#hornetfic

[pluralhornet]

Intro Fic Six: Witch

The Witch had not been wanted. The Witch had not been needed. And the Witch was hated.

The Witch had been born from a Curse wrought by a deceiving Root. The Curse locked the Hunter out of the rest of the system and realized some of her worst fears. The ones that she had tried so hard to bury, ones that she had hoped would never resurface.

The Hunter had grown up in a land haunted by a plague that took control of the minds of bugs while they slept. The Hunter had developed a deep-seated fear of sleep itself and endeavored to stay awake for as long as possible. And yet, everyone fell asleep eventually, and sleeping meant dreaming. The Hunter had learned defenses, thankfully. She learned that one’s mind is one’s own, and that within one’s mind, others who invaded only ever had as much power as you let them. If your mind was invaded, all you had to do was stand your ground and not give in to fear, remember that you are the master of your thoughts, and the intruder would be utterly powerless. Of course, the fact that the Hunter had many others in her mind helped significantly in her defenses…

The Hunter was always afraid of plague and of having her identity, her mind, taken over. This Curse was a disease that threatened to wrest her very soul from her control. Her fears had been realized.

She had sought to have the parasite removed, and when half of it was torn from her, the Witch was born.

The Witch was born screaming and crying and afraid. The Witch was born in utter, excruciating agony from having half of its soul ripped away. The Witch was born and shackled with all the fears the Hunter had to bury to do what had to be done. The Witch was born in a terrible, awful, frightening world that it could not understand. The Witch was born younger than the rest and it had no knowledge of itself or the world around it. It had no mastery over its mind. It had no source of calm or peace. It was practically infantile.

And all the others despised it.

All the others hated the Witch for being the remnant of the very thing that had threatened to be their undoing. All the others had no tolerance for the Witch and their crying. All the others had no room in their hearts for the Witch (which wasn’t surprising for the Reaper, who had no heart to speak of, but nonetheless).

Perhaps, with help, safety, and comfort, the Witch would mature. Grow. Evolve. Perhaps it’d become something to be relied upon, not just a burden. But alas, with how unsafe the Witch feels, that will likely never happen.

There was only one other in the mind that it felt remotely safe with, and he was always busy. There was only one place in the world that it felt remotely safe at, and it was in the very woods where the Curse had been cast.

No, unless someone, or truthfully a team of someones, do something for the Witch, she would never grow into her full potential…

[pluralhornet]

Intro Fic Five: Architect

The Gendered Child had never had an especially strong emotional connection to her father. Or to the Weavers she hailed from, for that matter. However, she had shared one thing with them, and that was their crafting skill.

The instinct to destroy and dominate was in the Spider’s veins, that was to be certain, but so was the instinct to create and repair. Some of her only memories of her father were the time she spent in his workshop as a young child, watching him create wondrous devices and feeling inspired to do the same. Likewise, some of her earliest memories of the Weavers were the ones where she was taught to craft like they could.

These were the seeds of the Architect being planted. But they never truly bore fruit until the Hunter entered the Chapel of the Architects, and bound the memories and identities of the first eleven Architects.

It was then that the Architect was truly realized.

The Architect was easily the most intelligent out of all of them. They were exceptionally skilled at creating tools, and strategizing with them. However, they were… not used to an organic body, having been formed from the minds of eleven automatons.

Frequently, the Architect would forget to eat, drink, or even sleep. Another one, most frequently the Wanderer or the Beast, would have to either take control or at least nudge the Architect into taking proper care of the body.

The Architect would often guide the others while they worked. When the Hunter built the Silkshot, the Architect guided her hands. When the Reaper chose what tools to equip, the Architect made suggestions. When any of them had to work machines such as levers, the Architect would offer advice.

The Architect had become more and more crucial to the functioning of the system as time had gone on and the threats of Pharloom loomed ever larger. The others gained a respect for the Architect, and an appreciation of its skills. It was a master of its craft, and it would forever guide the system, providing intelligence and insight into every problem.

[pluralhornet]

Intro Fic Two: Beast

The Beast had come after the Hunter. The Beast had been born from the Weavers and the Retainers. The Weavers had told Hornet to embrace everything that made her different from a Wyrm, to embrace her wild instincts and her Weaver heritage. When the Retainers had tried to tame the child, when they had tried to train those instincts out of her, the Beast was created in retaliation.

The Beast bit the hands that restrained her. She tore into her food like a wild animal. She was agile and scuttled on all her limbs. She played roughly, with claws and fangs.

When told to stand still, the Beast grew restless. When told to speak softly, the Beast raised her voice. When told to leave her larger sibling alone, for it had no capacity to love, the Beast crawled on that stoic knight, demanded it hide her from her horrid tutors, demand it play with her.

The Beast was the one who had aggression of all sorts. The ‘fight’ aggression, the ‘play’ aggression, the ‘cuteness’ aggression. The Beast was made of these aggressions. She hunted tiny animals as play, bit the Retainers as rebellion, and nipped the Weavers to show affection.

Ironically, the Beast proved too much for the very Weavers who had nurtured her into being. They had never known what a Weaver child would be like, for the Weavers had exceptional difficulty with reproduction. That was why Herrah had needed a Higher Being as a sire in order to have her child; to make up for Herrah’s own near-total infertility.

The Weavers had not known to expect a little terror.

As the Beast grew older, her wild instincts and ferocity grew sharper. She became more aggressive. The instinct to rip, tear, and destroy grew stronger. But the playfulness, the mischief, that never left her.

When the Hunter bound the memories, the mannerisms, the Crest of that enormous monster, the Beast grew more primal, it was true. It growled more, it purred more, it used words less. But it was no less itself.

The Beast was the one who loved fluffy and cute things the most, who loved hunting and fighting the most, who loved running and jumping the most, and who loved freedom the most, for it had been made for all of those things.

The Beast was wild and untamed, for it had none of the inhibitions the others did. That was, in some ways, what the Beast was ultimately for. She was for holding many of the impulses that the Hunter buried. The Beast was released when those impulses were permitted to be released.

[pluralhornet]

Intro Post (Rules, Tags, other Information).

This is a blog dedicated to a headcanon called Plural Hornet. The idea is that Hornet is a system. Plural. Uh, strongly associated with DID or related disorders. It used to be called "Multiple Personality Disorder." Essentially, the Crests are all "altars," "headmates," or "personalities" that Hornet has.

I love this headcanon so much, I made this blog.

Rule

HUGELY IMPORTANT ->->->The first rule is no explicit sexual images. Please don't put porn in my inbox. However, there may be some sexual content on this blog. If you aren't interested in seeing that, then please filter the following tags: #tw explicit and #beast unleashed

ALSO HUGELY IMPORTANT ->->->I don’t do well with vague or surprise-based RP prompts. If an ask involves hidden context or delayed reveals, please add a note like “this is meant to be ambiguous / a surprise may follow” so I can engage with it properly.

The second rule is that you must specify which Crest you're talking to when you send an ask. If you don't, I'll just assume you're talking to the Hunter's Crest.

I do allow storyline asks, though I'm trying not to get into too many Arcs so that I don't get burnt out.

I do allow angsty asks.

I do allow interaction! Yes! Please, feel free to interact!

This blog assumes a post-Sister of the Void version of Hornet. Keep that in mind.

My Main Tags

#hunter (For the Crest of the Hunter). She/Her pronouns.

#beast (For Beast's Crest). She/It pronouns.

#wanderer (For Wanderer's Crest) She/Her pronouns.

#reaper (Do I need to keep explaining these kinds of tags?). She/Her pronouns.

#architect. They/It pronouns (Will accept 'she' but doesn't like it).

#witch. She/It pronouns.

#shaman. He/She pronouns.

#queen. She/Her pronouns.

#hornetinteracts (For interactions)

#hornetanswers (For answering asks)

#hornetfic (For when I write fics)

#lore (For lore)

#sister of the void (for when Hornet interacts with Vessels, or possibly just any Void-based siblings).

#{the queen and her consort} (an interaction tag for the Queen and @wandererlyra, whom the Queen is romantically involved with)

#[the masked beast] an interaction tag for the Beast and Styx (and his various other masks), who the Beast is pining after

#beast unleashed <- Related to above, it's for tags related to the Beast and content of a sexual nature.

#[unique in this world; all mine] (The current interaction/lore tag for the Hunter/Hornet in general and the Hive Knight, @the-knight-of-the-hive, who I headcanon as one of Hornet's previous mates. I may change this tag to be "[two halves]" instead; let me know if you'd like that).

Arc Tags

#{rite of maturation} (Witch growing up)

#{first stage of grief} (Hunter ceasing to be in denial of the fact that she is part of a system)

#{Tools 2.0} (The Architect Crest's, or maybe all Crests', efforts to enhance the tools Hornet has or re-create old ones, namely Snare Setter. This will also sort of be about me... buffing the tools from Silksong that I think should be stronger, because wow, are they way too weak right now!)

#{The Queen's Crown} (An arc about the Queen's influence over the rest of the system. Possibly about her becoming more integrated, rather than repressed. We'll see!)

#{split apart... together} (An arc about the Beast, the Witch, the Hunter, and the Queen all being given separate bodies via Essence Binding)

Masterlist of Fics

Intro Fic One: Hunter

Intro Fic Two: Beast

Intro Fic Three: Reaper

Intro Fic Four: Wanderer

Intro Fic Five: Architect

Intro Fic Six: Witch

Intro Fic Seven: Shaman

Intro Fic Eight: Queen

The Start of Denial.

[pluralhornet]

Intro Fic One: Hunter

The Hunter was the first, born from Herrah and the Pale King.

She is one of only a few who hold the memories of their mother, and even then, she can barely recall her face.

The Hunter was, in many ways, the most balanced. She had most of the skills of the others. She was the best tracker out of all of them. She was the least specialized, yet she could do anything as well as the others.

She was the one who most clearly remembered the White Lady’s distant kindness and yet… not-so-hidden unrepentance. She was the one who remembered Hallownest’s Fall while it was happening.

And she was the one with the most significant gaps in her memories, as well.

She had long forgotten how old she truly was. Not because she had stopped trying to keep track, but because she couldn’t keep track. Not when she would get into a fight with a Vessel or a Husk in the Crossroads, blink, and be in Deepnest. Not when she would sit at a bench in the Queen’s Gardens and find herself at a bench in the City of Tears with no memory of walking there.

Perhaps that is why she had found so many mates over the years. Rarely were there gaps in her memory of their relationships.

... And yet, after her mates died, the following years would feel like a gaping void in her memory.

She heard voices, sometimes. She felt impulses, imprints. She’d be influenced by instructions in her mind. All of these, she rationalized, were her mind’s unique way of processing. She had gotten blessings, as far as her mind was concerned, for being related to the Pale King and the Weavers. She could focus completely on many things at once, and she could learn a new skill in mere moments. These memory errors… they had to simply be a product of that unique brain of hers, surely? They meant nothing. Besides, it was normal for your thoughts to sometimes disagree with you, right?

The Hunter was the one who had fought the Vessel that freed Hallownest.

The Hunter was the one who had been stolen into Pharloom. The Hunter was the one who had to deal with the Curse from that horrid Root Being. The Hunter was the one who had dived into the darkness to pull a lady of white fabric from its depths and rid the kingdom of shadows.

The Hunter was the one who had chosen to listen to the instincts within her, telling her to save Pharloom, and ignore the instincts within her that told her to dominate it.

The Hunter was the one in control so often, she believed there was no one else to talk control. But she was, of course, wrong.

[pluralhornet]

the code is queen, you dont have to end the arg if you dont want to :)

Okay! The ARG is over.

To those who solved it, you know who you are.

To those who didn't... The secret at the end is that there is a secret Crest. The Queen's Crest.

Intro Fic Eight: Queen

The Weavers had wanted the Gendered Child to be their queen. The Retainers had wanted the Gendered Child to be a perfect, polite, prim, and proper princess. It’s true that the Beast was born to rebel against the Retainers. But another was born to appease them, and to appease the Weavers.

That one was the Princess.

The Princess was graceful, the Princess was polite, the Princess was obedient, and the Princess was apologetic. When the Retainers demands were to be rebelled against, the Beast was released. When the Retainers demands were to be given in, the Princess took the reins.

The Princess was docile and graceful at first. But as the Hunter grew older, she experienced her Wyrm and Weaver instincts kicking in. They told her to dominate, to command, to rule over others and lord over them. She could not bear these instincts. And so she buried them.

Those instincts went to the Princess. It was a fitting transformation. What does a Princess become when she grows up? Why, a Queen, of course!

The Queen both admired and envied monarchs. She wanted to be like the Pale King, a ruler, an object of worship. And so when the Hunter was captured and brought to Pharloom, and as the Hunter learned about the true nature of the Haunting and the one behind it, the Queen’s instincts of domination returned with a ferocity never before seen. They urged the Hunter to ascend to the top of Pharloom, face the Monarch, and claim her power for their own. The Queen whispered into the Hunter’s ear, telling her to replace Grand Mother Silk, to become the new ruler of Pharloom.

And yet… The Hunter resisted. The Hunter sought another way.

She found it… and paid a hefty price.

That was when the Queen struck again, whispering to the Hunter that now the Pale Monarch was weakened by the Void, that trying to simply cut Pharloom free had failed, and the only way left was to replace the Monarch, as she should have done the first time. The Queen insisted that they must bind the Monarch while they still had the chance. The Queen preyed upon the guilt of their failure.

And perhaps the Hunter would’ve given in… If not for the appearance of someone with the will to overpower the Queen.

The Shaman had been born from the guilt of their failure, from the guilt of the Blackthread, and was determined to rectify that mistake. The Shaman kept the others safe from the whispers of the Queen, binding her in a cage of quietude.

With the Shaman’s efforts, the group managed to reach the Abyss and face the Lost Child and Grand Mother Silk. For the entire fight, the Queen screamed, rattling against the bars of her cage, urging them to bind the Monarch, to take her power, NOW! WHILE SHE’S WEAK FROM THE VOID!

But every single time, the Shaman drowned out her voice. He said to stay focused on the goal, to stay determined, dodge to the left, to the right, jump, slash, whatever it took to win the battle.

The Hunter was triumphant. The Blackthread was vanquished. And the Queen’s demands were not given in to.

But that did not mean the Queen was gone. No, her voice would forever try to whisper in the ears of the others. That was her nature.

The Queen is now available for asks.

[pluralhornet]

Intro Fic Four: Wanderer

After the Reaper came the Wanderer.

Like the Reaper, the Wanderer’s seeds were planted very, very early. The Gendered Child had suffered much loss throughout her life. Loss was the Wanderer’s job to deal with.

When the Fall of Hallownest came, and everyone the Gendered Child had known and loved died, the Wanderer was the one who mourned, carrying the burden so no one else would have to. The Wanderer mourned many of the lives the Reaper ended.

Quiet and stoic, was the Wanderer. Fitting her name, she was the type to explore and map out places. She was the type who never got lost. And despite her role as a mourner, she was a capable warrior.

As such, it was of no surprise when the Wanderer found herself enjoying Shakra’s company so much. Her singing soothed the Wanderer. She did not mind the Wanderer’s quiet. And the Wanderer enjoyed the fine quality of her maps and her markers. She especially enjoyed wielding Shakra’s rings, which she found exceptionally useful in battle.

When the Hunter bound the Pilgrim, the Wanderer was not affected much. However, the Wanderer did gain an appreciation of music, one that made her love Shakra even more for her singing. Often, the Wanderer used the Needolin around Shakra. And she always enjoyed it when Shakra joined in.

Every quiet moment, when grief threatened to set in, was the Wanderer’s time to take control. But she often exerted her influence whenever the Gendered Child was lost, nudging whoever was in control onto the correct path.

The Wanderer was not an especially noticeable aspect within the Gendered Child. But she was an important guardian, a holder of the most painful and draining of feelings, and a navigator of twisted caves and winding paths. Like all, she had a role to play. And she played it well.

[pluralhornet]

Intro Fic Seven: Shaman

The Hunter had an instinct to dominate and destroy. She had inherited this instinct from her father, who was a Wyrm, a species that rules over bugs; and her mother, who was a Weaver, a species born from a Pale Being and whose members once ruled all of Pharloom with a tyrannical theocracy.

That instinct called for her to dethrone the Monarch haunting Pharloom, only to take her place.

But there was another instinct within the Hunter. An instinct to create and repair. She had inherited this instinct from her father, who built a kingdom that he tried so hard to make luxurious and perfect for the inhabitants, and who built machines of wonder to assist in that task; and her mother, who was a Weaver, a species of brilliant engineers who built technological miracles.

That instinct urged the Hunter to cut Pharloom free from the strings that puppeted it, and ensure it would never be brought under the thrall of a god ever again.

The Hunter told the Caretaker of the First Shrine of her plans, and he had agreed to assist her. She had gone along with it, expecting the result desired.

Instead, the Monarch and her daughter were pulled into the depths of the earth, and her threads were used as the chains that the darkness would use to bind all of Pharloom to a corrupting black cage.

Bone Bottom and Pilgrim’s Rest were wiped off the map. Sherma was forced to take on a responsibility he was not ready for. And the town of Bellhart was caged in, surrounded by enemies. Devastation was around every corner. Masses of Void filled the corridors and streets of the entire kingdom. The world was ending, and it was the Hunter’s fault.

The guilt would have destroyed her, utterly. And so she buried it, planting the seed for something new, something that had to grow lest the guilt come back stronger and ruin the Hunter’s will to continue.

Thankfully, she got the perfect nutrients to facilitate the seed’s growth in the Chapel of the Snail Shamans. She bound the memories and identity of an ancient Shaman, and thus, the Shaman was born.

The Shaman was a master of Silk and Soul, and knowledgeable about the Void. But most importantly, he would carry the regret and guilt of the Hunter so that she wouldn’t have to carry another burden. When they fought the Old Hearts, the Shaman carried the guilt of the destruction of the natural world they were bringing. When the three Shamans disappeared, leaving only their shells behind, seemingly having died, the Shaman carried the guilt of their sacrifice.

The Shaman was the one who hunted the Void Masses, determined to right their wrong. The Shaman mediated the system, kept everyone in line and in harmony, managing the conflicts. He was a shield for the weak, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind. He gave them all unity and kept them focused on their goals. He brought a much-needed sense of calm and maturity to the group.

The Shaman was the only one whom the Witch felt safe around. And for good reason. For the Shaman did not hate the Witch. Not in the slightest.

The Shaman single-handedly held the group together throughout the days of the Blackthread. Throughout the fight against Lost Garmond. Throughout the days of ruin and darkness. He was the reason they kept it together long enough to save Lace from the Abyss and free Pharloom from the ebony threads that had ensnared it. He was the one who kept the Hunter from being crushed underneath her guilt, even if it meant he had to carry the burden himself.

The Shaman was the one who would gladly bear any burden, bite any bullet, and weather any weather for the sake of the group. It was his duty, his responsibility, and he approached it with unceasing determination.