I've Mentioned These Theories Many Times, And I Think You TWST Lot Here May Like Them!

This server is mine and my friend's ^^

As you can see, it's a Worldwide Cosplay server. The primary language is English, but if we get any non-english members, I'm more than happy to add channels for them!!

Thank you to Sky for advertising it ^^

𝕮𝖔𝖘𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖉𝖔𝖒

Does thee wish to partake in this kingdom's activities and events?

Hello and welcome to "Cosplay Kingdom", a server fit for all cosplaying monarchs and their noble supporters (Yes, that's you and your friends/family!)

It does not matter if you are from the small islands of the world, or from giant landmasses of it - this server allows a worldwide list of cosplayers and supporters alike.

The Jester may make a joke here and there, so do be mindful of them!

Well, the carriage is here...

Wish to accept the servant's hand and take a ride to the 𝕮𝖔𝖘𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖞 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖉𝖔𝖒?

come join my friends cosplay server and make it more active!! We’d love to have you! (dm me if the link expires!!)

Dire Crowley Headcanons

If you don't know me well (which for most of you is the case), I am a massive Dire Crowley fan. And of course, what type of gracious fan of the bird would I be without some Headcanons?

So, let's dive in, shall we?

WARNING: Following Headcanons contain angst

Crowley can turn into a bird, you can't tell me otherwise. So, he has a bit of a birdbrain!

He also probably struggles to see glass doors...

Also related to the bird brains. The reason for him running from danger is the bird brains. Most birds flee from a threat, so does Crowley. He doesn't mean to, but it's instinctual and a habit

If Yuu had any issues and told him about them, he'd just randomly appear with objects he's found from pretty feathers to shiny pebbles and bottlecaps, and give them to Yuu to try and cheer them up

He also requests small bits of praise or short hugs in return, just so he knows that Yuu is happy with what he finds!

Crowley also fully knows that the students don't trust him, or in some cases, he knows they don't even like or respect him.

His over-the-top personality is to stop anyone from realising he's affected by it, and how he wants to be genuinely helpful but struggles with it.

He'll sometimes lock himself in his office and just cry or unleash his anger and sadness by trashing his desk or clawing/punching a wall.

He talks to the paintings more than actual people because of it.

If he's far from his office, he'll detour to Divus. Why Divus? Because of all the staff, Dire trusts him the most

NEXT HEADCANONS MAY CONTAIN BOOK 7 SPOILERS

If the theory of Crowley being Levan is true, then I think Crowley may have a few extra Headcanons to make

Crowley is scared to hurt people, so (including my curse theory), Crowley ran from the Draconias to protect them

He runs and avoids helping with the Overblots because he either physically can't help or he fears he'd make them worse

Secretly keeps a close eye on Malleus at NRC

That's all for now with my Crowley Headcanons :3

Nanbaka Ramble incoming

Enki deserved better. The way that the murder wasn't his fault, it was instead Elf's. He lost a brother because of Elf. He lost his job because of Elf.

He ripped his own heart out because of Elf.

If someone had realised it was Elf the whole time, Enki would've lived

And why did it have to be Samon that found his body?

Ramble over (I may have gotten some bits mixed up but heyho !)

Monsieur Neuvillette

Chief Justice of Fontaine

PLEASE ISTG

Pretty hydro man

When you're in the banners, COME HOME I BEG! I need the pretty hydro man.

Also, I will hug and comfort him! He's so sensitive like AAAAH DON'T CRY! THINK ABOUT HAPPY OTTERS!

That's the post

Original Character: Dragon Form

My OC's (Mortalitas Mors Noxalus) dragon form, drawn with Krita.

⛧˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛦Vipera's Case⛦˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛧

An OC Short/One Shot story

Warnings: Murder, mentions of gouged out eyes, prison mentioned, decapitation

READ WITH CAUTION

Sometimes, the coldest killers are the happiest children...

That's what he'd heard and he knew it was true. He knew who he was and who he'd become. He was a happy, oblivious child who had no worries... At least, before everything happened.

⛦˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛧⋆༺𓆩⋆♱✮♱⋆𓆪༻⋆⛧˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛦

The last semester of the year ended, and Vipera was prepared to go home for a few weeks - home to his family who had adopted the young fae when he was only a baby. Everything seemed normal - the walk to the train, the train ride to his hometown, the trek to his house, greeting his neighbours. Everything was normal.

Until it wasn't.

Vipera entered his family's home with a bright smile on his face, and a call to say he was home. He was met with a thick and bloody silence. He stared at the doorway of the living room, locking eyes with someone he didn't know and catching eye of someone fleeing out the window. Stupidly, the fae looked down. A thud of Vipera's belongings falling to the floor sounded out. This man was holding the vibrant red hair of his adoptive father. His father's expression was lifeless, his eyes gouged out and his body... Well, not attached. Daring to look behind the man, Vipera saw red. His brothers and his sister, his mother, his aunt, one of his cousins, his father - all of them decapitated and eyeless.

Without even a second thought, Vipera lashed out, charging at this man with a violent snarl. His fist collided with this murderer's temple, sending the man backwards. In a rage, the fae flung blow after blow at the man, completely ignoring his eye getting ripped out of its socket. Vipera didn't stop, not even when the man was dead, obliterating his face until he was unrecognisable. When he did finally realise, he froze, his body numb as the dread and anguish washed over him. He stumbled backwards as he stood up, and made a call to the cops, before he ran for it, fleeing the scene.

⛦˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛧⋆༺𓆩⋆♱✮♱⋆𓆪༻⋆⛧˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛦

Several years down the line, the case of the Occidendum family had gone cold, Vipera pronounced dead after no trace of him was found. In the midst of his disappearance, he was taken under the wing of some alcoholic psychopath. Vipera would kill for him, his lack of care or emotion making him ideal for such dirty work. He worked for him in agreement that he would find whoever fled his house that day.

The psychopath kept his word.

Daylor. That was the bastard's name. The one who ran that day. Tracked down, he would pay. Pay for what the fuck he did. Issue? Well, this little Daylor happened to be the brother of Fëanor, the warden of the country's most inescapable prison.

And yet... Vipera didn't care at all.

⛦˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛧⋆༺𓆩⋆♱✮♱⋆𓆪༻⋆⛧˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛦

75 years of killing couldn't have been more of a help. 75 years of slaughter, 100s of lives taken without being caught.

"Daylor."

He had found the man. His stare was cold and Daylor's was scared. Terrified. He knew who Vipera was. He knew what the little fae had done 80 years ago to his beloved friend. Without missing a beat, Vipera swung and hence commenced the fight that would change Vipera's life for the worst.

A crack and a thud made Vipera pause, staring at the majority of his horn now on the floor. He snarled and used it to his advantage, snatching it up and holding it point-down towards Daylor's throat.

The stab was never made.

Struggling frantically, Vipera did everything in his power to try and free himself from the hands that held him tight. He screamed, begging whoever had a hold of him to let him finish the job, to let him complete his revenge.

"Vipera Occidendum, you have every right to remain silent. You will be seen in court for several accounts of murder and attempted murder. Whatever you do and say can and will be used against you."

Fëanor.

Vipera fell limp in the hold of the warden. He had no chance. The warden was at least 8 times his age, and hence made him far more capable than Vipera.

"Like how I'm the one serving a pissing sentence. HE HELPED KILL MY FUCKING FAMILY!" Vipera snarled, snapping at Fëanor all while staring down at Daylor with a murderous glare.

⛦˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛧⋆༺𓆩⋆♱✮♱⋆𓆪༻⋆⛧˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛦

Life.

A life sentence.

He'd die being known as the Remorseless Killer of Jejivan. Never as a man hunting and preparing for revenge. He'd die here. In this prison. At least... He assumed so... Who knew? Perhaps one day, he'd be let free.

Sometimes, the coldest killers are the happiest children... And Vipera was one of them.

⛦˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛧⋆༺𓆩⋆♱✮♱⋆𓆪༻⋆⛧˙♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱⋆☠︎︎⋆♱˙⛦

SHADOWHUNTERS + text posts 12/∞ | Malec Edition

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

God, racking my braincells for this😅

Most likely... 🤔 A Criminal For Justice is my top one, which is a solid original work of mine about an engineer and a cop

The Silver X Riddle paint prompt one I did for drabble night. Can't remember what it's called 😅

Ardyn drabble (I love anything Ardyn related)

Although I don't ship it and it was a request, Crewel x Vargas "Driving Madness" one. It was fun writing Crewel losing his composure

And for 5th... I honestly don't know 😅

AllTober Day 2: "It's All Your Fault!"

Contains: Mentioned Death, Maybe OOC, fights, hatred

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Diluc Ragnvindr, Kaeya Alberich, Mentioned Cerpus Ragnvindr

Diluc stood before an injured Kaeya, his trusty Wolves Gravestone ready to strike. His back was to the cavalry captain, his dangerous red eyes locked onto the advancing hilichurls.

"Diluc?" Kaeya strained, slowly getting back up off the ground.

"Stay down, Kaeya" Diluc demanded. He was not losing Kaeya like he had Cerpus all those years ago.

He had blamed Kaeya then. Blamed Kaeya that he was the reason Cerpus died. He now knew better. His father had tried to leave the Fatui. His own father had been a Harbinger. And they didn't like him trying to leave.

It was years ago. And Diluc could still hear the echo of his words that night.

"It's all your fault! All of it! It's all your fault!"

He was a fight away from losing Kaeya.

It was time to right his wrongs.

"Kaeya, don't die on me..."

"What?"

"Don't die on me...

That night was never your fault, brother"

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Space: Hidden Scar

Fandom: Original Work

AU?: N/A

Extra: Original characters again, whoop whoop!!

Warnings: Stabbings, self blame, attack, bodily harm

Tag: @badthingshappenbingo

The Warden Of Jejivan High Security Prison

The prison warden was an intimidating man, a tall fae with horns that looked sharper than a freshly sharpened blade. With his uniform and his flawless face, every inmate and worker within the prison assumed that was just how he was - a cold, physically flawless man who gave no sympathy. But, this couldn't be further from the truth.

Fëanor sat in his office with camera screens humming away to his left, his fountain pen scratching the page. He was leaning stressfully on his desk, his hand on his head and his elbow on the desk's surface, practically holding his head up. A new inmate had recently been put into solitary confinement, and the inmate was someone that Fëanor had known in the past. "How was the funeral...? Oh right, you couldn't attend, you were in a hospital bed... Kinda deserved considering you let my brother die...". Those had been the inmate's taunting words to Fëanor when they had arrived. The words that echoed through the warden's mind. Fëanor had to hold himself back from lashing out, keeping his cool.

He hadn't let anyone die, and if he could, he'd save all the victims he was unable to save. The inmate's brother was a victim to a case that had taken three teams of profilers and federal police to hunt down the criminal responsible. Fëanor was no stranger to the blame being put on him for 'not finding the criminal quicker', but he'd not expected the inmate to attack him - actually why the inmate was there, the only reason it'd taken so long to arrest him was because Fëanor hadn't been able to confirm who attacked him until the day prior to the inmate's arrival.

The attack was nothing special, except it'd been executed well. Fëanor had been at home when it happened, the attacker somehow breaking in with stealth akin to a vampire's. It'd started with the click of a gun being loaded to fire while Fëanor wasn't looking. The fae had looked at his assailant at that point, the gun firing and missing Fëanor by mere millimetres, the warden not even flinching. Silence had followed for a good few moments, until crashes of bodies falling into tables resonated through the room. The warden had fought back as much as he could, the assailant fighting tooth and nail to tire Fëanor out before slamming the battle of the pistol into the fae's jaw. The pain was dizzying, Fëanor's focus and concentration destroyed. Unable to fight back, Fëanor had no way to stop every sink of a blade into his body - arms, chest, stomach, legs - but all aimed perfectly so Fëanor wouldn't definitely die, but left enough of a chance it could happen. The assailant had leapt out of Fëanor's window by the time his neighbours came to him, having heard the commotion.

He'd been hospitalised for weeks afterwards, stitched up and hooked to wires and painkillers. He still felt the ache of the wounds through the painkillers, but any stronger of a dosage would kill him.

Fëanor hid the scars of the incident, feeling ashamed and full of self-hatred when he saw them himself. He hated it. If his teams and he had figured out who the criminal was sooner, his attacker's brother would still be alive. And, for once in his life, Fëanor blamed himself for it. He blamed himself, believing he deserved the attack, since he failed to save that guy.

No one knew about what happened to him, aside from his neighbours, and Fëanor planned to keep it that way. What would people think? The warden of Jejivan's most notorious prison being unable to defend himself? He'd be a laughing stock and a target.

The prison warden was an intimidating man, a tall fae with horns that looked sharper than a freshly sharpened blade. With his uniform and his flawless face, every inmate and worker within the prison assumed incorrectly about him - yes he was cold, but he was also scarred and ashamed, afraid to admit it aloud.