choice but to exist as a part of, drinking the blood of strangers. But it doesn't matter, it isn't real, it's National Hot Dog Day.

[jellidraws]

i thought the "miku from your country" trend was cute, so of course i had to make mikus for a few of my favorite sci-fi "not a country, but not not a country" political entities

[fatedroses]

Sometimes a light party is a machinist loporrit, a rogue moogle chef, an ex-assassin healer, and the former prince of Garlemald.

[icewindandboringhorror]

What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)