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m1ckeyb3rry · 8 months ago

Text

I LEAVE YOU

Synopsis: “Mispronounced words. He had mispronounced one of the simplest words in the English language, and it had led to all of this.” (Also know as Inumaki Toge Tries To Tell You He Loves You, But It All Goes Terribly Wrong)

JJK Masterlist

Pairing: Inumaki x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.3k

Content Warnings: crack fic, secondhand embarrassment, miscommunication, mentions of sex toys/fetishes (non-explicit), megumi deserves damage pay, probably not lore-compliant, not at all to be taken seriously, characters are probably ooc tbh

A/N: i posted this literally two years ago on ao3 and it just occurred to me to put it on here LMAOAO anyways i obv wrote this a long time ago and it’s the most unserious ridiculous thing ever so please don’t judge me based on this fluffy goofy silly cracky nonsense i promise I’m better now!!

divider credits: @/benkeibear

The first emotion that spiked through you when you heard that the second years were back from their mission was relief. None of them were dead; anything else, you could deal with.

You had rushed to the infirmary, ignoring Nobara’s snickers. She alone knew who you was sprinting to see — your feelings for a certainupperclassman were highly secret, of course, but somehow she had found out, and of course she had, because she was Kugisaki Nobara, and nothing could really be kept secret from her for very long.

She had been urging you to do something, to make a move, citing that it “wasn’t like he had a lot of girls interested in him, anyways,” but you had always been too shy. You weren’t sure that you could handle a rejection, and it was hard to tell whether he was interested in you or just polite.

But your fear did not stop you from skidding to a stop in front of Shoko, giving her a wide-eyed stare, patiently waiting for her to tell you what was wrong with your friends.

“Did you need something?” she said. Obviously, her cursed technique had nothing to do with reading minds, but you still scowled at her for not knowing what you were thinking.

“The second years. Are…are they alright?” you said. She frowned, and this was your first clue that there was something less than alright going on with the trio.

“Well, they’re not permanently hurt, no,” she said. You sighed in relief — this was more than you could’ve hoped for. The curse that they had been sent to fight was obviously a strong one, and more than that, it was wily, with a rumored arsenal of techniques far beyond what you could even comprehend.

“That’s good,” you said.

“It is. They’ll all make a full recovery; Maki and Panda were barely impacted, anyways,” she said. Your blood ran cold at the name she didn’t mention.

“And Inumaki?” you said. If something had happened to him…you weren’t sure what you’d do. Probably cry. A lot.

“He’s fine, just a bit shocked. See, the curse managed to take his cursed energy from him, so until that’s been replenished, he’s just a normal person,” she said.

“Huh?” you said. “What does that mean?”

“Why don’t you just ask him yourself?” she said, ushering you into the infirmary, “I know that’s why you’re really here.”

Maki and Panda were nowhere to be found, and Shoko groaned, muttering about irresponsible children and telling you she’d be back with her patients in tow once more. This left you alone in the room with Inumaki Toge — at once your biggest dream and greatest fear.

You did not speak for the first few moments, far too nervous to open your mouth. He was buried in a mountain of pillows and blankets, soft blond hair falling in his violet eyes as he flipped through the pages of a book. His zipped up collar was nowhere to be seen; he only wore a plain white t-shirt, leaving his snake-fang seals visible. You had always thought they were pretty, so then your nerves were overtaken by infatuation with the elegant markings. The end result was the same: when Inumaki looked up, it was to you awkwardly standing in the room and watching him read.

“Hello,” he said. This made you pause and think.

“Hi?” you said.

“How are you doing?” he said. Now you really were confused.

“Not that I’m complaining, but can’t you…not speak?” you said. He set his book on his nightstand and sat up with a heavy sigh.

“Normally, I can’t. But as of right now, I can. That’s the effect of that curse we fought. I have the most cursed energy out of the three of us second years, so it drained mine, which means I’m unable to use my technique until my energy’s built up again. Shoko estimates it’ll be about a week,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. So Inumaki had one week of talking normally before he would be back to his usual limited speech. You wondered what he would think to say.

You had met Inumaki on your first day at Jujutsu Tech. He had helped you find your dorm room and then, via text, warned you about Gojo’s antics. Your crush had been born the very same day. He was so beautiful and kind that it was almost a no-brainer, really; though he could only speak in rice ball components, you didn’t even care. You found solace in swooning at him from afar, and every conversation you had ever had with him since then was filed away in a special corner of your mind, played on repeat whenever you were bored.

Nobara thought you were crazy when she found out, asking you if you had an ingredients fetish and then teasing you for a solid day by moaning tuna in your ear whenever she saw you. She only stopped because you started crying and begged Fushiguro’s Divine Dogs to chase her away if she got too close. The dogs were friendly enough and obliged, though you had had to buy Fushiguro several bags of candy for his troubles.

You could hear her voice in your ear right now as you stared at Inumaki, though it was thankfully not her moaning ingredients but rather her insisting that you say something. It was so easy; now, at least, he could reject you properly, with words instead of helpless frustration and a long-winded text about how you were nice, really, but he just thought of you as an annoying friend who didn’t leave him alone, and anyways, why would he ever like you?

“Can I tell you something?” he said before you could ask to do the same. Privately, you were relieved at this, for it meant you could procrastinate your confession a little further.

“What’s up?” you said, a small, childish hope arising in you that maybe, just maybe, this was it. Maybe he’d confess first, and then things would be very simple indeed. You allowed yourself to feel excitement building at this prospect.

“I…oh, man, how do I do this?” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a flush rising over his pale cheeks. “Ah, shit, I’ve spent my whole life wishing I could speak and having so many things to say but not the words to say them, and now that I finally can talk, I just don’t even know what to say.”

“It’s alright. You can take your time, I don’t mind,” you said politely. And you didn’t mind — whatever he had to say, you would wait around for years if you needed to in order to hear it. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’ll just come out with it, then!” he said, nodding determinedly before locking eyes with you, “I leave you.”

It suddenly felt like you were underwater, ears ringing. Your throat choked, and pathetic, childish tears blurred your vision. He was leaving. Inumaki, for whatever reason, was leaving. And not only was he leaving, he was leaving you in specific.

“R-really?” you said, forcing a smile, though you knew it was awfully unconvincing. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” He seemed embarrassed, now, averting his eyes, “No, why would you think that?”

“Well, you just said…” you trailed off helplessly.

“Oh. I thought you would be happy,” he said, his voice quiet, small, ashamed. He looked almost brokenhearted, though why he would be feeling hurt about this development, you could not be sure. He was the one making the choice to leave; you were the one fated to stay behind.

“Why would I be happy about that?” you said. He was dejected when he spoke next.

“Never mind. I don’t…I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said.

“I’ll still support you,” you said, steeling yourself to flash him a watery smile, “I hope we can still be friends.”

“Yes! Yes, please, please, I know I messed up by telling you this, but I don’t want us to stop being friends,” he said.

“I’m glad you told me, though. I’d rather not be left in the dark. Have you told anyone else yet?” you said.

“No, though I’m sure Panda suspects it,” he said before shifting uncomfortably to pull his blankets up and hide his face, “Can you, um, go? I want some time alone.”

“Right,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not hurt permanently.”

As you left, you thought you heard sniffles coming from the lump under the blanket, but if he really was crying, he gave you no other indication of it. You thought of lingering, of comforting him and asking him to comfort you, demanding he tell you the reason for his departure, but it was not your place. So, biting the inside of your cheek to hold your tears back, you marched towards Nobara’s dorm.

“He told you he’s leaving you?” she said, ten minutes later once you had explained to her the entire story. “How odd. And he hasn’t told anyone he’s transferring yet? Not even Gojo or Principal Yaga?”

“No,” you said, finding solace in her warm embrace, the scent of roses that wafted off of her skin, “I just don’t understand why he’s going.”

“It’s so strange. I mean, I really thought he liked you! Although, maybe he does. Think about it, you’re the first person he’s told, so clearly he trusts you a lot!” she said.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” you said, “Regardless as to his reasons, it remains that he’s leaving me. At least he said we can still be friends, though.”

“Wait!” she said, and there was a conniving smirk on her face that spelled trouble, “I have an idea. Let’s throw a surprise going-away-party for him! Even if you don’t confess, at least it’ll show you care about him. And maybe we’ll be able to figure out why he’s leaving and where he’s going, too.”

“We have to do it before the end of the week, then, that’s when Shoko estimates his cursed energy will be back to normal and he won’t be able to talk anymore,” you said.

“I doubt you’d be complaining about that, Miss Ingredients Fetish,” Nobara said.

“I don’t have a fetish for ingredients!” you said, wriggling out of her hug and glaring at her.

“Oh, really? So you won’t get all hot and bothered if I say ‘salmon,’ right?” she said.

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Nobara, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” you said.

“Salmon,” she said, panting dramatically and clutching her chest. You threw a pillow at her, knocking her off of the bed in a fit of laughter.

“You suck,” you said.

“You swallow,” she shot back.

“Ugh! You’re hopeless!” you said, throwing your hands in the air.

“I’ll text the group chat to make plans for the party!” she said. You gave her the finger and stomped out of her room to go sit in your own and mope about the fact that Inumaki was leaving.

Really, this was probably a good thing. After all, with him gone, you didn’t have to worry about him accidentally finding out about your crush. And maybe you’d even be able to move on, though you had no idea who at this school would measure up to Inumaki.

Nobara’s plan was sound, though. A going away party would be perfect to wish him one final farewell — provided, of course, that you were able to keep it a secret from the boy. This was easier said than done, but you were determined. You would make Inumaki’s party an occasion to remember, but this meant you had to call in some help.

The first thing you did the next day was video call Okkotsu, who was currently in Africa, training with a sorcerer named Miguel. You had to track down Maki and beg her for his number; she had been very confused but had given it to you anyways.

This left you staring at your phone screen, praying he would pick up. Inumaki and Okkotsu were best friends, so it would be wrong to not tell the black-haired sorcerer about your plans. He also might have some insight as to where Inumaki was going and why he was leaving.

“Hello?” Thankfully, Okkotsu picked up, looking extraordinarily confused. There were dark circles under his eyes and a katana strapped to his back. Despite the fact that he looked battle ready, he was just sitting on a couch and shoving chips in his mouth. “Who is this?”

“Okkotsu, sir! This is Y/N, I’m one of the first years at Jujutsu Tech,” you said.

“Okay. Don’t call me sir, it’s weird and I’m only a year older than you. Is there a reason you’re calling me?” he said.

“Yes, there is. See, Inumaki —” you began before he cut you off.

“Ohhh, you’re that Y/N! Yeah, yeah, I completely approve,” he said.

“Did Nobara already tell you?” you said.

“No, Inumaki’s been telling me about this for months now! Who’s Nobara?” he said.

“Months? But we didn’t even start planning until yesterday,” you said.

“He’s been dreaming of this day since the beginning of the year, even video called me and everything! I don’t think I’ve heard him say ‘salmon’ as many times in a row ever before or since,” he said. Unbidden, you remembered Nobara’s actions from yesterday and shivered before shaking your head to clear such thoughts from your mind.

“Do you know why he…you know?” you said. If Inumaki really had been planning on leaving for so long, then certainly Okkotsu would know why. The boy hummed and nodded.

“Yeah, for sure! But it’s a little weird if I say it, you know? Against the bro code or whatever, and it’d feel a bit too much like I was trying to slide in, which I’m not! Just ask him, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to tell you. God, he must be so happy right now! I wish I could be there to see it,” he said.

“Well, that’s actually why I called you. I’m throwing a surprise party in honor of the occasion, and I was wondering if you’d be able to come, or at least video call in,” you said. Each word Okkotsu uttered was like a stab in the heart, further reinforcing the fact that Inumaki really, really, really didn’t like you. Why else did he make plans to leave the literal day he had met you? You only wished he would’ve gone sooner so that your feelings did not build up and compound from a simple admiration into something greater, something beautiful and untouchable yet twisted and cruel.

“Sounds like a great time! Just video call me, I’ll be sure to pick up. And I’ll try to send something along as a gift, too! Damn, I know it’s not my news to be excited for, but it feels as though my heart’s going to burst!” he said, popping a final chip into his mouth before hanging up. You stared at the phone’s black screen for a second, marvelling at how this short conversation had made you feel even worse about the status of your relationship with Inumaki.

Before, you had believed that the two of you were friends, at least. You both had gotten along well enough — you would train together and slip each other notes with book recommendations. He had told you his favorite restaurant and described exactly the meal you should order, and you had introduced him to your favorite television series. Yet with the latest revelations that your discussion with Okkotsu had brought about, it was clear that all of this was Inumaki doing the bare minimum to tolerate you until the day he could leave.

Maybe he was glad that he could speak, if only for a short time. It allowed him to tell you in no uncertain terms that he was going away. If only he had elaborated back then! If only he had said that he felt such a way about you from the very start instead of leading you on with candy-sweet platitudes and feigned affection.

With Okkotsu’s presence now confirmed (and a gift apparently on the way), you moved on to the next thing you had to do in order to prepare for the party: recruit the other second years.

You decided to start with Maki. Though she was seemingly brusque, she was also a caring girl, and you knew she’d be thrilled to help throw a farewell party for one of her closest friends, even if she had not known he was leaving until just now.

As expected, she was properly enraged upon hearing the news.

“He’s leaving? Leaving where, exactly? The only place he’ll be going is hell, because I’m about to punch him so hard that that’s where he’ll end up!” she said, balling her fists, a vein popping in her forehead.

“Woah, hey, Maki! I don’t know where he’s going, but please don’t confront him. I don’t think he wants people knowing, and I want the party to be a surprise. He might get suspicious if he realizes that you know,” you said.

“Stupid idiot, won’t even tell his own classmates that he’s going,” she muttered, “I’ll keep your secret. But I will be committing violence at the party.”

“Please don’t!” you said, distressed at the thought, “I want him to have a fun final memory of Jujutsu Tech.”

Her eyes softened when she looked at you, and she nodded begrudgingly. “Alright. Your secret, and your party, are safe with me. I won’t tell a soul! Although, you know…a surprise farewell party would be a great place to confess your feelings.”

“How — how do you know about my feelings?” you said.

“Firstly, you’re not exactly subtle, the others are just really oblivious. Secondly, Nobara mayyyy have let something slip,” she said.

“I’m going to kill her,” you said.

“Don’t,” she said.

“No, I’m seriously considering it,” you said.

“If you do, I’ll ruin Inumaki’s party,” she threatened.

“Fine!” you whined like a child, “I’m going to go talk to Panda.”

The large bear was asleep in the sun when you reached him. You nudged him with your foot in an attempt to get him to wake up; thankfully, he did, blinking his beetle-dark eyes open sleepily and sitting up when he saw you.

“Panda, I need your help,” you said seriously once you were sure that you had his undivided attention.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

“Inumaki’s leaving, so I’m throwing him a party,” you said. Panda furrowed his brow, clearly trying to process this development.

“He is?” he finally said. You nodded, a small frown tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah, he literally told me as much! He was all like ‘I leave you,’ and it was kind of upsetting, actually,” you said.

“How interesting,” he said finally, and now there was mischief in his expression, “And you need my help with hosting a party?”

“I don’t know how much of a party it’ll be, exactly, I mean it’ll only be the first and second years, but yes, basically,” you said. He chuckled, rubbing his paws together menacingly.

“Excellent. Yes, I’d love to help! And it’s a surprise, right?” he said.

“Yes?” you said. He looked almost evil at this point, baring his teeth in his version of a smirk.

“Even better.”

With the second years thusly recruited and the first years taken care of by Nobara (you wasn’t sure what, exactly, she had over Fushiguro to convince him to join in on the festivities, but judging by the sour expression on his face when he RSVP'd to you, it had to be something), the guest list was complete. Panda assured you he’d get Inumaki to come without being obvious, and you were happy to entrust the task to him.

This left you to go shopping for party supplies, using Gojo’s credit card (Fushiguro had told you where it was hidden). You had convinced Nobara to stay behind, claiming that she needed to hold down the fort in your absence and get started on cleaning the room you’d use for the party. That was a lie, of course — you actually just didn’t want to take her shopping with you. If she came, you wouldn’t be back before midnight, and the party was supposed to be tonight.

“Where are you going?” Inumaki said. You almost screamed at the sound of his voice; you hadn’t expected him to just manifest out of nowhere, and especially not when you were trying to sneak out of the school in order to buy things for his surprise party.

“Shopping!” you said.

“Can I come? I feel like things were kinda left off weirdly last time we spoke, and I hoped we could try to fix them,” he said. You were unused to hearing him speak so many words at once, and you were mesmerised for a second before you mentally slapped yourself out of it.

“No! You cannot come. Sorry,” you said, feeling bad. You wanted nothing more than to talk with Inumaki, to talk and talk until your throat went dry and your words ran out, but if he saw what you were shopping for, then he’d catch on to the plan.

“Oh. Is it because I told you — ?”

“Absolutely not!” you yelped, cutting him off, not wanting him to get any ideas, “I’m shopping for personal things. Like tampons.”

“I don’t really mind that,” he said shyly, “I don’t think tampons are gross. I mean, they’re only plastic and cotton. I just really want to talk with you.”

“Sex toys!” you said.

“Um, what?” he said, taken aback. Your face was hot with embarrassment, but you needed him to understand that he was not allowed to come shopping with you. So you locked eyes with him and tried to repeat yourself.

“I am going shopping for, uh, you know…I mean, you heard me!” you said.

“Right!” he said, and he was so completely red you almost called him Clifford, “I’ll leave you to it, then! I guess we can talk later.”

You gave him a fake smile and a thumbs up, staying frozen in place until he had disappeared from sight. Then, with a wail, you called Nobara.

“I fucking told him I was shopping for sex toys!” you said, not even waiting for her to greet you like usual. There was a long silence on the other end of the line before someone cleared their throat.

“This is Fushiguro,” he said. You promptly hung up and cursed your luck. You should’ve sent Nobara to do the shopping. You really, reallyshould’ve sent Nobara.

That evening, as the sun set over the horizon and Panda distracted Inumaki, the rest of you decorated the room that Nobara and Yuji had cleared earlier in the day. Maki and Nobara were too busy whispering amongst each other to actually help, though, and you were hiding in the corner, too terrified of his reaction to even glance in Fushiguro’s direction. For his part, he did an excellent job of ignoring you, leaving him and Yuji to do the majority of the setting up.

When anxiety made it difficult to breathe, you began to fiddle with the projector, where Okkotsu’s face would be shown once he called in to the party. The green light was blinking, which meant that it was ready to go and was only waiting for you to connect your phone to it.

“It’s going to be fine,” Nobara soothed you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I think he’ll be thankful you planned something like this at all.”

“And I still think you should confess your feelings,” Maki said, adding her unwanted opinion, “Seriously! If he rejects you then it doesn’t matter, because he’ll just be leaving soon anyways. I think you should consider it.”

“She’s right,” Nobara said, “Here, maybe this’ll motivate you.”

She leaned in until her lips were barely brushing against the shell of your ear, cool breath tickling against your neck.

“What are you doing?” you said, unamused. She pitched her voice lower before speaking.

“Bonito flakes.”

“You little — stop doing that! I do not have an ingredients fetish!” you shouted, hitting her shoulder repeatedly. She burst into raucous laughter, tears of mirth gathering along her lash line.

“I’m going to have to request you to please stop talking about your intimate life in front of me, please,” Fushiguro said uncomfortably, “I already know far more than I ever wanted to.”

“Fushiguro, it wasn’t like that, I was shopping for party supplies! I only said the other thing to throw Inumaki off the trail,” you said.

“Okay,” he said, obviously not believing you but allowing you to pretend, “Whatever you say.”

“Shh! Panda and Inumaki are on their way!” Yuji said, interrupting the conversation by hushing all of you obnoxiously, “Everyone, positions!”

You all ducked behind various pieces of furniture, and one of Fushiguro’s Divine Dogs hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness before it melted into the shadows once more.

A second later, the door creaked open, revealing Inumaki and Panda’s silhouettes standing in the frame. From beside you, Nobara began to giggle, and you pinched her in an effort to get her to shut up. It worked, although it did have the unfortunate consequence of her pinching you back.

“What’s going on here?” Inumaki said, turning the lights on. As soon as he did, you all (with the exception of Fushiguro, of course) leapt out at him. He fell backwards in surprise, staring up at you through thick lashes.

“Surprise!” Yuji said.

“It’s not my birthday?” Inumaki said.

“Do you see a cake anywhere?” Nobara said, “This isn’t a birthday party, it’s a farewell party!”

“A farewell party? But who are we saying farewell to?” Inumaki said in confusion.

“You. Did you think we wouldn’t care about your departure? You idiot, we’re going to miss you so much!” Maki said, sniffing and wiping away a tear.

“Let’s all go around and share our favorite memories with Inumaki,” Yuji said. Inumaki seemed dumbfounded, so Nobara took the initiative to respond.

“That’s a great idea! I’ll go first — I really enjoyed the one time he let me paint his nails,” she said.

“I don’t have any good memories,” Fushiguro deadpanned, “But if I had to pick a tolerable one, it would be when I convinced him to use his Cursed Speech on Nanami.”

“I remember that!” Maki said, howling in laughter, “And I can’t pick a favorite memory. We just have too many good ones.”

“Same!” Yuji said, and he was bawling now for some reason, “You’re just so cool, Inumaki! I’m so sad that you’re going!”

“Y/N, what about you?” Maki said.

“Confess! Confess! Confess!” Nobara chanted, not even trying to be subtle about it anymore.

“Be quiet!” you said.

“Do it or I’ll do it for you!” she said. You looked around at the audience; they all seemed interested, even Fushiguro. Though you wanted to talk to Inumaki in a bit more of a private setting, Nobara and Maki were right in that this was the perfect time to say something. So, taking a deep breath, you faced the boy.

“Inumaki,” you said, “I know that I’ve been acting weird recently, ever since you told me you’ll be going, but that’s because I don’t want you to. See, the truth is that I love you. I think I have for a while now, and I’m going to miss you, and I don’t want you to go, so please don’t. Please stay.”

He blinked. “Huh? What do you mean? I never said I was going anywhere.”

“Yes you did!” you said, pointing at him accusingly, “I remember it! That day in the infirmary!”

“I didn’t say I was going anywhere, I said I leave you!” he said.

“That’s the same thing!” you said indignantly, “You’re getting upset about semantics when I just confessed that I love you, idiot! Doesn’t that even mean anything to you?”

“No? I’ve never heard of that word before!” he said.

“Love? You’ve never heard of love before?” you said. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said.

“L-O-V-E. Love. That rings no bells?” you said. His face suddenly went snow-white.

“L-O-V-E is pronounced…love?” he said.

“How the hell else would it be pronounced?” you snapped, feeling far too bewildered and irritated to soften your words. How could he have treated your feelings so flippantly? How did he just not understand love?

Inumaki suddenly found the floor incredibly fascinating. “...leave.”

“What?” You said.

“What?” he said innocently.

“OH MY GOD!” Nobara squealed, catching on far quicker than you, “You both are idiots!” Finally, you began to understand, and then you were inclined to agree with her.

“So you’re not going anywhere?” you checked.

“No, I’m not,” he said.

“He hasn’t been able to speak for practically his entire life,” Panda said, shoulders shaking with laughter, “Can you blame him if he mispronounces a couple of words now and then? It’s not like anybody’s ever corrected him before.”

Mispronounced words. He had mispronounced one of the simplest words in the English language, and it had led to all of this.

“You’re not leaving,” you said again, drawing closer to him, “You’re not leaving me.”

“I won’t ever leave you if you don’t want me to,” he said, wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug.

“Don’t,” you said, “Please don’t.”

“I love you. That’s what I meant to say all along,” he said.

“I guess I threw this whole party for nothing, then,” you said, hiding your face in his shirt.

“Is this what you were shopping for earlier? Not…the other things?” he said.

“Yeah. It was just a surprise, so I didn’t want you coming along,” you said, feeling bashful at how entirely silly the entire affair had ended up being. He let out a warm, gentle laugh that caused his chest to vibrate against your cheek.

“It’ll be hard, you know. Once this week is over, I’ll be back to only speaking in rice ball ingredients,” he warned.

“That’s probably for the best. Less room for misinterpretation,” you said.

“Plus, she has an ingredients fetish!” Nobara chimed in. You withdrew from the safety of Inumaki’s shirt to scowl at her.

“Enough with the ingredients fetish!”

A knock at the door interrupted the tense showdown; Panda opened it to reveal a delivery man, who was holding a package and fidgeting, probably out of fear, considering he was face to face with a giant, sentient panda.

“I have a package from an Okkotsu Yuta, addressed here?” he said. You slapped your forehead.

“Shit, I forgot about him! Thank you,” you said, accepting the box and then quickly calling Okkotsu.

“Hey, guys!” he said cheerily. His phone must have been set up against the wall of a building or something, because it showed him busy using his katana to exorcise curses and not even breaking a sweat, “Sorry, this isn’t a great time, but congratulations on getting together! I hope you like your present — hey! Stay away from the iPhone!” The screen abruptly went dark as a curse swiped at Okkotsu’s cell phone, knocking it down while the sorcerer snarled.

“Open the present!” Yuji said excitedly.

Inside of the box were two bright pink t-shirts. Both of them had white lettering on them — one said I’m Okkotsu Yuta’s Best Friend Foreverand the other said I’m Okkotsu Yuta’s Girlfriend-in-Law.

You all stared at them, expressions varying from amusement to delight to horror. You didn’t even question how Okkotsu had known that you and Inumaki would confess to each other. Clearly, he already thought you both were together, so it was really just divine timing in that sense.

Somewhere in Africa, Okkotsu finished exorcising the curses and sheathed his katana, casting aside his jacket to reveal a bright pink shirt that said on it in white lettering, I’m Okkotsu Yuta.

“Maybe they’ll let me third wheel,” he mused to himself, “I mean, they had better, considering how hard these shirts were to find at the thrift store.”

#inumaki x reader #toge x reader #inumaki x y/n #toge x y/n #inumaki x you #toge x you #inumaki #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toge #reader insert #canon au #i leave you #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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writerfae · 17 days ago

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Here’s a proof that I am capable of writing Aiden interact with people that are NOT his brother or Talon xD Feat Maya cause she deserves more content (plus a little lore drop)

“So, why are your freckles white?” Aiden blushed slightly. “Excuse me if this is rude to ask,” he added, scratching the back of his neck.

Maya laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you why. You know, I’m not a typical fae. I wasn’t born normally like Talon or Halea. I am what people call a wishling…”

Aiden raised a brow. “A wishling?” He never heard about that before.

Maya nodded. “A fae born from a wish. It’s made possible by an ancient ritual. For generations, those who could not have children on their own used it to get a baby. Childless couples or people that didn’t have a partner but still want a child. Just like my mom.” Her voice softened at the mention of her mother. Aiden understood all too well.

“As you know,” Maya continued, sweeping a stray lock of hair behind her ear gently.

“She was human, but back in the old days even humans made use of this kind of magic. And since my mother was a follower of the old ways - something the people you and I grew up with would call a witch -“

She chuckled. “She knew about that ritual. She didn’t feel the need for a partner, but she wanted a daughter more than anything. Someone she could raise and teach her all she knew, like it was tradition in her family, daughter passing on knowledge to daughter. Someone she wouldn’t be so alone with.”

Aiden nodded. He could understand that. Who didn’t want to drown out loneliness with love, no matter what kind of love?

“And how did she do it?” he asked quietly.

“How exactly this ritual works I don’t know. Just that it requires your blood and… an already existing form of life, like a young animal or a plant, that the life of the child you want can sprout from.”

Aiden’s eyes widened. That sounded kinda ominous. But also really intriguing. So he remained quiet, letting Maya continue.

“In my case it was a fawn that was under my mother’s care. Mother performed the ritual and the next morning, instead of the fawn it was me lying in the hay, a baby that had her mother’s hair and her grandmother’s eyes.”

She smiled fondly at the last sentence.

“So…” Aiden wasnt quite sure if he understood this right. “You were once a deer?”

Maya laughed. “Yes and no. My life had its source in that of a deer, but it wasn’t a life I lived. It is… like a previous life. A rebirth, if you will.” That made sense. Kind of. Aiden couldn’t deny that he was curious.

“And do you remember it? Your previous life?”

“No. Most people don’t remember their previous life. Or do you remember yours?”

That question took Aiden aback. He had never thought about this before, hadn’t really considered that he had lived a life before this one. “No, I don’t…”

Maya smiled. “That’s what I thought. I don’t have memories of what was before. But, and this leads us to your question, a small part, a mark of the life a Wishling was born from remains visible, a reminder of the sacrifice. In my case, it’s the white freckles.”

“Like the white spots on the body of a fawn.”

She smiled. “Like the white spots on the body of a fawn, yes.”

“That’s pretty cool,” he said. “It looks nice on you.”

Maya’s cheeks colored a little at that. “Thanks, Aiden.”

Aiden returned her smile. “Thank you for telling me. And not being offended.”

That made Maya laugh. “No problem.”

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

#I’m back yet again with writing from the void #writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #writing #my writing

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dutiful-wildcraft · 10 months ago

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Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae.

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home.

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!”

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera.

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary. Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally. By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain, was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters.

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way.

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame.

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed. He is typically privy to smaller prophecies, glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field. The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago.

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose. Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together. Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic.

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds. He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance.

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him. Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long.

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance) In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates. Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone.

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

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sapphicseasapphire · 11 months ago

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A bit of a redesign for Cryptid Twilight! This is the real one I promise (until I change it again). Everything from the original character sheet is still true, just like… pretend that his outfit is different.

I based this one off of his Ordon outfit since I liked it (seriously, Ordon clothes and Skyloft clothes go SO hard. I would wear them) but I still wanted to keep the green tunic that he got during his adventure. Classic Link stuff. Also I put his hair up so we can actually see his facial markings since they’re very important to his character. If he ever needs to hide them though, he’ll let his bangs fall over his forehead.

More Twi lore under the cut!

In my au, those with markings on their face have the powers of a God. I’m going to make an origin story for him at some point, but in the mean time have this:

• Twi was orphaned at a young age. Like, very young. He was a toddler when he was found wandering the woods outside of Ordon Village.

• No one really knows where he comes from. Or what he is. He acted like a normal child so the people of Ordon didn’t hesitate to take care of him, though it was a shock when he started shifting!

• He has no designated father figure or mother figure. Instead, he was raised communally by the people of Ordon. Loved like a son by every one of them and he loved them all just the same. He’d cycle through their houses until he was old enough to have his own. He’s great with children and animals and has the biggest family of all of the Links.

• He can only take the shape of animals that he’s seen before. So he cannot change his face to appear as a different Hylian or turn into a different cryptid. As a child, he shifted less often because he hadn’t seen many animals to imitate.

• If my understanding is correct, in Twilight Princess, Link turns into a wolf because he is in possession of the Triforce of Courage. This turns him into a beast instead of a spirit like everyone else when he’s forced into the Twilight. And then he’s cursed, stuck in that form for a while before he can meet the spirits and their light. Right? So for my au, the same kind of thing happens. Only, instead of him involuntarily being turned into a wolf, the curse is that he cannot change his shape. And even when the curse is “lifted,” he can only pick between two forms: Hylian or wolf. It is not until the very end that he gets his powers back.

• Midna.

• No one knows how or why he has the ability to shift. They don’t know if he was born or created. If he started as Hylian and then became something entirely different or if he was always a cryptid. But I, as the creator, can tell you that he has the ability to shift because he has the blood of a God in his veins. He is Time��s direct descendant. There’s more to this! But I’ll save it for the origin story. (Whenever I get around to writing it haha)

#my art #fanart #the legend of zelda #linked universe #chain as cryptids au #sapphire rambles way too long #CAC origins #kind of #twilight princess #lu twilight #links meet au

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strobbylemonade · 1 month ago

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canto 7 pt 3 spoilers and thoughts and stuff

i really didn't expect her to be like.. locked up. by herself. its so sad. i feel so bad for her in the lighthouse. also the I WANT YOU poster cracked me up.

vergilius calling her "my lady" was cute. i thought we were going to get more of their friendship this canto but apparently not. maybe later :( but also what's up with his eyes?? who's his old friend??? WHO did he take the eyes from?? it's not don quixote because he still has his eyes, so it's either the bloodfiend moses spoke with, or it's the progenitor?? or there's more first-gen blood fiends we don't know about.

adding more guesses to the dante's identity flame:

dante is bari/the bookhunter

dante is vergilius' "old friend"

dante is the bloodfiend vergilius got his eyes from

dante is verigilius' old friend who IS the bloodfiend vergilius got his eyes from

dante is dante and their old self is destroyed

dante is an extremely powerful unknown character who gets their memories back but after their canto they pull a don quixote and chooses to live the rest of their lives as the dante we know

sanchos expressions were really really awesome. she's just so... augh....

THESE GUYS REALLY PISSED ME OFF.

i'm not smart enough to understand the implications of this. but ??? sinclair standing up for donqui?? yaaaayy!!!! the sign??? and also him paralleling bari is definitely not a coincidence. i wonder what the mark of cain has to do with it all.

i didn't notice while i was playing but sinclair starts blushing when he asks her to open up. they're so cute. and they're trying their hardest to be vulnerable to their fucked up lil family. i love them.

WE GOT OUTIS LORE!!! LET'S GO!!! this was surprisingly vulnerable of her... and dante's response of "I will. As long as they have the will to change, to move forward, I will be there for them." was great. also girl what do you mean TENS OF THOUSANDS??? i'm starting to think outis has a lot more guilt for the smoke war than she lets on.

uhh and speaking of change that's another theme that's popping up more interestingly enough. yi sang, sinclair, and being "unable to change" is what caused heathcliff to distort. interesting narrative theme. (starts side eyeing dante and outis). also change being one of the biggest themes of library of ruina, with roland and angela needing to break the cycle of the City to achieve their good ending.

bari is cool as shit

the cutscene that follows this where they're all talking about how much fun they had with donqui through the stageplay was genuinely both so cheesy and sweet i almost cried.

oughhh i'm not bothered to grab screenshots from every part i enjoyed of the final point so we're doing dot points again!

sancho's backstory of being born alone and wishing to die before don quixote gave her love and life was... holy shit. "That is why you saved my life from the periphery of death... tried to share your love... and made my heart beat again."

again with the themes of suicide. the original don quixote sees sancho as special because she doesn't want to inflict suffering on others and instead simply wishes to "burn myself to ashes like I was never here". and that's how she gets her first family. because she suffered alone. and then don quixote makes his children suffer alone in la manchaland.

"I don't know who I am" lyric in Hero hits really song. YEAH I FORGOT TO MENTION MILI PEAK!!! it really feels like some of their older music, especially something from mahoyaku (the Big Moon in the background during the final phase certainly helped). the second part sounds especially like Cast Me a Spell. or something from miracle milk with the way the instrumentals and sfx sound. i really like it.

DON QUIXOTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WAAAAAAAAAAA WAAAAA

"She was incandescent, like a brilliant star twinkling in the night sky. / That very brilliance compelled me to reach out and hope." OUGHHH. dante's role in this chapter has been really interesting... they're like her, they're chained to their past but are also playing the role of someone who they don't know who they're meant to be. they have a really passive role in bringing sancho back to the Gang, with the other sinners stepping in to help her moreso than dante themselves, and then at the end, it's sancho who saves them, acts as their star, and gives them their dreams back (of having all the sinners together as one big happy family).

and just. holy shit. this entire sequence.

I DID NOT EXPECT A QUICKTIME EVENT!! big cast a spell vibes... i genuinely gasped when the fireworks went off..

LMAO SHE'S MAKING FUN OF HIM FOR THE ROCINANTE THING. also kyaa hong lu's teaching dante how to smile!!! i'm sure this won't have any terrifying implications next canto!!! definitely!! there's some interesting parallels to what donqui said about dante having an "expression" and what demian said about being able to hear them all the way back in canto iii, because donqui/demian listen to their "heart" and not their actual face/voice. interesting

also new dante sprite please???? please??? new dante pose perhaps even??? please????

interesting we're getting the clock ticking closer to doomsday after canto 7 and not 8. with the trajectory they're on, doomsday will happen during or after outis' canto (and before faust's). fun. can't wait for the random lore drop next intervallo/event where they take turns feeding don quixote their blood. please. please. please???

mili peak. pass on peak. feelings peak. augh. i love my idiot family and their pet Cosmic Horror Entity. although i would argue it's a family of 15 and not 12!!! i love found family!!!!

#limbus company #strbylmn posts #canto vii spoilers

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merwgue · 2 months ago

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A SNEAK PEAK INTO MY NEW FANFIC

In the heart of Prythian, the Spring Court was a place where the magic of nature itself ran through the veins of its people. It wasn’t just a court known for its greenery or the eternal spring that wrapped its lands in soft warmth and vibrant life—it was a living, breathing entity where every fae held an intimate bond with the land, the creatures, and the cycles that shaped their world. The Spring Court wasn’t a place where nature was tamed; instead, it was honored, revered, and allowed to flourish freely.

From the youngest fae child to the oldest elder, their lives were intertwined with the rhythms of the earth. It wasn’t unusual to see children running through fields of wildflowers, their laughter echoing as they learned the old ways from their parents and grandparents. These fae were storytellers, and their lore was rich with tales of the first bloom, the Great River Spirit, and the first animal companions who roamed the world with them. Stories were not just meant to entertain but to teach the values of harmony, respect, and the delicate balance between all living things.

When spring arrived, the air would hum with life. Festival preparations began the moment the first green shoot broke through the soil. I imagine their largest celebration, Primaveralis, marking the true beginning of the season. The fae would gather in fields, dressed in clothes adorned with intricate embroidery of flowers, vines, and animals. Woven into their hair would be garlands of fresh blossoms, symbols of renewal. The Primaveralis was more than just a festival; it was a sacred ritual of thanks, where they would offer a part of their harvest to the earth in gratitude for the bounty it would provide. They danced until their feet ached, the music mirroring the flow of rivers and the rustling of leaves in the wind. In the Spring Court, to dance was to connect with the heartbeat of the world.

And then there were the gardens—vast, sprawling sanctuaries where rare plants were cultivated and protected. It was said that every noble house had its own private garden, each one a reflection of the fae who nurtured it. Some were wild, left to grow untamed and free, while others were meticulously cared for, with each petal and leaf carefully pruned. The garden of the High Lord, Tamlin, was rumored to be the most breathtaking of all. No one knew for sure what lay behind the ancient, ivy-covered gates of his private retreat, but whispers spoke of trees that touched the sky and flowers that could bloom only in the light of the full moon.

The bond between fae and nature was sacred, and no one embodied that connection more than Tamlin himself. The High Lord could shift into a beast, a physical manifestation of the untamed power of the land. He was the protector of the Spring Court, and his very presence was tied to the land's prosperity. When he walked the borders of his territory, the flowers stood taller, the trees whispered their thanks, and the animals watched him with a kind of reverence. He wasn’t just their ruler; he was their guardian. And in return, the Spring Court was fiercely loyal to him.

But the Spring Court was not just about nature—it was about the bond between its people. Family was at the core of their traditions, and the fae of the Spring Court were bound not just by blood but by the shared values of protection and growth. Births were joyous occasions, marked by the Ceremony of Roots. In this ritual, a sapling would be planted in honor of each new life, and as the child grew, so too would the tree, symbolizing their connection to the land. Weddings were similarly sacred, held beneath the ancient boughs of the forest, where vows were whispered to the wind and witnessed by the spirits of the earth.

Death, too, was honored. The fae of the Spring Court understood that death was simply another part of the cycle. When a member of the court passed, their body would be returned to the land in the Rite of the Earth, where they would be buried beneath the roots of an ancient tree. The people believed that in death, they would continue to nourish the land they had protected in life. Their legacy lived on in the flowers that bloomed and the trees that stood tall long after they were gone.

I imagine the Spring Court having its own language—one that was soft, flowing, and filled with words that described the beauty of nature. Their language would be rich with metaphors, where love could be expressed as a blossoming flower or a tree’s roots reaching deep into the earth. While they spoke the common tongue of the fae, their dialect would be unique, shaped by centuries of living so close to the land. And perhaps, for their most sacred rituals, they had an ancient script—runes carved into the bark of trees or drawn in the earth during ceremonies, connecting them to the ancient spirits who had watched over the land since the beginning of time.

The fae of the Spring Court were known for their artistry, their creativity inspired by the world around them. Their tapestries were woven with threads dyed from the petals of rare flowers, each one telling the story of their ancestors or marking a significant event in their history. Their clothes were simple yet elegant, adorned with floral patterns and symbols of the seasons. Jewelry was crafted from the stones and gems found in their rivers and mountains, each piece imbued with the magic of the land.

But at the heart of the Spring Court was its music. Songs were passed down through generations, each one telling the story of the court’s history, of battles fought, love found, and the eternal cycle of life and death. The music was always present, whether in grand festivals or quiet moments of reflection. Instruments made from wood and bone, their sounds mimicking the calls of birds or the rustle of leaves, were played by skilled musicians who had learned the craft from their ancestors.

Tamlin, despite his flaws, was deeply tied to these traditions. He carried the weight of centuries of history on his shoulders, and though the events of recent years had taken their toll, there was no doubt that the Spring Court’s spirit still lived within him. He had made mistakes, yes, but the people of the Spring Court saw him as more than just a ruler. He was a symbol of the land’s strength and resilience, a protector who had stood against darkness for fifty long years under the curse of Amarantha.

And while his court was healing, so too was he. The fae of the Spring Court believed in second chances—in the possibility of growth after destruction, just as the forest regrows after a fire. They believed in Tamlin, not just as a High Lord but as one of them—a fae bound by the same traditions, the same love for the land that they all shared.

In the end, the Spring Court wasn’t just a place. It was a feeling—a deep connection to the world around them, a respect for the cycles of life and death, and an unbreakable bond between its people. Despite the hardships they had faced, their hearts still beat in time with the pulse of the land, and their hope for the future remained as strong as ever.

TELL ME GUYS IF I SHOULD CONTINUE IT, thank you so much for reading this, i really appreciate it🥹❤️

#acotar #anti rhysand #pro tamlin #anti ic #pro nesta #anti feyre #tamlin #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #spring court #spring #acotar blurb #first ever kind of fic i ever wrote🥹#ive never been nervous to post smth before😓😪

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greyborn2 · 4 months ago

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A SUMMARY OF MAORMER*

*with occasional headcanon

Gosh, so this one took a while. What follows is a complete summary of maormeri lore as it currently stands. Mostly taken from ESO since, well, that's been are biggest source so far really. Everything written in blue is as near to fact as we can get. It is either directly stated or pretty clearly inferred from the pieces of lore we have. HOWEVER... well, I couldn't help myself. I'm a theorist. Everything not written in blue is more theorizing and worldbuilding on my part. As a general rule I've kept to a 'connect and fill in the dots' approach rather than wholesale making stuff up. So while a lot of this isn't canon, I'm doing my best to keep to its spirit. Also; this is a long ass post so feel free to just skip around to titled areas that interest you!!

HISTORY AND RELIGION

Altmeri and Maormeri history (and faith, on the sea elves’ part) understandably differ somewhat on the topic of king Orgnum. The Altmer hold that he was once a nobleman, and priest of Auriel, and a phenomenally powerful sorcerer who turned from his god. He, they go on to claim, would start a cult in reverence of himself, bankrolled by arcane relics he forged. The Aldmer eventually being forced to break a part of their homeland away, cast it into the sea, and weave powerful mist magicks around it to contain their enemies.

The Maormer claim and fervently believe, for their part, that what the other Mer worship as Auriel is simply a small fragment of the whole truth. Their faith sticks surprisingly close to that of the Redguards; that the time god is both beginning and ending. The serpent god Satakal who bites on and eats his own tail. A god not unlike a synthesis of the traditional Auriel and the Nordic Alduin. They say Satakal, coiling serpent of time, upon who's scales all reality rests, would fall in love with the Mother Sea; from their union all the beasts of the shores and seas came. And so in love with the Mother Sea and his children was Satakal that he would shed his godly scales, for this rotation of time, walk as an elf. King Orgnum. From there the Maormeri and Altmeri tellings converge. They speak of Orgnum attempting to speak the truth to the Aldmer, of how most rejected him, and how he and the Maormer were banished.

While Orgnum-as-Satakal is the primary god of the Maormer, much reverence is also paid to the Mother Sea as well.

Some tellings draw more parallels between the story of Satakal and Mother Sea to that of Anu and Padomay, with each related to the other respectively. By this account Orgnum, as the second incarnation of their telling of Anu, can be seen as a synthesis of Anuiel and Auriel into one.

Maormer see Orgnum as not just their king, but king by right of all the seas, of his love. By this reasoning all islands, from the tiniest rock to the summerset isles themselves, are his by right.

Legend claims that Orgnum made the Maormer his children, and the children of Mother Sea, by ''spilling the spirit of the sea'' into their blood, and it was this that transformed the Aldmer into the Maormer.

When Satakal assumed the skin of Orgnum, his visage as serpent god of time still shone through his mortal form. He began looking as an ancient Mer, and as this rotation of time slowly shortens so to does his mortal life, growing younger and younger by the centuries instead of older. In the current era, it is rumoured, that king Orgnum looks as an adolescent.

Though king Orgnum's full face is almost never seen, everything below the eyes being hidden by a long veil, those who have seen it say he possesses an otherworldly beauty. Some priests and priestesses to Satakal adopt this item of fashion.

Another mark of Orgnum’s divinity is his third arm. Legend says that one can reach toward the past, one the present, and one the future. Though little has been seen of his ability to manipulate time beyond minor miracles.

King Orgnum is able to adjust his form, taking on the shape of the largest sea serpent ever seen. This silver scaled beast is the terror of the Altmeri navy and has been seen swallowing entire ships whole. It is Orgnum’s duel nature of man and serpent that the common Maormer echoes by bonding with a sea serpent at birth.

PYANDONEA

Pyandonea is a floating island chain, kept above the sea by a vast 'bed' of roots beneath her, massive deposits of the naturally floating frog metal, and a small amount of lingering Aldmeri magicks.

Pyandonea, and her surrounding sea, is eternally shrouded in unrelenting mist. Without magical aid the mist is quite literally impossible to traverse. An unaided Maormer could no more leave the isles than a mainlander could enter it. Only with the aid of Sea Witches can passage to and from the isles be formed, as well as between island settlement and island settlement.

The landmass of Pyandonea is that of dizzyingly vast mountain archipelagos overflowing with verdant jungle rainforest, from which mist and waterfalls pour down constantly. The seas around her a maze of kelp which grabs, entangles, and drowns unwary sailors and ships alike, or smashes them against the rocks... though it is only with the aid of these grasping kelps holding onto the underlying root bed of Pyandonea that it stays in one place at all. Sea beasts and water spirits prowl water and land, only adding to the danger. She is a land designed to keep people in, and out, with no passage between; and it took the Maormer much skill to escape her and turn her defences to their advantage.

Maormer settlements are often built in or around the remains of huge emperor crabs, whale carcasses, or otherwise slain titans of the deep. Maormeri ships hunt them, drive them against the shores, and harvest what meat they can; but there is often enough leftover food to support a population for the years necessary to build up a new port or town, and so some of the crew stay behind. Further inland are overgrown Aldmeri ruins, some still inhabited as strange cities that look indistinguishable from the abandoned ones from outside, only within the vines cut away and replaced with signs of civilization. Orgnum himself holds court and rules (when he is not at sea, which he is for most the of year) in one such overgrown city of ruins.

Shades of blue and white are the most popular architectural colours, just as they are most popular in fashion. White marble walls with blue shingles, deep blue sunshades spread between the whitened ribs of old krakens, sky blue tents in bustling markets. It is seen as representative and in honour of the sea; of both her waves and her crashing foam.

Despite the jungles and humidity, Pyandonea is still quite unlike the forests of Topal or the Niben. Unlike both of those it is much further from the equator, almost down to the southern ice sheets, and thus even without snowfall it can be devastatingly cold. Unprepared travellers can find themselves soaked in the mist and losing an entire limb to frostbite... if they are lucky.

BIOLOGY

Maormer are split into, very broadly, two categories. The majority of Maormer are milky white in skin and eye colour, with predominantly white, black, or grey hair. Their ears end with fin-like ridges, and they are able of safely consume salt water - their tongues have an adaptation to safely filter out salt from water, an ability that even remains for a while even after death and removal. Contrary to popular belief, they do not have gills or any special ability to breathe underwater. Finally, almost all possess a mouth of sharp teeth, specialized in tearing meat and breaking shells. So called 'leviathan' Maormer are a minority, making up perhaps a tenth of the overall population. Theirs is a bloodline that has been altered by powerful magicks - sorcery combining their ancestors with beasts of the sea. While most leviathan Maormer are descended of sea snake-hybrids, having faintly white scaled skin, fangs, gills, and springy bones that flow through water at terrifying speed this is not the case of all leviathans. Some have chitinous shells, others semi-translucent jellyfish skin, some even bearing tentacles and bioluminescent patterns. There are as many shapes of leviathan as there are fish in the sea. All are larger than their kin, though, all more at home at sea than land, and all both feared and respected by their fellows. Any captain worth their salt has a coterie of leviathans in their crew.

Maormer are naturally resistant to lightning, though fire and heat can be potentially debilitating - drying their skin out far faster and leaving longer lasting damage than it does to mainlanders.

Maormer possess the uncanny ability to 'blend' into the background and go unseen until they move, or make a noise, oftentimes to the shock of those who forgot they were even there to begin with. While the ability seems chameleonic it doesn’t actually alter the colour or texture of their skin, indeed, even a Maormer in full armor has this power. This ability is most obvious in mist and fog, where they can achieve something even surpassing invisibility.

Maormer are naturally attuned to find their balance on moving ground, be that on the deck of a ship or on the shores of their floating island-homeland of Pyandonea. When forced onto stationary land almost all seem to fall into a strange, staggering, swagger, and many suffer from so-called 'land sickness'.

CULTURE

Maormer society is organized more as a fleet than a traditional nation. Orgnum presides over the entire kingdom as both god and king. Beneath him are the many Sealords, occasionally referred to as ‘Coastal Princes’, each commanding over a fleet and clan, with many holding seaports and territory on Pyandonea itself. These Sealords are the admirals of their people. Beneath them are countless captains of near endless degrees of power. Some are near-rivals to Sealords, commanding small fleets, and ports, all across Maormer territory. Most command a single ship and crew, however. All Maormer, from the lowest sailor to the highest Sealord give a tribute of their take to those above them. All wealth trickles toward their king.

Maormeri society is traditionally a strict meritocracy. When a Sealord dies, their most powerful captain takes the role. When a captain dies, their first mate assumes command and is expected to assign the most capable Maormer under their command to their former position. Nepotism is a grave offence, a betrayal of those that serve under them.

Maormer often take slaves, as well as plunder, in their raids. Those who require too much work to keep are often killed or abandoned, with the fit potentially remaining with their new crew and captors for the rest of their lives. In dire straits, slaves are sacrificed to power Maormeri sorceries. It is not entirely unheard of for a slave to eventually earn their freedom, either remaining with the crew as a true member, or being left on the mainland once more.

A Maormer ship is nearly entirely self-sufficient, and can remain at sea indefinitely barring repair work. The sea provides adequate food and water for a Maormeri crew, and captured supplies can support whatever slaves the ship has.

Every ship keeps one or more Sea Witch, incredibly powerful mages able to command weather to devastating effect. Most Sea Witches are then further accompanied by a throng of apprentices, called Stormcallers.

Maormer trade with both Khajiit and Redguards as often as they prey on them, though some travel further afield. Even far-off Skyrim is at least partially known to them.

Almost every Maormer owns a sea serpent. When a new Maormer is born, the serpent who hatched nearest to the event is assigned to them. The two care and protect each other, forming a deep symbiotic bond. Though few sea serpents are afforded the food needed to grow to ship-crushing sizes, those who do make terrifying mounts for their bonded Maormer. Rider and beast attack as one, the intelligence of their Maormer given to their mount's terrifying strength in pure harmony.

Those Maormer who, by some means, lose their serpent are often paired again with likewise orphaned serpents - if such an opportunity is possible.

After a raid, the take is surprisingly often most distributed fairly and evenly amongst the crew. A captain or Sealord who denies his people their fair share is seen as betraying their service, and rarely long for this world.

Those Maormer unable or unwilling to live a life at sea will most often instead find themselves working as shipwrights or any number of other occupations in Pyandonea's ports. They are a small, but vital, minority.

While all Maormeri ships and crews are combat-able, not all are pirates and raiders. Some work as merchants, trading goods between Pyandonea and the broader fleet. Others make way as diplomats between the Sealords. Many more are simply 'civilian' ships; little different from a mainlander village save for the fact that they are always at sea and farm kelp and fish in place of grain and livestock.

For those Maormer unable to breathe underwater, drowning is a terrible fear. Many legends are of drowning Maormer being saved at the last moment from this fate, and their armor and clothing is designed to adapt as best it can to water and save them from drowning. Fabrics and leathers (mostly from porpoises and ornaugs) are kept resilient to water retention and wet-weight, boots are either designed with mostly uncovered feet or such that they can easily be shed, and the only metal broadly used is frog metal, or orgnium, a metal strong as steel but bearing incredibly buoyancy.

Mainlanders are often seen as clumsy, stumbling, and ill-suited to life at sea. The phrase 'groundwalker' is thus used as both a clear statement of fact but, also, often an insult to the clumsy or foolish. The irony that Maormer are just as clumsy on land is utterly lost on them - or, more likely, they simply believe it more important that one be at home at sea.

Treason and mutiny are one and the same, and both are rare indeed. The offence and mistreatment a captain must provide their crew with is incredible before the bonds of loyalty (and often blood ties too) are broken.

Song and music are major parts of Maormeri culture. From the rhythm keeping slave chants, to the sailors’ shanties, and and even the popular tunes of a pungi in a seaside town, it is hard to go long in Maormeri company without someone striking up a song or tune.

Maormer are far, far, less obsessed with breeding, pedigree, and lineage than the Altmer, or indeed most elven culture. In their eyes, their blood is only a very small part of what makes them better than mainlanders. Theirs is a sense of cultural superiority more so than racial, and those who integrate are often treated little differently than born Maormer - save perhaps for the occasional joke at their expense as they fail to find their sea legs. The endless forms a leviathan Maormer can take have almost enforced this view of accepted diversity amongst them.

#GOD I've wanted to write this for ages #maormer have been such a special interest for ages. My specialist lil' guys after orsimer.#there's a reason my main in ESO is one and has been for an age #tes #the elder scrolls #maormer

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faejilly · 5 months ago

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i find it kinda silly that warlocks have marks but nephilim don’t, considering the fact that angle blood is potent as fuck

Thus the eternal popularity of wing!fic/wing!art, yes? 💘

On the one hand, this could just be because angels and demons are opposing forces, one cancelling out the other, diametrically opposed on a metaphysical/magical level, so their powers manifest in different ways in their children.

(They're mostly all rather absurdly beautiful after all. Maybe that's their angel mark? *snickers*)

On the other hand, in a slightly more jilly likes making up magic lore point... maybe nephilim aren't half-angel in at all the same way warlocks are half-demon?

And this got long and rambly, so:

It is canon that the children of nephilim are always nephilim... which isn't how inheritance works, generally speaking.

If nephilim were half-angel/half-human in a biological sense, then shadowhunters would presumably be sterile, a combination of two barely compatible bloodlines just like warlocks.

But they can have children. Perhaps that's just something about angelic bloodlines, a power aimed more at life than the demonic bloodlines that seem more like death? (If that was it though, one wonders why would demons be able to have half-human children at all?)

If it was somehow just inheritance, even hand-wavey magical inheritance, nephilim should, one would think, be getting less and less angelic over time, no matter how carefully the Clave tries to manage their family lines.

(And losing the Mortal Cup really would be a death knell for the world, because the nephilim would in fact die out no matter how many children they tried to have, and then the demons would win. It might take awhile, depending on how frequent one thinks incursions are, and how many nephilim there were before the uprising, but still. There is no balance, just inevitable defeat.)

But modern shadowhunters are still capable of killing demons, can still use adamas and runes, can still (however reprehensible this is) overpower and subjugate the down world.

They continue to have angelic power no matter how removed they are from their founders.

They also continue to have angelic powers even when infected/attack by demonic ones. You literally can't take the angel out of a nephilim.

Otherwise Jonathan Morgenstern wouldn't have been able to bear runes, Tessa wouldn't have been able to have children in the books, Luke wouldn't have been a shadowhunter again after his lycanthropy was cured in the TV show. (Deruned shadowhunters wouldn't explicitly be so tempting to demons once they lose their protections.) Which does at first sound like they're still half-angel under the demonic corruption...

BUT!

Fallen angels also still have angelic power, despite being 100% demon.

Magnus' ability to interact with adamas/shadowhunter tools makes that explicit: he's partially angelic even as a half-demon/half-human warlock.

Which is too many halves if nephilim abilities came from being half-angel!

Perhaps, angelic power literally can't be broken down, regardless of anything else happening around it or containing it... instead, angelic grace is simply eternal. Immutable, irresistible, unavoidable... once seen it is never ever forgotten.

Thus purging the angelic core works against Lilith without also making the Institute defenseless, the so-called Herondale birthmark never fades. (Does this mean Clary and her bloodline will also be marked somehow, in a way we have yet to see defined in canon, Ithuriel's grace made manifest on them forever?)

If we follow that logic through the aforementioned Tessa/Jonathan/Luke (perhaps even Max Trueblood and any other deruned shadowhunters who go on to live mundane lives) maybe nephilim are actually still just human. They have children, they live, they grow old, they die.

Perhaps nephilim are forever touched by angelic grace, but never actually part of it?

(Is this in fact part of what makes angels different than demons? They will not corrupt or twist humanity into something other, but they will grant a gift. One that is inhuman, amoral, one that burns cold and eternal and is necessary, perhaps, but not kind. Is this their true problem with Clary's use of runes in the TV show, that she is twisting humanity into something else, that she is corrupting them by combining angelic and demonic and human in a way that is anathema and dangerous to angelic grace? Angels do not interfere with humanity, except to try and prevent demons from interfering with humanity. Thus never stopping Valentine, or interfering with the Clave no matter how ruthless they became. Their sins were still human sins, not demonic ones.)

Maybe nephilim are not inherently immune to demonic influence, to possession or bearing demonic children. The gift of grace allows them to access angelic power, lets them use it to actively protect themselves, much like they're trained to fight and use runes and forge adamas etc. but they are still just human.

This makes Valentine's ability to 'create' a demon that can sneak into the Institute and possess shadowhunters (can kill Jocelyn and poison Izzy) much more palatable. He's not creating something that can bypass nephilim nature. He just found a way past the tools they use to protect themselves.

SO!

Back to my meta on your actual original comment.

Perhaps nephilim do not have marks in the way that warlocks do because they're not half angel.

They're infected like werewolves or vampires, just with a more difficult transmission, only possible through children rather than blood or violence. (And isn't that actually the first thing that does make sense as an angelic trait? Family and bonds and love and life, not death, as the only way to succeed, as the only way to continue.)

They have symptoms of angelic grace, a magical counter to demonic corruption: fortitude and beauty and the ability to use angelic tools. They're the opposing force to vampire speed and seduction and fangs, to werewolf strength and pack and transformation.

This is why they can't do magic like warlocks and seelies, even if they are supernatural. This is why they're still mortal. They're still just human however hard they try to pretend otherwise.

At some level, this is probably part of why the Clave despises werewolves and vampires even more than fae and warlocks. They're all too similar, too clearly an illustration of there but for the grace of angels...

Literally.

#jilly answers #forever-nox #my sh rambling #sh meta #shadowhunters #jilly plays with lore again #but cannot remember any of her tags #and tumblr killed the auto fill #*sighs forever*#eldritch angels #are infecting people to fight demons for them #not having children with humans #just saying

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boundinparchment · 3 months ago

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Vertigo Eyes - II

Armed with only a new-found sense of purpose, Sunday makes a trip to the Belobog History and Culture Museum after the Express receives a request for consideration. History is so often writ with blood that should never have been spilled and the mistakes of those who think they know best. And Sybilla is running out of time. Sunday/Original Female Character; slow burn, liberties taken with world building and lore, eventual smut. Posted on AO3 here.

Sybilla extended her arms before her, eyes focused on the white partition over Natasha’s shoulder. Gloved hands pressed into her skin and rotated her arms, fingers tracing patterns that were second nature to the physician by now. Despite the severely discolored skin across her fingers and forearms, her limbs were wholly functional, if occasionally sensitive.

She winced as Natasha pricked a section with splintered golden veins and then injected an irritant, the blackened skin forming a tiny bubble. It receded as usual, leaving only a trace mark that would, in time, fade.

“Normal reaction; your immune system still functions and doesn’t attack your body, not like before. That’s a good sign. The corrosion hasn’t spread further, but...”

Natasha lowered the woman’s arms and moved to mark down a note, her expression neutral. Sybilla pulled her shirt back over her arms, hiding most of the affected areas.

He did that, too. Grew quiet when the findings were average but still relatively concerning. Vache was more obvious about when he had an immediate idea to try.

“But it’s not stable,” Sybilla surmised, fixing her eyes on the other woman.

“Further tests will provide more clarity,” Natasha replied. “It’s better compared to where you were years ago. Dormancy may be impossible and there’s still so much we don’t understand. I hate entertaining it but if you want answers, you might be better off—”

Sybilla glared, Natasha’s words dying under the withering hazel gaze.

“You of all people know why I would never subject myself to the IPC, Nat,” she said lowly.

She would be nothing more than a lab rat. Poked and prodded and interrogated as to how…

“Let’s see what the other tests find,” Natasha replied, voice gentle. “Your cell counts have been relatively normal as of late. If you weren’t a Pathstrider, this might not be so complicated. I could likely treat it as I did those who suffered from the Everwinter. We’ll find a way. Same time next week unless I call you.”

Sybilla tried to return Natasha’s comforting smile but a pang of melancholy prevented the corners of her mouth from stretching any wider. Once the doctor departed, she threw on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck, habitually feeling for flyaway hairs as she headed out into the morning cold.

The walk from Boulder Town up to the Administrative District was busier than the reverse at this hour, full of people on their way to work and children on their way to school. Belobog was alive now that the two sectors were open and traffic was flowing again. As Sybilla trekked up the pathway with the rest of the commuters, some of the earlier heaviness fell away when she watched a group of kids blaze ahead, backpacks rocking as they went.

She assessed her phone when she arrived at the surface. Time to spare and then some. Natasha was always punctual when it came to appointments before work. It was better news than expected and that deserved a small celebration. There was always coffee to spare in the break room but nothing hit the spot more than Hotel Goethe’s signature blend.

Her detour and order didn’t take long and before she knew it, the warm cup between her palms was easing the ache in her fingers. Most experience such pains to the cold, a completely normal reaction to winter in general, let alone the all-engulfing Everwinter. But her corrosion was worse, as though the remnants were trying to fight off another presence her immune system didn’t understand. Ever since the Stellaron was taken care of, it eased significantly, but her body was still seemingly confused when confronted with prolonged exposure to colder temperatures.

Sybilla made a mental note to bring it up at her next appointment as her eyes scanned the crowd ahead of her. Her gaze caught on a tall man with light gray (or was it silver?) hair, his visage further enhanced with a set of folded wings peeking out of a scarf and a bronze halo, adorned with…were those thorns?

She wasn’t the only one stealing glances at him. A low hum in the crowd and a few low whispers told her that he was the center of attention as everyone began crossing the street to the next block. Halovians were non-existent in Belobog, a byproduct of the isolation. There were a few back on Romulus-IX but even then. Their charisma lent itself to planets with bustling populations and situations where strategic planning was a necessity, not just a skill. Despite his attempt to merely blend into the crowd, Sybills could feel an air of certainty and ethereal charm as she got closer.

He reminded her of the ancient paintings from Amber Eras long since passed. A pang ran through her; there were few words to describe him that came to mind and her heart ached when she noticed his eyes as he turned his head to assess the next intersection.

Few ever had such sad eyes.

At the next block, a few stragglers continued through the last few seconds of the pedestrian light, jaywalking in time. The Halovian was going to attempt the same just as an engine roared up the street and a flash of sunlight on a windshield caught in her peripheral.

Sybilla’s right hand shot out and found purchase on the golden sash that hung neatly from the Halovian’s shoulder. Her glove hid the texture from her but it was silken, soft, and clearly handmade. She smoothed out the crease she made and stepped back as soon as she saw his feet were firmly planted back on the sidewalk.

She stole a final glance up at him as she passed him to continue once the light turned, casting a quick smile in the Halovian’s direction. Navy and golden eyes, startled and a little dazed.

What could possibly have a handsome man like that so lost in thought that he put himself and others in danger like that? Surely life isn’t that difficult for a Halovian…

She scratched the last bit from her thoughts but bitterness seeped through her all the same and sent an ache up her right arm. Stupid. The last thing she needed or wanted was to draw attention to herself. Exert herself unnecessarily.

She finally entered the museum’s side entrance and said good morning to security as she navigated the back corridors up to her office, thoughts racing. An occasional sip of coffee pushed away her remaining focus on the stranger and the ache still present in her arm. Odd pains were common. Yes, he was handsome and a Halovian and seemingly lost but he wasn’t a puppy. He would be fine. Ideally, he even learned his lesson about spacing out while navigating morning traffic.

For all she knew, he was IPC. A Stoneheart, even. After their last visit, it wasn’t unfathomable that they might try to slip someone in undetected to monitor Belobog. Maybe she should have let him walk into traffic. One less cog in the trash compactor of the universe…

Sybilla arrived at her office and hung up her coat and scarf, the worn material draped carefully over the arm of the coat rack. Briefly, she removed her gloves and ran her fingers over the stitches. They were just as soft as when she first made them, back when—

Her thought was fractured as her phone rang, loud and sharp. She covered her hand again and picked up the receiver only to be told her guest was in the lobby. Sybilla stole a glance at her computer’s clock. They were early.

And therefore, they could wait.

She sorted through her notes and old files after pulling them from her bag. Sybilla lingered on a photograph, familiar faces grinning despite the circumstances, proud of their creations. She took a deep breath and then closed the file, checking that everything was in the right order to present.

The Astral Express was a friend to Belobog, and certainly to Lady Bronya. For years, a private meeting with a member at all to discuss this had been nothing short of a dream for Sybilla. One last chance to right the course.

Sybilla descended into the lobby and galleries only a few minutes before the appointment time. The staff volunteer at the front desk was whispering to another docent and judging from the looks on their faces, they were clearly talking about someone in particular.

“Have you ever seen someone as gorgeous as him? That smile. And so polite.”

“He shouldn’t hide his wings but I wonder if they’re cold in this weather…”

Wings…surely not…

“You’re so lucky, Sibby. Have a good meeting!” the docent stage-whispered.

Sibylla schooled her face as she entered the galleries and for a moment, she felt her heart stop altogether. The morning light trickling in from the skylights always made these spaces feel sacred and the vitrines were strategically placed to further emphasize the notion. White and navy fabric were bathed in light and a thorn-crested halo threw little reflections back across the walls. The curator held back a laugh as she crossed the room.

The Astral Express member was him? Fuli was playing a cruel joke on her now. Had to be.

“Glad to see you’re a little more grounded now, sir.”

#sunday #sunday fanfiction #sunday honkai star rail #sunday hsr #sunday/oc #sunday/original female character #sunday x original female character #slowburn #slow burn #hsr original character #hsr fanfiction

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skullytotheark · 9 months ago

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[design drawn by Peachy-cloudds]

My Personal headcanons for The Operator / Slenderman

[warning: a SHIT tone of writing almost sorry not actually]

The Main inspirtation is by the concept of a hivemind plantlike entity, Has this concept been done before for Slender. Yea, Am I still gonna use it? Yea 🤭 [i love eldritch plant beings they're so cool]

In World Lore:

An extremely long time ago, A being of unknown origin manifested into the world, Simply appearing out of the blue. Being able to exist on all four layers of existence with no consequence for it's actions. Originally said to be an old folk tale elders would tell to children to scare them, The Operator, although known across the world as multiple names, Some extremely fitting while others were uncreative / unoriginal. The entity within the tale would maintain the same behavior in every culture that was made aware of it. Often stalking heavily wooded areas attempting to lure those who were unexpecting into the forest where it will stalk it's prey until they barely escape or become it's next meal. However even escape was never the last one would see the Operator. As it continued to stalk those who saw it relentlessly until it grows tired of the same torment. Or It claims another life. The operator was once said to be in many books recording folklore; however the pages and stories of encounters with it have simply been erased from existence. As if it tears the pages out itself. Wanting to remain within the darkness where it can watch and wait for those who are unaware.

Headcanons:

Spiders tend to make small nests in the small holes that are on slender’s body, These spiders due to long exposure can give you the drowning if they bite you

The Spiral in the center of Slender’s face can hypnotize it’s victims. In my canon it’s how Slender gains most of it’s proxies

The reason Slender can disturb cameras and cause them to break is because of the electric frequency it admits. Similar to how fungi also admit Electric frequencies and is also source of the strange staticy hiss that tends to admit and follow Slender around

Slenderman is just a fae of sorts [which is just a fancy way of saying fairies], The type of fae that typically kidnap children and eat them. In my HC I kinda like to think that it is considered to be one of the first mythical forest spirits [also implying that Slender is old as balls]

The Drowning / Slendersickness:

The drowning is a form of “Sickness” one can get when being exposed to the entity known as “The Operator” for a long period of time. It gets its name due to the feeling of choking on water and lack of air in your lungs

Normally you’d have to be in contact or near the Operator to contact the drowning however if one is sick with the drowning the drowning can be easily passed onto you with or without knowing it. Another way to get it is if you are marked by the Operator which can give you Stage 2 Of the drowning within the matter of seconds. The sickness originates from Spores that come from The Operator which are a lesser version of the Operator's final stage "The Tower ''. The following symptoms include Violent coughing [to the point of blood], Vomiting, Violent hallucinations, Trouble breathing, Seizures, Violent outbursts / episodes and dissociating. To summarize it, A Lot of the time Sickness slowly but surely eats away at your humanity until you are but a husk of your former self, Causing you to become aggressive and violent towards others. The Operator then feeds off of the conflict and uses it to make it stronger

[Hoody / Brian in the Ark As seen in Entry# 83 At 6:30]

The Ark:

In Later years The Operator managed to make it’s own personal realm, Made to store the souls of those it has killed [or by proxy] and to drive those who enter it insane. Playing hallucinations that are personal to everyone who enters until they either die or find an exit [which is nearly impossible]. The realm as mentioned stores souls of it that have been killed that are being fed on by whatever lies in the pit that resides within the middle of the Ark, These dead victims are often in a paralyzed state where they are unable to move or speak as they slowly but surely melt into the surface of the Ark slowly becoming apart of it. However The Broken are basically souls that the "Ark" isn't able to feed off of since they are impure, Of course the broken are basically just victims of the Operator that have cracks on their body like fragile glass in a way. These souls and bodies are also often use as infinite battery packs for the Operator, Feeding off of the souls makes them more Powerful, The More souls there are the more of a threat it can become

[Example image I drew to help explain it kinda]

The Hivemind

The Operator has more than one variant that all act as a single hive mind sharing the same exact thoughts. The following examples are The Tower, The Drones and Hallucination

The Tower: The Tower is the main source of the hivemind, These variants are basically the "Queen Bees" that pop out smaller versions of themselves to scout for food and return it to the Nest. Towers often borrow themselves deep underground where they cannot be touched, often growing extremely giant, For example they can grow to the size of the statue of liberty before stopping. Their tentacles can connect to the roots of trees which allows them to shift the forest at their command, It's also worth noting that the hivemind all share the same thoughts

Drones: The drones are basically mini clones of the hivemind that are produced so the tower doesn't have to expose itself to the outside world and get injured or killed, Their goal is to collect food until the Tower is ready to bloom. But a lot of the time these drones will hypnotize people into doing their biddings for them which is considered to be the norm nowadays. It's also less stress for the drones incase they do not wish to be discovered by the outside world. Drones can also eventually grow into Towers if they live long enough

Hallucinations: These are as you expect, They're the dones way of messing with your head by haunting you and breaking you mentality. They often appear in hallucinations and aren't the actual drones themselves, The main way to tell the difference between a drone and a hallucination is by the color of their tie. Red means that they are physically there attacking you while black means it's not real

[lazy doodle by me]

The great blooming / The arrival:

this event is pretty straight forward. So the main reason these towers need to collect so much food and souls is so that they can bloom, Their heads unraveling to reveal a black rose that shoots out a giant cloud of spores that will infect those whoever breathes the spores in. These spores have the regular side effects such as the drowning, However those who are infected with the Tower's Spores are a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. If one is infected long enough their heads will implode into a flower and spread more spores around them

#marble hornets #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #slenderverse #fan au #slenderman #headcanons #creepyhornets #ticci toby #eyeless jack #jeff the killer

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i-can-not-art · 5 months ago

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Can I pretty please have more angel lore? 🥺🙏

I love how you do angelic stuff with your OCs ><

Angel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCsAngel OCs

Sure pookie💖

The last lore post even made me get off my ass and actually name+think a bit more about the seraphim siblings

So I was kinda vague with the advancement district last time since it’s kinda (really) messy, but it’s basically the huge hospital/laboratories of heaven, where technology and experiments are held.

Only thing is, Hui Shizhuo, by far the youngest Seraphim and the seraphim in charge of the district, is secretly dead and Yang Hu (military seraphim) is illegally acting in place of him being a lil silly.

And one day, Yang Hu he saw Qing Xia down on earth who got a score of 800 on the gaokao (massive test every Chinese student has to take that determines their entire future, irl highest score is 750) and did a bunch of other stuff in the scientific/medical field, basically being any Chinese parents’ dream.

The only problem is that when he went down to earth, Xia was happy and didn’t wanna abandon literally everyone she knew for some shady angel. So he did the only sensible thing and dropped some of his blood into her eye, allowing him to slowly affect her mind and make her obsessive about her research and stuff (why she has weird red veiny marks on half of her body, the “veins” grew down from her eyes over time).

Then he left and let his blood kinda fester in her mind, until everyone left her because she was literally going insane and starting to only value her science (also she killed a bunch of people or something). When he came back she accepted and she became the only human working him heaven..

For what she does, well during the centuries war a lot of angels died, but angels don’t decay so heaven just had a bunch of fresh corpses laying around, and they gave a bunch of them to Qing Xia for her to figure out how to “improve” angels.

Eventually her research led to Yang Hu “redesigning” Yin Hu and her sister (who is currently declared fallen and dead, but is definitely not actually the very much alive Wei Zhi) to become stronger but also more feral and now they murder 100x better.

For the civilian seraphim, Chaoxiang Ji, he’s the second oldest and probably the sanest of his siblings, probably since a insane person looking after 80% of the population of angels wouldn’t end good.

He doesn’t really have much going one, but he doesn’t like Yang Hu, and is very aware of how cruel and dangerous he is even for a seraphim. So when he notices Shizhou suddenly making strange decisions that line up with Hu’s line of thinking, he became suspicious. Eventually his suspicions get so bad, it leads to him making a shady deal with Liu’s dad.

For the missions seraphim, Wang, they were originally the civilian seraphim, but got moved and Ji took their place. They’re the oldest and the most mysterious, even to their siblings (why only their last name is known). They’re definitely the favorite child and the most connected to the Order god, it being said they have direct contact with them.

They rarely make children, even during the war where angels were dying left and right, they only made 2…. who died and Qing Xia has since “revived” in questionable ways.

They have certain beef with Caihong Liu’s dad, who is basically a unofficial angel but of chaos (also a great deadbeat, who knows where he currently is, certainly not Liu or her mom). During the centuries war Liu’s dad managed to find Wang and cut off one of his wings, making him go into hiding indefinitely (to this day, they rarely even talk to their siblings, just assigning and accepting or rejecting missions sent their way)

And finally the military seraphim, Yang Hu, is the second youngest, being made near the start of the centuries war, hand in hand with the arch angels. Despite not being a archangel himself, he’s noticeably more aggressive than the others, having his outbursts and giving threats much more commonly than them.

He was made especially cruel and uncaring for his children because of his job and basically all the arch angels hate him for being like your work manager but 100x worse (AND they’re all forced to carry his stupid last name).

But the rest of heaven actually kinda love him because while he didn’t win the war, he helped make it end in a tie which allowed heaven and the angels to continue existing (However that opinion quickly changed when they found out about a certain secret of his).

#LOOOOOONG ASS POST #long post #asks #oc lore #lore dump #oc: Yang Hu #oc: Yin Hu #oc: Wei Zhi #oc: Qing Xia #oc: Caihong Liu #oc: ? Wang #oc: Chaoxiang Ji #oc: Hui Shizhuo

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rigbeta · 8 days ago

Text

The Headhunter Lore

Name: Leofwine Rakes Terror Radius: 32 Meters Movement Speed: 110% Description: The Headhunter is a sly killer that uses his power, Hunter's Prowess, to hinder and maim survivors in his hunting snares and injure them from a distance with a Spear Shot. His personal perks, Predatory Dominance, Cruel Incentive, and Cunning Pursuit, diminish survivors' ability to escape the initial chase, strategize after hooking a survivor, and hunt more efficiently. Backstory:

It was a cold January day of 1687 In the wood enclosed village of Dalton; Leofwine Rakes was born in a freshly built cottage just within the tree line of the forest; home of the woodsman Randolph and his wife Annice Rakes.

Upon his birth, he cried and secreted copious amounts of mucus to the worry of his parents. The Village Doctor, A charming man named Ecclestone, became a daily visitor. Ecclestone always treated and tenderly cared for the infant as though he were Leofwin's third parent with more than a doctor's oath.

Leofwine miraculously survived his malady and started to grow into a healthy young boy. But at the tender age of 8, his mother developed an odd rash.

Small red bumps that spread across her body before blooming into blood and pus-filled blisters; marring Annice's sun-tanned skin and transforming it into a repulsive landscape of virulent red seepage, crusted brown scabs, and hideous pink scar tissue.

Syphilis; an abhorrent condition that was poorly understood and viewed as a potential punishment for sins. Randolph stood by his wife as the village shunned and leered at the family; Leofwine was tormented for having a Pig's Whore of a mother, and he the bastard Pig son. After a daily harassment from the "pristine" villagers, he would return to his family's cottage and stare into his mother's speckled vanity mirror; staring back at him, he'd see a boy with a pig's face, just as they said; a stubby little nose under wet, rheumy eyes. A mouth with somehow too little lip yet too much jowl. He was ugly. The son of a Pig and its disease-ridden whore. He desperately tried to forget what was told to him daily; what made making friends impossible with the even crueler children of the village. All he saw were faces twisted by the judgement and self-righteous prejudice.

This abuse wasn't Leofwine's curse alone; Randolph was forced to take long treks to neighboring villages to sell his lumber to less knowing folks, as it was nearly impossible to separate the Woodsman from the forsaken disease that plagued his bedeviled wife.

The only respite from the misery was Dr. Ecclestone's continued visits as he helped treat Annice, whose joints soon became too swollen and stiff to properly help with the work, and began to experience spells of severe fatigue, nausea and even paralysis.

It wasn't long before Randolph began to show signs of the dreaded rash himself. Another pox from god, the villagers were appalled by his apparent depravity and he was forced to wear thick hoods on his journey out every day.

Annice passed away from the illness when Leofwine was just 10 years old, something had grown within her and caused a blood clot. Dr. Ecclestone had made sure no one came near the body for fear that the disease would spread, but Leofwine had looked upon his mother's rashy, mishappen and blistered face before her passing, filled with an odd combination of sorrow and disgust. As a corpse, she didn't look any better, but at least she was free of the flaring pain. Of the scorn of being a Pig's whore. Yet, there was an odd sensation. Leofwine couldn't place it, but his heart seemed to be lighter.

Randolph's condition soon started to worsen and with it, his mind faltered. In response, Leofwine was taken under the wing of the very Doctor who treated his mother out of charity.

Doctor Chadwick Ecclestone, an exemplary man of social status and marked compassion; he welcomed Leofwine into his home like he was family and had Randolph interred in a personal sickroom for aggressive treatments of mercury and Guaiacum resin; despite Randolph's denial of pain, he was always bleeding from the sores, and he was beginning to show the same odd lumps in his face.

Under Dr. Ecclestone's roof, Leofwine hardly saw his father, and preferred it that way; the sight of his wretched, medically induced spewing and his pox-ridden viscera filled him with instinctive revulsion. Instead, he'd busy his mornings with his new playmate, Gleda Ecclestone, the intelligent and naturally charming daughter of the doctor.

Leofwine was already smitten, and his affections only grew as he reached his teens.

When he wasn't reading or playing with Gleda, he would join Dr. Ecclestone any chance they could spare an evening in the woods; Dr. Ecclestone was an avid hunter, something usually only permitted for nobility or tradesmen, but as a high-class member of the Village, he was always with a trusty spear and his sturdy snare traps.

Almost every other Evening and certainly every weekend he would bring Leofwine along for the spoils of the woodlands. There were many lives to snuff out in the wood, but The Doctor was especially keen to share the joy of hunting wild boars with Leofwine.

Dr. Ecclestone taught Leofwine the perfect arch to toss a spear at the various wildlife they caught and the best placements for snares to capture and injure even the slyest of critters and strongest beasts. Soon, the mighty and terrible boars of Dalton's woods began to fall to Leofwine's snares and a single, well-thrown spear.

Despite the villages initial rancor, they applauded the Doctor's "Saintly Charity" for the miserable, god forsaken wretches, and their admiration started to shine in their eyes when they spoke to Leofwine as well. No longer faces of revulsion; the people were becoming friendly, even kind.

And despite having an oddly oblong, admittedly craggy quality to his face, Leofwine was even the target of sneaking flirtations from the young girls of the village. But his heart was already set on Gleda. The only thing killing a proper confession was the pig that stared at him in the mirror every day. Despite everyone else changing their faces, his remained a woeful facade.

Over the years, Dr. Ecclestone had become more a father to Leofwine than the babbling, moaning invalid hidden away in what was now his permanent cell rather than just a sickroom. Leofwine still felt sadness and pity, watching the once proud and vigorous woodsman grow feeble and mad as the disease ate away his flesh and mind, but the support of Dr. Ecclestone and growing allure of Gleda quickly brought him peace of to his own mind when his father mercifully died.

Leofwine looked upon his father's corpse; his eyes were wide and yellow, blisters the size of groats threatened to reveal his bile-covered teeth, and the many, many red blisters transformed the remains of his face into a large, cobbled lump.

Leofwine didn't feel sad after he saw the pitiful, scab-infested ghoul lifeless on the table. He felt somehow... better. Almost happy. His father was dead. Yet he was not sad.

Looking into the silver mirror adorning the wall, Leofwine saw his own face; It was gorgeous in comparison despite his stubby nose, his jutting brow, and his jowl-like mouth; he was beautiful. Most beautiful were his shimmering blue eyes. Not like his father's yellow pus-colored ones; they were clear and filled with a bright future. The death of his father was the last strand tying him to that damned lineage. He had a new family. One that promised that bright future smiling back at him.

That day he asked Gleda for a day out, and the two spent all evening talking as they strolled through the village; dressed in refined clothes, arm in arm, the two were like young lovebirds.

As they walked to the ends of the village, Leofwine saw the trail that led just beyond the tree line to his former home... it had to be in quite a state... no one had bothered to go down since he and his father came to live with the Ecclestones.

"Shall we take a peek?" Gleda asked with a hint of what could have been flirtation. But Leofwine wanted nothing to do with that ramshackle hut, and the two continued on their way back home for a lovely dinner. The confession still waiting to leave Leofwine's breath, despite his newfound charisma.

It was just after his fifteenth birthday, when Leofwine woke to find a curious and ominous sight; his bed sheet, it was covered in odd brown splotches. Some perfectly circular... others smeared from his nocturnal movements...

A sudden chill broke down over his body that brough with it the grinding of his misaligned jaw. He ran to the Dresser mirror and ripped off his nightgown; terrible brown spots dotted it as well, some still had a hint of ruddy, mocking red. He turned around and looked over his shoulder to see his back covered in a fresh crop of red, weeping bumps.

Horror, dread, revulsion and utter panic ripped through him. Those spots were like graves, empty holes of nothing, round, moaning mouths that would swallow up any and all chance at a happy life.

Leofwine threw on his Nightgown and snuck into Dr. Ecclestone's medical stations. A fresh container of Mercury ointment was snatched in desperation and he began slathering any portion of his back in his reach. He stared back into the mirror, his pale face momentarily porcine with wretched horror before he shut his eyes, counting silently. Moments became agonizing as the solution seemingly seeped traceless into his back, and he got dressed.

He carried on with his Hunting, not once daring to tell the Doctor of the flesh-rotting curse he had inherited from his bespoiled former family.

At first, the Mercury seemed to work... the bumps didn't go away, but they didn't spread either... a constant threat waiting to surge over his body and transform him into an abomination.

Leofwine turned seventeen, and just after… he began to notice Gleda's attention seemed elsewhere; no longer did her glances linger on his features, and shorter still were their conversations. His attempts to reach her seemed weak, pointless, and with that pointlessness, pinpricks started to appear from the bumps on his rashy back; like little mouths, thick with bloodied saliva, practically spitting to whisper their paranoid ramblings to his already feverish mind.

Those little graves, mouths, holes... burrowing deep into his body and tunneling into his mind; why was she ignoring him? He was beautiful... he wasn't dead. He wasn't a pus ball like that Pig and His whore. He was... he was...

He was.

That sudden thought brought with it a sudden contradiction; he was so beautiful, yet so ugly. So so ugly. It just wasn't out yet. It was waiting... soon he'd be like them. The Wretched Rakes, all in a row, all in their little holes.

He laughed at the utter absurdity. He was better than that. He was.

He Was.

He doubled his efforts, every day insisting to take Gleda on a stroll, always the charmer to her and to all he came across, even to the lowly peasants that took up a majority of the trough called Dalton. He began to grow cocksure, laying odd and sometimes nonsensical snares to one-up Dr. Ecclestone in the hunt for game, yet somehow showing his methods to be exacting and even superior.

He would be the best. He would be beautiful and utterly perfect.

He didn't even realize the state of his brain. Those little holes weren't just on his back... they were in his brain. Eating little tunnels through his mind and filling it with madness. A madness that lusted for more and more. Each kill in the hunt seemed to make another little hole, another grave in that maddening, lusting, network in his withering brain that. And those holes, those mouths, they ate and killed his rationality, killed his inhibitions, killed his former self and instead filled him with a brimming, pestilent need to fill all those dead qualities.

He didn't even see that his own face was starting to grow lumpy. The bones seemed to swell and dimple, marring his skin, and bringing great concern to Gleda and The Watchful Doctor.

It all came to a head when Dr. Ecclestone introduced a third hunter to their evening game; Royce Harlan; a man that had a face like a roman statue, a man that stood with charisma that was born of natural instinct and good breeding, a man that was not the son of a pig.

Rage quickly boiled a deep red like the blisters that seeped through the ointment on Leofwine's back; a rage that blindly brought strange untoward utterances and curses to his lips despite Dr. Ecclestone and Harlan's company.

Gleda already had met Royce. She met him when Leofwine had been preoccupied for so long with stopping his perdition; they were already planning to be wed. A fact all except Leofwine seemed to be aware of. But now it stared him in the face, mocking him. Royce, the statue of a man snatching away his rightful wife; the girl he grew with. The woman he accompanied and had every single right to court…

The holes spit like drowning cats, they sputtered and argued and screamed and filled the tunnels in his brain with blood, blood and more blood.

It was very easy for him to preemptively set up a snare the night before their next outing; Royce, despite reservations with Leofwine's ugly snarls and grueling face, wouldn't miss out on a hunting trip with his soon-to-be father-in-law. All he had to do was imply the presence of a potential trophy, just beyond the foliage with a hidden gift. Leofwine could hardly contain the smile that threatened to reveal his weathered teeth as Royce's leg was severed nearly to the bone. Hardly contain the absolute joy and sense of freedom at watching Dr. Ecclestone try to save the man from bleeding to death. It was too deep; too deep and filled with spurting, red, liquid rage that flowed from his death and into Leofwine's Swiss-cheese brain.

'Killed Royce, Killed the pig, killed the son of a pig'.

Leofwine couldn't understand why Gleda was so upset when he attempted to interrupt her mourning. Why she screamed and told him to leave her alone. Why she refused to open her bedroom door despite his burrowing knocks and thudding kicks. The little mouths suddenly crooned up his spine and lovingly into his ears; 'She just has to look at him... see how ugly death suits him and how beautiful life is in your face!'

"Just look at his face! It's dead, it's UGLY." He screamed, paying no heed to the maid and a furious Dr. Ecclestone. Unknown to even his own utter malicious, unyielding lust.

"The only ugliness is your utter depravity, you cretinous wretch!" Gleda shrieked in rage through the thick wooden barrier.

Leofwine didn't even notice Dr. Ecclestone and two other servants attempting to rip him from the door, until the back of his petticoat tore from the effort, and all the little round mouths mirrored that gasps of the onlooking Dr. Ecclestone and his servants.

The rotting, bloody, spitting ugliness, it finally was at the surface for all to see.

Leofwine was thrown from the premises, and he was now, for the first time, without anyone in his life. No one that loved him, at least. His head surged, feeling as though his frothing stomach had somehow made its way to his skull; a strange sensation of utter none-self took root and grew from the faces around him.

In a muddled, crazed daze, he wandered to the woods, his bloody mouths spitting and shrieking at all who watched him in disgust. He could hear the insults; he didn't listen though. They were nothing like the shame-filled agonies of his mind.

He slowly made his way to the filthy, rotting cabin that once was his family's home... well... his former family. Now he had two former families. His head swam again, threatening to spill bile and rage as the graves began their boiled spitting again.

A ripple of hateful shame seemed to uncoil like a great serpent within his stomach before suddenly biting its own tail.

He laughed in an oddly charming, robust manner at that thought of that great black serpent eating itself, before he caught his face in his mother's dust-smeared vanity. Hideous; The pig was back and worse than ever. The nose that was once just a stub was now a lumpy knot, the mouth like a swollen, rot-filled cave entrance, and his eyes... his eyes were still so blue. So full of clarity despite the ugliness; like two windows pointed skyward in a mausoleum. He was beautiful. He can be beautiful again. The Pig doesn't get to just come back. He'll kill it like any boar he'd maimed and slaughtered so often in the past...

He needed to see Harlan's face. To kill Harlan all over again. Needed to see death take it's hold and throttle it the way the Syphilis had his mother, father, and verily his own face.

Several weeks passed; with his pestilent curse exposed, Leofwine couldn't risk being seen in public too soon... a funeral for a noble... for the King of Pigs, "Sir Royce Harlan", wouldn't be delayed, but he also needed to let the waste of death take hold of Harlan's Roman countenance.

On a night that held no witness, Leofwine crept to the Harlan crypt, and after long hours of determined desecration, uncovered Sir Royce Harlan's body. He gasped in wonder at the sight before him, and felt the bloody holes, which now had spread surreptitiously across his entire body, begin to bicker and spit in rage.

A smile. A smile on a face that was not waxy white or rotted yellow, but a smooth, cool grey.

The pig... the ghoul... it was beautiful... it was... was still a roman statue!

Harlan's face had a stone death mask places over it; a likeness so close, it was simulacrum; it was perfection... it was wrong.

Harlan defied Leofwine's promised rewards; first Gleda's hand, now his beauty...

Except that face was special. It wasn't stuck to a rotting body; it was just placed over it.

It was too easy, like the night Leofwine first stole the Mercury Ointment, his hands snatched the surprisingly light stone visage with ease. Hardly any resistance, really... and he saw Harlan's sunken grey face, the sagging lids of his eyes, the shriveled lips... it was perfect in its absolute imperfection. "Rot." spat Leofwine, carefully placing the mask in his hunting satchel before making certain all evidence of his visit was undone.

That morning, having not slept, Leofwine dug through his family's old belongings, scrapped together all the sturdy leather straps he could, and fashioned a mask of sorts using his hunting satchel as a base; carefully threading the leather together, coarsely but caringly using thread from his mother's sewing kit, and using the studs from old boots; he fit the Death Mask to the leather, secure and snug, and lowered it over his head; ignoring the protest of his rashy cheeks.

Gazing into his mother's mirror, piercing blue eyes behind a perfect face stared back with a smile. A smile that promised everything; that promised to never rot, never grow old, never blister, and never be hated again.

But that was the perfect face that took away the hate. Leofwine needed to look at the faces... the faces like his mother, father and even Royce... he needed to see the death face, and then, and only then, can his true face be truly looked upon without hate.

Overtime, the villagers claimed to see the ghost of Royce Harlan watching from the woods; his deathly-grey face smiling with sinister reproach to all who drew near.

Around this time, people started going missing. First a few of the louder, more crass peasants. "Good riddance". But then Traders started turning going missing, and a dark paranoia took hold.

Weeks later, a nobleman gathering hunting boar also went missing. Seemingly vanished with the morning mist.

A young woman returned from a visit to the neighboring village that morning, claiming a nobleman with an unmoving, grey smile, accosted her from the tree line, before retreating after she heard what seemed to be a cry of pain from an unseen person further into the wood. She stated he held a very odd-looking Axe, unlike any she'd ever seen before.

That evening, Gleda Ecclestone never returned home after she was due back from a visit to a prospective courting; her horses were discovered roaming the trail and the carriage soon after abandoned in the center of the road.

Doctor Chadwick Ecclestone had search parties combing the woods; frantic in his search but refusing to believe Royce Harlan had returned for his fiancé...

The villagers came across the Rakes' cottage... it looked utterly abandoned, but the ground was oddly soft, as though all the surrounding earth was toiled and overturned.

And then, Ecclestone in a moment of anxiety for Leofwine's potential hand in his daughter's disappearance; demanded they search the cottage.

Disturbed and giving into their prejudice, the villagers stormed the ramshackle, cursing the "leprous pig son" and demanding he come before them with any information he had to offer before making a horrific discovery; the back of the cottage had been converted into one large bedroom; along all four corners of the log walls were shelves packed with human heads in various states of decay, all turned so their sightless gazes fixed to one point; the bed. Some were people from the village, others seemed to be strangers or wanderers, none of them were Gleda. A cold, numbing fog seemed to cling to the ceiling as the villagers and Dr. Ecclestone looked on in utter horror.

The grounds were searched, and at least 31 headless bodies were dug up from the tainted soil.

There was no sign of Leofwine Rakes, or the heartbroken doctor's beloved daughter. Power: Hunter's Prowess The Headhunter has honed a craft that is unmatched in maiming and slaughtering unwary prey. He starts out with 10 Hunting Snares he can set up in doorways and between objects that are at least 2 meters apart or 8 Meters at the most. While stuck in a Hunting Snare, Survivors become injured, start gaining Maim progress and must succeed slightly to moderately difficult skill checks in quick succession to remove the snare without injuring and hindering themself. Alternatively, survivors can immediately Break the Snare by running. Breaking a Snare causes the Survivor to gain an additional 40% Maim progress and remain Snared, but mobile with a -7% Hindered Status while the Snare is still attached. Survivors can remove the Snare but failing a skill check or getting interrupted will fully Maim the Survivor. The Headhunter must manually recollect his Hunting Snares. If he puts a Snared survivor in the Dying State, he automatically recovers it. Special Status: Maimed While Maimed, Survivors will have a Maim Gauge that steadily fills when stuck in a Hunting Snare, removing a Snare, or running with a broken snare attached. While Maimed, a Survivor cannot be fully healed until all Maim progress is healed. A survivor cannot be healed until they are fully free of a Hunting Snare. Special Attack: Spear Shot The Headhunter always brings his trusty Spear on a hunt. He is able to throw it at a moderate to great length; charging it gives a further throwing range. Hitting a Survivor with a Spear Shot will injure them by a health state and force them to be staggered greatly in the direction of the Spear's trajectory, potentially knocking them away from vital safe spots. Missing a Spear Shot results in the Spear becoming lodged into an obstacle. The Headhunter has 6 seconds to remove it before the Entity consumes it. The Headhunter regains his spear after 10 seconds. Special State: Speared If a Survivor is successfully Speared, they lose a health state, the Spear will stick out from their body, and they become broken. The Survivor must remove the Spear manually or get another survivor to remove it in order to be healed. Removing the Spear causes it to be destroyed by the Entity and the Headhunter regains it after 8 seconds. Broken does not prevent Survivors from removing Maim Progress. Special State: Pinned If a Survivor is close to a wall or obstacle when they get hit by a Spear Shot, they will become pinned to the obstacle and have to rapidly attempt to break free. Breaking free causes The Spear to reappear on The Headhunter after 8 seconds. If the headhunter attacks a pinned survivor, they are immediately put in the dying state and he instantly regains his Spear. Another survivor can help free a pinned survivor at a faster rate. Special Interaction: Yank If a Survivor that has been Speared is close enough, the Headhunter can grab the spear and yank the Survivor into his grasp. A Survivor that has been speared can be pulled through windows and over vault locations. Pray for god's mercy because thou shan't get any from me, mine own dearest. -The Headhunter Unique Perks:

Predatory Dominance You have a natural ability to overwhelm weaker prey. When injuring a survivor that has not been hooked the speed boost they receive from being injured has a 30/40/50% shorter duration. "'Tis not evil... 'tis the way it ought to be." - Leofwine

Cruel Incentive You have been frowned upon all your life, but still you smile in grisly anticipation. While carrying a survivor, your terror radius is reduced by 20 meters. After hooking a survivor your terror radius remains reduced and the generator with the most progress suffers a - 100% repair speed penalty for 30 seconds. If the generator effected by this perk is fully repaired, the survivor who completed the generator will become exhausted for 40 seconds. "All o' thee, watching and sneering like toads; ugly and venomous at me. Come back to me!" - Leofwine Cunning Pursuit The heat of the chase insights a surge of obsessive effort. When you chase a survivor that has the lowest accumulative chase time, they become the Obsession and this perk's secondary effects activate. - The nearest pallet or vault location to the Obsession becomes blocked by the entity for 5 seconds. - You gain a 3% Haste after 5 seconds of accumulative chase. - You keep the 3% Haste status after the chase ends for 12 seconds. "On mine own shelf, or haply the bedside. We shan't sleep a wink tonight, mine own dear." - Leofwine

#dead by daylight #my art #original character #lore #too long to read probably why did I do this #killer #dbd #horror #had to rewrite one of his perks cuz it was originally similar to Houndmaster's Scourge perk

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