#eldritch abomination AU

[nartothelar]

repayment

- ingo was taught the rules of old: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, to repay what was given

- he’s usually very good at controlling his form; there are exceptions

- this is the first time ingo has felt pure rage in all of his existence

[funky-choo-choo]

AUS I love!!!! <3

I would have drawn more AUs because I love their concepts, if it weren't for the fact that at the moment of publishing these drawings it will be 2 in the morning for me :')

Eldritch Abomination AU by @nartothelar !!!

Submas Conjoined AU by @ingo-ingoing-ingone !!!

[steampoweredwerehog]

A little lesson on interpreting the horrors

[Prev. Page]

[lets-try-some-writing]

My pretender AU has infested my brain and it ain't going anywhere. So I offer up the results of my fixation for you lovely lot to view.

[ghost-bxrd]

Ghost, you are a fountain of incredible aus. I am impressed (and a little jealous). Do you have anything more on eldritch Jason or the Calvin Rose road trip au?

Awe thank you! I’m happy you’re enjoying all the crack content on here hehehe 💚💚

and boi do I have more ✨

Edlritch Jason 👁️

Jason has trouble keeping his true form in check when he’s excited! The happier/upset he gets, the more his outline and shape start to ooze

He has several maws with teeth that range from blunt to sharp needle points. In one of those maws hides a black hole

Jason is scared of space, funnily enough. Too empty and vast for him as he gets lonely pretty easily. He likes the crowded spaces teeming with life.

Jason loves learning new human things

Jason has no reaction to fear or joker toxin. Or any kind of substance that would impair a regular human’s health. Bruce finds out about that after he nearly loses his mind with worry following a widespread toxin attack in which Jason “forgets” his rebreather.

Pictures of Jason always end up looking a little displaced. There’s always some kind of glitch/blur/shadow in it that no amount of tech improvement can get rid of

Even though he’s eldritch at core, Jason’s human body can still be hurt, and he experiences pain just like any other human would

Calvin Rose road trip 🌹

Calvin finds Jason soaking wet and still in his funeral clothes and injuries sitting by the curb and is disturbed enough by the kid’s appearance to usher him back to his hideout.

For the longest time Calvin thinks Jason is called Bruce because that’s the only thing he will say

Taking Jason with him is a spur of the moment decision. Jason reminds him too much of himself, beaten and broken and locked away in a dog cage to die, and he looks so… lost. Calvin can’t bear to drive away from that without knowing what happens to the kid

As much as Calvin grumbles about it sometimes he’s exceptionally good and patient with Jason. He talks a lot and points out inane things even though he rarely (if ever) gets a reaction. (Calvin was lonely, not that he’s gonna admit that)

For some time Calvin thinks Jason used to be trained as a Talon when a few people try to mug them and Jason goes all Robin-training on them. He’s sure their little experiments went to far and the Court meant to dispose of him now that he’s “broken”

The first words Jason speaks that isn’t any iteration of Bruce’s name is “burger” (because he wants a burger). Calvin buys him ten because that’s literally the first time Jay has ever expressed an opinion on food.

Jason’s second word is “Dick”, and Calvin nearly chokes to death on his beer.

From there on it’s a steady improvement of Jay’s mental state, but that also means he starts getting night terrors as he remembers his death and the Joker. Once Calvin pieces together the broad picture he’s down to devising plans to dispose of the clown. He’s not making compromises where people who hurt children are concerned. Especially not if they’re family

Jason never tells Calvin about Batman or being Robin, he’s… kind of happy to be away from all of it. Especially after seeing Brucie Wayne and his new protege and Dick Grayson, a happy and smiling family, on the news together. And sightings of Robin making the front page of most magazines

Calvin knows Jason is hiding something from him, but hey, so is Calvin. All he knows is that his kid brother road trip buddy really doesn’t seem to like Gotham’s vigilantes. Something he can totally respect. And thankfully, Calvin is skilled enough to keep him safe even if the glorified furry and his acolytes were to come after Jay for whatever reason.

Jason’s favorite song to listen to while driving is “I know the end” by Phoebe Bridgers. Calvin starts out hating the song but is to endeared by how happy Jason gets (even in his early catatonic state) that he doesn’t say anything. It ends up being both their favorite song

[dasteebeutelchen]

Day 7: Modern AU: Rural type jobs for @codywanweek

Breaking news: non-local biologist/botanist (he’s new in town) gets lost in some fields during the early morning while sourcing and collecting plants, luckily gets spotted by helpful local farmer (cute!) on his morning ride. What happens next will surprise you (they fall in love)

[fallingforspring]

I’ve been thinking of older brother!Danny and Bruce so much lately.

[yuesya]

Ryomen Sukuna, the double-faced specter. The undisputed King of Curses, who had claimed the title of Strongest in his time.

… Versus Gojo Satoru. The Strongest sorcerer of the modern age –the strongest by a wide margin. In this world, at least. Back in his own world, where everything (hopefully) hasn’t gone to hell in a handbasket, Geto Suguru can confidently say that it’s Gojo Satoru and Gojo Shiki who hold the title of ‘Strongest’ together between the two of them.

Suguru had never paused to think what the world might be like without them. Either of them. And in this strange new world that he’d been thrown headfirst into without any warning, in this world where Shiki doesn’t exist and Suguru himself is dead and Satoru is left to carry everything alone, it…

It means that Satoru says that he will face Sukuna by himself, and everyone else nods along to this like it’s a foregone conclusion. As if it’s only natural. And perhaps it is, and Suguru knows that Satoru has always enjoyed a challenge, but–

It’s not the same. It’s not the same. Even though rationally, he knows that the Gojo Satoru in this world isn’t his Satoru, Suguru can’t help but worry for him, even despite the smooth confidence that the other man wears like a second skin. His friends and students in this world worry too, but Suguru can see how a not-insignificant number of them also look like they can’t fathom the thought of Gojo losing.

Because Gojo-sensei is the strongest. Invincible. Immaculate and utterly untouchable, and there is no one else who comes close to approaching him.

(“Stay with us, Suguru?”)

… Suguru worries for him.

It’s why he remains at the outskirts of the battlefield, when Gojo clashes with Sukuna. Hovering, watching, as the two sorcerers tear apart their surroundings; bridges collapsing and buildings ripped apart like wet paper. Suguru himself is a Special Grade sorcerer, but the level of a fight like this remains a cut beyond him, still. Just the multiple back-to-back Domain Expansions alone would’ve been more than enough to kill him several times over. He can feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck at the cursed energy saturating the air, and the sheer power that they throw around so easily…

It’s something that he’s only ever witnessed from Satoru and Shiki before.

…

He doesn’t know how to describe it. In the aftermath of the single most destructive release of Hollow Purple that Suguru has ever seen, Gojo’s victory appears imminent. But even riddled with injuries and missing half his body as he is, Sukuna looks up with Megumi’s face and smiles, baring his teeth as he brings his hand up in a sharp slashing motion, and–

And something inside Suguru twists, blood thundering in his ears, and his reaction is entirely instinctive. Probably the result of one too many heart attacks that Satoru and Shiki have put him through over the years, if he’s being honest here–

Rainbow Dragon, the most powerful defensive cursed spirit in Suguru’s arsenal, falls to the ground in a spray of red-violet blood, sliced in half. It does not move again, and Suguru knows that it will never move again –his connection to the cursed spirit had been severed instantaneously.

But it’s worth it. Because this means that, instead of having his upper torso separated from the rest of his body, Gojo is only missing an arm and a good portion of his shoulder. It’s his right arm, though, which isn’t good; he’ll need to regenerate the limb in order to form seals for his techniques with his hand–

“… Geto?”

“Gojo,” Suguru returns breathlessly, and then there’s no more time for idle talk. Not when Sukuna laughs, and falls upon them, already having healed from his own wounds –grievous wounds that would’ve killed any other sorcerer three times over. Not when the demon is somehow able to cut through Gojo Satoru’s Limitless technique, how is that possible?!

They struggle, and fight, and do their best. It’s not enough. Suguru and Gojo aren’t as in sync with each other as they need to be against an opponent like Ryomen Sukuna. And while Suguru is a Special Grade sorcerer, he’s not a Special Grade the way that Gojo and Sukuna are–!

Even so, Suguru grits his teeth and fights, tooth and nail, because the only other alternative now that he’s well and truly involved in this (as if he could turn his back on Satoru, any version of Satoru) is to give up, and Suguru refuses to do that.

… Is this how I’m going to die?

…

In the brief instant right before Suguru knows that he is about to face certain death, when his mind is only full of an endless refrain of Satoru, Shiki, somehow–

Sukuna stops.

The monster puppeteering Megumi’s body freezes, and looks upwards. It takes a moment for Suguru to register this odd, odd reaction, and he…

… he can’t exactly blame him.

Because when Suguru decides to take his chances and glances upwards himself to see what suddenly caught Sukuna’s attention, it’s abundantly clear that there’s something wrong. The sky –pulses, for lack of a better word. A strange sort of ripple that materializes in this space without any rhyme or reason, before it stretches open, a yawning circle of something–

Something–

Nothing.

Everything.

… What opens up in the sky in this moment is a chalice of purest darkness, overflowing with brilliant light. The frozen dawn, wrought with evening stars. There are flames curling within ice, meteorites shattering into dust, entire galaxies that wither and bloom–

It doesn’t make any sense. It’s utterly incomprehensible. Suguru stares up at the yawning, gaping maw of– of something, surely, but at the same time he doesn’t know what he’s seeing at all. Infinite possibilities, finite endings. Suguru stares and stares, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing, but the more he peers into that unfathomable void in the sky, the less he can decipher from it.

It’s… almost as if his mind simply refuses to register what he’s seeing.

Then, there is a hand.

A pale, white hand, reaching out with open fingers splayed into the air. And he does mean white, alabaster-white. The hand is followed by a slender wrist, than an entire arm, and a shoulder–

… It’s a person, that much is evident from the humanoid form. The towering creature that emerges from the hole in the sky is most certainly not a person, though. In terms of size, it’s probably large enough to rival Mahoraga. And in terms of color, their coloring is wrong.

White. Solidly stark-white, like a statue carved from marble. A flawless and unblemished human form, to be sure; a distinctly androgynous work of perfection that cannot be mistaken for anything other than unnatural.

Two arms fall down at its sides, while two more sweep out with palms faced upwards. The creature also has two heads. One is attached normally to the body as a regular human would be, while the other is offset slightly above it, much like an attentive brother overlooking his sister from behind, for all their eerie similarities–

–hold on just a fucking moment.

That’s… holy shit. Holy shit. Suguru knows those faces, would know it anywhere, even on his deathbed–!

His mind promptly short-circuits at the mind-shattering revelation. It takes a solid moment, before he’s finally able to loosen his tongue enough to speak again.

“… Satoru,” Suguru whispers disbelievingly, hoping against hope and knowing what he sees down to his very soul. ��Shiki?”

What the hell. What the hell.

Suguru, his beautiful, beloved, utterly mad lunatics say to him, voice sweet and ringing with dual-toned laughter. Never play hide-and-seek with us like this again.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Weirdo

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Friday: untitled Jak oneshot/ Daxter Snaps And It Doesn't Go Well

(This takes place right after Jak finally gets to return to Spargus in Jak 3, because I had some Feelings about the Dark Eco Oracle and its well-loved shrine having been either moved or destroyed in Haven. Also for reference: since the original Jak concept art was a cat/foxlike alien child, hence the ears being set so high on his head in TPL, I'm hereby deciding that their species can purr. Because I said so.)

This is Quite Long, so I'll probably crosspost to AO3 later.

TW: panic attack

Jak hadn't been surprised by the summons when he'd returned from Haven. He knew he was in for it. Damas had started trusting him with more and more responsibilities and then Jak had screwed it all up. Running off to Haven and then getting stuck there immediately after? Not a good look.

Honestly, Jak was just grateful he wasn't being "escorted" up by city guards.

Part of him wanted to go in fighting. That's all Damas cares about, right? a small, bitter corner of his heart muttered.

The rest of him was too afraid. He finally knew better than to look to anyone in Haven for affirmation or examples. Damas had been the closest he'd ever come to an authority figure he trusted. What if he lost that, too?

The second his and Daxter's heads were visible in the elevator shaft, Damas was already raising his voice. Perhaps he was simply projecting his voice to reach them, but Jak's stomach twisted into knots regardless, and his breathing became quick and shallow.

"Where have you been?" Damas demanded, rising from his throne. "It's been a month!"

The elevator locked, and Jak crept out onto the pathway like a skittish animal. He didn't meet Damas’s eyes. The confused anger and hurt he'd seen in them the last time flashed in his memory, and he winced. An oppressive silence fell for a few unnaturally long seconds, punctuated by the creak of the water wheel. Damas was waiting for an answer.

It's not our fault, Jak tried to reassure himself, Just another betrayal. We didn't do anything wrong.

When he didn't answer Damas, the king’s expression twisted between outrage and disbelief and-

And disappointment.

"Nothing? Really, Jak?" He took one step down from the dais, clenching his fist at his side. "Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"

Daxter took it upon himself to answer when Jak wouldn't -- or couldn't.

"Oh lay off!" he hissed, puffing himself up to look bigger, "Don't you have friends to kill in your gladiator ring?"

"Dax!" Jak gasped. Too late.

The words were already out and a black look fell across Damas’s face. His entire posture went rigid.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a frightful facsimile of calm.

"Daxter, don't," Jak pleaded, but it was far too late for that. When Daxter got this mad, he didn't even hear Jak.

"You heard me!"

Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder and stood on the first stepping stone as if blocking the way between them.

"You tried to make us kill one of our only real friends, and threw a tantrum when we wouldn't! And if you think I'd trust you with Jak's location after that, those spikes must be diggin' into your brain!"

Jak couldn't breathe.

Either Damas was going to cut them off, or Daxter was going to get hurt, and either way everything was going to crumble. He'd finally escaped Haven and there was going to be nothing to escape to.

His core pulsed, obeying signals he didn't even know his brain was sending. It tried to respond to the fight-or-flight instincts quickening his pulse and shortening his breath. In Haven, he would have gone Dark in response. But he'd used all the dark eco. There was nothing left. Nothing but adrenaline and panic.

A strange, almost echoing sensation pushed at the inside of his skull, and the room spun. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they'd been fused shut. He couldn't breathe!

"Jak!"

Between blurs of brown and green, Damas -- or an unfocused and staticy version of him -- approached rapidly.

As if from another room, Jak heard Daxter snarl, "Stay back! If you hurt him, I'll rip your spikes out!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!"

"You already did!"

It was too much. He couldn't- he couldn't focus. He couldn't find the light eco. Jak's knees gave, and it was a struggle to stay upright. Hands caught his upper arms, preventing him from collapsing entirely.

"Breathe, Jak!"

Damas sounded worried this time.

"You have to breathe!"

"Can't-!" Jak gasped, breath squeaking.

Then the world turned sideways and he was in the water. Or partly in the water.

His legs twitched with the shock of the new sensation, surprising him enough to suck in a deep breath. A compressing sensation against his chest and arms tightened in response.

"Focus on the water. Find your feet."

It took four tries to get his boots on the rocky bottom of the pool. His chest hurt, but he managed another deep breath.

"That's it. You can do this."

A small hand took his, pulling against the pressure around his shoulders, and pressed it against a narrow chest.

"L- like we practiced, bud-"

Oh. There's Daxter.

"Just breathe when I breathe, remember?"

Distantly, he heard Damas ask Daxter, "Has this happened before? In- in Spargus, I mean."

"Don't think about it, warrior," the other voice encouraged -- Damas? Is that Damas? But he's mad at us! -- "Just do as your friend does."

"If Jak wants to tell ya, he'll tell ya," Daxter said sourly. "You and I are not on speaking terms right now."

"...that is understandable."

One by one, his muscles relaxed. His breathing was much too fast, but it was easier to get full breaths at least.

When the ringing in Jak’s ears at last began to subside, he picked up a new sound. It was faint, barely audible at all, but he could just make out a nervous rumble. A laryngeal vibration he could feel through the back of his shirt. With conscious thought on standby mode, Jak's body responded to long-forgotten cues unbidden. His glottis rapidly dilated and constricted with his breathing, creating its own vibrations in a bid to self-soothe. It was how he'd learned not to cry out loud as a young child -- although blessedly, he would never remember that.

It wasn't the first time Damas had walked one of his people through a panic attack in the throne room, and it wouldn't be the last. But this one hurt.

"You're safe. There is no danger here. This is a safe place."

Shame raked its claws down his chest and Pain reached through the incision, grasping at organs and prying bones out of the way.

Jak didn't trust him.

And it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered- to Jak, to Daxter, to either-

A memory loomed damningly before his eyes. Mar had just started walking, and nearly toppled into the pools. Damas had yelled at him to get away from the edge, and the baby had burst into a loud, terrified wail.

"I'm- was it the shouting? I-"

"I'm sorry, it's okay, it's okay now- I know, I used the Big Voice, Daddy's sorry! You scared me, Bug!"

He hadn't gotten any better after losing Mar, had he? He still shouted when he was afraid. And look how that had turned out.

Damas tightened his hold on Jak and rested his chin on the crown of the boy's head. The apologies were bitter on his tongue, but necessary.

"I...I triggered this, didn't I? I'm sorry- gods, I'm sorry, Jak. I'm- you scared me. I couldn't find you! No one could!"

"You...thought we defected?" he asked through numbed lips.

The panic was slow to fade, still muddling Jak's mind. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was hearing.

"I thought the Marauders had taken you! Or you'd collapsed somewhere in the Wastes where we couldn't find you!" Damas answered. The dregs of that old fear still stained the edges of his voice. He shuddered.

He swallowed hard, interrupting the agitated purring for a moment. "I...did not handle the...situation as I should have. I damaged your trust. And I deserved worse than the silent treatment. I understand that. But to keep it from Sig, too?"

"You can't just run away like that! I- I understand why you didn't tell me-"

Painfully slowly, Jak drew his legs back out of the water and onto the rocks.

"They wouldn't let me," he mumbled. "They didn't let us leave."

Damas shot a concerned look at Daxter, who shrugged and looked away.

Shifting his grip to have one arm around the boy's waist, Damas heaved himself to his feet, taking Jak with him.

This promised to be a very unpleasant conversation, the least he could do was find them somewhere more comfortable to sit.

They were silent for a time, each processing the whirlwind of events. Jak was deeply, thoroughly, confused. No one had ever apologized like that before. Acknowledging his pain and the specific way their actions had caused it? It would be a cold day in hell before Samos ever did anything like that.

He didn't understand.

They'd defied Damas, then run from him. Daxter had just challenged him to his face.

Yet he spoke like a man anxiously awaiting the return of a prodigal son.

"Who wouldn't let you leave, Jak?" Damas asked him, far too gently.

Jak shut his eyes. "Haven."

"Haven?!" Damas sounded horrified. "What were you doing there?! Is that where you've been this whole time?"

Miserably, Jak nodded. "I was just- we were just scouting. Just- it wasn't supposed to be-"

He gritted his teeth.

"They locked down the air trains," he croaked. "And- and there's force fields blocking off the city exits. The only way they'd let us go was if I fought on the frontlines for three weeks first."

Fighting down his anger lest he trigger Jak's panic again, Damas forced himself to ask, "What made you go back to that city in the first place?"

A hostage. His boy- The boy had been a bloody hostage, and he'd had no idea! Damas felt something dark and dense fluttering between his ribs. If he found the person who ordered this, he would drown them in the sands.

Jak winced and passed several looks back and forth with Daxter.

"Ashelin...called me to the oasis," he said at last.

Damas stiffened beside him.

"She want- she wanted me to come back to Haven. After everything they did to me, she wanted me to come back."

He felt the hints of the anxiety returning, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

"Ashelin Praxis?" Damas demanded. He curled his lip. "I might have known. I hope you told her where to shove that offer."

Daxter scoffed. "Oh, he did. Even told her "I have new friends now", which was a little too generous considering what you said to my pal."

Jak gave the ottsel a weary look, and Daxter grudgingly subsided.

"I told her to leave. She- she wouldn't drop it. Said the friends we still had were going to die. That it was my responsibility because of-"

He flipped a hand in the air in frustration.

"I don't know! Dead people I share some common blood with!"

"Pal, I'm pretty sure that common blood stopped bein' responsible for that dump when Princess Scribbleface's darling pappy took over," Daxter grumbled.

"Common blood?!" Damas startled, but Jak had already moved on, hastily trying to explain himself.

"We didn't believe her -- I- I mean, why would we? But when I asked the Oracle in the temple-"

"How did you find the Oracle?!" Damas spluttered.

"The stupid thing called me," Jak growled. He leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. "Said the whole planet was in danger and my friends would die if I didn't find the catacombs."

He muffled a snarl in his palms.

"I hate them. I hate those rottin' things. They don't tell me when something is a trap. They only tell me what fits their agenda."

Jak could speak to Precursor Oracles.

Only monks were supposed to still be able to do that.

Monks, or Heirs of Mar taking the Trials.

"And...was it a trap?" Damas asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

A painful, wishful image of Jak in the Tomb of Mar wormed through Damas’s thoughts. If life had any semblance of fairness, or restitution, it would have been reality. It was not what he deserved, not after how many times he'd failed the people he cared about. But Jak deserved it. He'd been isolated enough.

Jak's face was like stone.

"All they cared about was getting me into Haven to find the catacombs before that nutcase Veger could. And all Haven cared about was keeping us there."

A deep, ominous creaking filled the room. Harsh shadows stretched and yawned as the terrible old statue beside the dais flickered, then lit up. A suffocating sense of dread filled Damas as he beheld the monolith. It wasn't a real Oracle. It was a shell, made to hold pieces of the water wheel. It wasn't made to have any kind of lights.

Daxter yelped and scurried up to Jak’s shoulder as the water wheel ground to a halt.

The silence was unnatural.

Jak's chest heaved, and Damas feared for a moment that he was going to panic again. But an answering light flickered in the boy's eyes. White, incandescent rage.

"What do you want now? You're not welcome here!" Jak snarled, standing up with a jerk.

"Angry one-"

It said in warning, a rolling, ancient voice that echoed off the stones and twisted in their eardrums.

Jak clenched his fists.

"No! I'm not afraid of you! You're no "holier" than Onin. You aren't even a Precursor!"

A sense of fury shook the room, and the water trembled.

Jak held his ground though his legs shook.

"You can't do anything to punish me," he challenged, angry tears glowing in his eyes. "The worst you can do is withhold information that would protect me, and you do that anyway! If- if you had power at all, you wouldn't have let Veger destroy Crius!"

Crius? Damas vaguely remembered that name. Hadn't he been one of the Bonekeeper's heralds? The memories were fuzzy at best. Father forbade Mother from speaking of the Bonekeeper when they married. Any communing with the patron of dark eco was done in secret, and as a child Damas had only caught her once.

"The dark shrine was all those people had!" the anger was slipping away from Jak now, replaced by something closer to grief. "He gave them hope! He gave- he gave me hope! And you couldn't save him. So what makes you think you can scare me now? Hu'mens are worse than you."

And the Oracle, miraculously, quieted. The waters stilled, and some of the dread receded. Jak fell back to the steps, having exhausted the last reserves of his emotions.

"Yeah! You tell him, Jak!" Daxter cheered, breaking the silence, "About time you put Sparky in his place!"

He ruffled Jak's hair -- the hair he could reach at least -- and leaned against his arm comfortingly.

"Next, we get Loghead!"

The Oracle remained lit, but speechless. All this time, had rebuking the heralds really been an option? Ever the pragmatist, Damas decided to follow Jak's example.

"As the boy said." His voice was quiet at first, but gained courage with each new word.

"This is not a place of seers and soothsayers. Respectfully: we do not require your guidance at this time."

"Heir of Mar-"

the Oracle began, almost wheedling.

Rage loosened his lips and he lost the last shred of reverence he'd held for the messenger.

Jak went rigid and Damas felt an anger of his own. How dare this entity try to leverage his bloodline when the Precursors had turned their backs on him!

"Hold your tongue! Unless you can comprehend the trouble you have caused, keep your counsel to yourself."

Resentfully, the Oracle's eyes flashed.

And with that, the lights were gone. The water wheel resumed its gloomy rhythm. The statue was hollow once more.

"So be it. You wish to hear no truth from me? Then you, Damas of the Wastes, shall hear no truth from me."

Something about the acquiescence -- or threat -- made Damas uneasy. Withholding information again, just as Jak had said. But he had the feeling it was hinting at something important. Taunting him.

Bloody seven hells.

He'd sooner cast the bones himself and call upon the Dark Lady directly as his mother once had than ever deal with that thing again.

"Little wonder you're always so on edge, dealing with that," he said; a poor attempt at a joke.

Jak dropped his face back into his hands.

"I'm so sick of them. Jak do this. Jak go there. Suffer for us, Jak! It's Fate!"

Damas scoffed. "Fate, eh? Wastelanders make their own fate. If this is who my monks consult, it's no surprise that they believe the world is coming to an end."

"They are pretty worried about the creatures in that space ship," Jak admitted reluctantly.

"Bah."

Damas waved it off.

"When the metalheads invaded our world, we survived with or without the Precursors they hunted. We will do the same if these creatures land."

He jostled Jak's shoulder -- shaking Daxter by proxy.

"Ey! No manhandling!"

Daxter slithered away down the steps and into the water. He glared up over the step like a little croc.

"You keep your emotionally constipated hands away from me!"

Damas let out a startled laugh, and Jak shook his head and grinned.

"I...guess you're right. Spargus is pretty tough."

"We are Wastelanders, boy," Damas declared, "We carved out a home in the places where nothing else survives. We'll carve out our fate the same way, with the same tools our ancestors used."

"...with eco," Jak said quietly, as if experiencing a revelation.

"Our minds think alike."

Damas’s wry grin faded.

"Jak...I'm...sorry. That I made you feel you couldn't contact me for help. If I had known you were being held in Haven against your will, I would have come for you."

The boy fixed him with a bewildered expression.

"You would have?" Jak asked, "You're serious. You. Leaving your people to come after me?"

The king met his stare evenly.

"Yes."

"After the- the thing, with the Arena-?"

Damas winced and looked away.

"I. I did not warn you, I was not permitted to. But the final trial of a Spargan is one they are supposed to lose."

Jak bristled. "What?!"

"It's a test of whether they can put loyalty to their city over the commands of a tyrant. Sig wasn't supposed to throw down his gun, he was supposed to goad you into a sparring match." Damas ran his hand over his shaved head. "I should have told him before he went in that it was you. I didn't know that you knew each other, but- maybe he wouldn't have panicked if he'd known it was a Final Trial. Maybe I wouldn't have panicked."

Jak stared at him in disbelief for several seconds. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he blurted out an accusation with no bite to it.

"What, did you forget I didn't grow up here?"

When he was met with chagrined silence, his eyes widened.

"Oh my gods you did. How?! You're the one that found me out there!"

Clearly embarrassed, Damas shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. There are days when it just...seems as though I have known you for much longer than seven months."

Jak took that statement, turned it over in his mind. The version of Damas in his head wasn't quite matching the one in front of him. Even before things had become strained between them, he hadn't had the context to understand the way Damas saw him. He still didn't- not completely.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, and gestured to the soaked trousers. "I um. I don't usually...not in front of people, I mean-"

He leaned back against the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. The linen stuck to his legs in sodden wrinkles and folds, nearly transparent against his calves. It would dry quickly once he stepped outside again -- and the evaporating water would serve to cool his skin nicely. But for now, it drew his mind to his panic attack.

"Don't apologize." Damas laced his fingers together loosely and leaned his elbows against his knees. "May...may I ask what it was that sparked that kind of fear?"

Jak met Daxter's eyes, down in the water. The ottsel winced. He knew he'd taken it too far. He was just so sick of people acting like Jak was a trained dog with no autonomy of his own. And sometimes his desire to protect Jak’s emotions didn't mesh completely with what Jak needed at the moment.

Jak broke their gaze and began to pick at a scar on his elbow.

"...thought I was going to have to choose sides. Between you and Dax."

"Why would supporting Daxter cause you to panic?" Damas pressed.

"Because," he muttered with a shrug.

He'd assumed without question that Jak would take Daxter's side. Jak didn't know whether to be amused or grateful or just tired.

"Because?"

"Because I- I wanted this to still be home." Jak made a vague gesture encompassing the room, and its occupants.

"This is your home," Damas insisted. He glanced to the empty Oracle with a thoughtful frown.

Something lingered in the corners of Jak's eyes. A concern he wasn't voicing. Did he still believe he could be so easily forsaken?

"If this is where the desert brought you, then this is where the desert meant you to thrive."

But then, he had been cast out of Haven on the flimsiest of pretenses. His faith in hu'menity was shaken. For a moment, Damas considered changing the subject. He could talk about the coming trials, give Jak something else to think about.

Or he could meet him on his level. Show him the same vulnerability he'd so unwillingly displayed.

The words stuck to his tongue, stabbed like needles into the roof of his mouth as he forced them through his teeth.

"I...had a son. Some years ago."

"Had". Was there ever such a horrible word?

"He was like you -- or, he would have been, when he was older."

Under his breath he added, "if he ever got the chance to get older."

Jak's brows knit together, then went slack. From tiny pinpricks in the centers of his eyes, horror flooded out to the rest of his face.

"You have a child?"

After a moment to collect himself, the king nodded.

His head dipped lower, nearly brushing the steeple of his fingertips.

"I did. He was taken from me, by some of the same people who seem to have orchestrated your own suffering."

"I pray that my son still lives but- he was so young. So small. So-"

Damas’s voice cracked.

"So very small."

Guilt played across Jak's face for a moment, then was swallowed up by a deep sadness that welled up from within. Haven was a city of devils. He wondered if Damas’s child had been taken during the time when Praxis was snatching children en masse in his search for Jak's childhood self.

Did that make it his fault that Damas was so bereaved?

"That's-"

That's not fair. It's an abomination. Hurting a kid should be enough to make the Precursors strike you dead on the spot. Errol should've died the first time he put me in the Chair-

Jak's thoughts spiraled out of control, and he had to fight to return his focus to the moment.

"That's terrible."

Inhaling sharply, Damas raised his head and straightened his spine. One warm, callused hand found its way to Jak’s shoulder and squeezed.

He felt his throat closing up, snapping his voice into grating pieces.

"The reason I tell you this is so that you will understand this: It would take more than a little teenaged defiance to make me turn my back on you."

"I lost my son, Jak," he croaked, "I cannot lose you, too."

The laryngeal vibration began again -- from Jak, this time. The nearly autonomous response was as much a subconscious desire to comfort Damas as it was self-soothing. Even so, his chest ached dully. How old, he wondered, had Damas’s son been when he was taken? He must have been so scared! Did he call out for his father? Did Damas call out for him?

"In...war," Damas said hesitantly, "Sacrifices are sometimes required of us. In my case, I had to stay and rebuild the part of the wall the attackers destroyed. To protect thousands from the storms and the Marauders. I knew that, but it still took days for Sig to convince me to send him to Haven in my place."

"Yeah," Jak muttered, "I know about sacrfices."

But Damas shook his head. "It's hardly a sacrifice if someone else chose it for you out of convenience. That's just betrayal."

Silence fell again, but there was no tension to it. A sense of introspection lingered between them, each consumed with his own thoughts. Even Daxter's anger had muted itself -- now overlayed with guilt, berating himself for jumping to fight Jak's battles without bothering to see what Jak himself wanted.

The moment of quiet ended with a crackling of the city radio from which Damas monitored all official channels.

"Oh not now," the man groaned with a most unkingly attitude. "Can I have a moment of peace?"

"No way," Jak scoffed, finding a glimmer of humor in the situation, "You jinxed it by letting us take a break. Now something crazy is going to happen."

Damas narrowed his eyes. "Boy, if you will that into reality-" he warned, with no real way to finish the threat.

The second he picked up the receiver, he knew it was going to be a headache.

"Sire! We've got three different Marauder patrols converging on the city gates! There's a fourth on the radar crossing the river now!"

Daxter pulled himself out of the water and cringed. "How many cars is that?"

"Twelve, at least," Jak gulped.

Damas did not take this information the way he normally would have. He seemed to be fuming as he stood up and stomped up the stairs to retrieve his staff. Jak could hear him muttering under his breath.

His voice rose to something more audible. "I'm not in the mood for this, Egil," he snapped, addressing the thane of the Marauders as if he were present.

"Not the time, Egil, this is not the time to test me! Just got my kid back, got threatened by a bloody Oracle-"

Jak decided, for the sake of being able to focus during a fight, to just pretend he hadn't heard Damas referring to him as his own kid. He could come back to that and freak out later. Right now, there was a fight to be had. He held an arm down for Daxter to use as a ramp, then stood.

"Where do you need me?" he asked.

Damas gave him a searching look. For an instant, his gaze flicked to the lifeless Oracle. That seemed to reinforce his resolve.

"With me," he said shortly. "We're taking the Dozer. You're on the turret gun."

The way Jak's -- and even Daxter's -- eyes lit up almost made up for the hassle Damas knew this skirmish was going to be. He cast one last look at the Oracle before shepherding them to the lift.

Keep your counsel, he thought, and I will keep mine. I don't need your permission to add a son to my House. What of that, eh? The Heir and your renegade Pawn allied against you!

"Hey, maybe I should drive," Jak suggested as the lift began to move."

"Hm." Damas pretended to consider it. "No."

"Why not?!"

"You can't reach the pedals yet."

He could have simply explained that he preferred to drive his favorite vehicle himself. But, the slightest bit giddy at the thought of open rebellion against fate, Damas instead bent slightly to offer a teasing grin.

"What?! Oh come on!"

The elevator sank out of sight, and the water wheel trembled. The statue vibrated and the pools bubbled and boiled with the helpless fury of a falconer whose birds had long since slipped the jesses to fly free. But the boy had not spoken falsley: it was not a Precursor, merely the echo of one's memory. In the face of hu'men defiance, it was helpless to retaliate in any meaningful way. Even withholding the truth of the Hero's identity had been robbed of its intended effect, considering the Fallen Heir and the Hero had gone ahead and reformed the broken bond between them anyway!

The Oracle could not comprehend their motives, nor could it ever hope to understand the complexities of the hu'men mind.

It could only watch and seethe.

[nartothelar]

introductions

- ingo’s body is not organic; he does not need to sleep, eat, or even breathe (but he does for fun)

- a blanket illusion gives everyone false memories of ingo being there the entire time; the illusion is kept as long as it is not mentioned

-their mother is wary of ingo, but as long as he promises to not hurt emmet, she won’t stop him from staying, not when emmet is so much happier with him here

[ryhmus]

FACECLUSTER

[theywhospringforth]

I have two different au storylines under TWSF au bc why keep it just to one... we'll just go into the one for this post.

First we have a sort of spin off of a Role Swap au. In this, the other bishops were about to imprison Narinder in the land of the dead when he suddenly disappeared.

Narinder wakes up in the clearing where his cult lead by Ratau used to be and he's now mortal/semi-mortal. He's doesn't know for a while whether this was his sibling's punishment for him or some other curse but either way, he wants his revenge on them.

Not long after he establishes his cult, he starts to get strange but comforting dreams that he doesn't remember and someone is leaving goods and relics in his path in the woods of Leshy's domain.

Ratau plays a little more active role in helping Narinder with the cult. He travels often since he is in charge of sustaining the cult. Trading for goods and convincing merchants to set up closer to the cult. When he is there, he helps keep things in order while Narinder is gone on crusade.

It's not until Narinder starts to remember parts of his dreams that he figures out who is helping.

Ratau's brother Ratoo plays a little bit of a different role here. Instead of being unaffiliated, he is the witness of life. He is one of the few who still worship a god long forgotten.

See Life was imprisoned before the fall of the first gods, but they are still able to watch the world from their pocket dimension prison and they are fascinated by Death, by Narinder. They could not stand the thought of him being imprisoned in one of the few places they cannot see or reach so they used what remnants of power they still have in order to rip him from the grasp of the other bishops; the side effect of this being his descension from godhood.

They make a deal with Ratoo for his heart in order to regain enough power to enter Narinder's dreams.

After Narinder starts remembering a their dream conversations, Lambren has Ratoo help more directly.

(Side note: I changed Ratoo's background a bit bc I love the idea of one worshipping death and the other life.)

Ratoo actually knows where the Lamb is imprisoned and has a way to enter and exit freely.

For Lambren's motives, mainly it's just their unhealthy obsession with him. They have vague hopes that he might free them, but does not hinge their help on any promise for Narinder to free them.

The god of life, Lambren, was actually locked away for good reason. I have not decided for sure if I'll go the same route with this story as the other one in this au, so for now, it can remain undecided.

This version has the added advantage of god Lamb holding little mortal Narinder in their palm and listening to his complaints or rambling to him about various things.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Looming Doom

Megatron knew Orion Pax, and he knew Orion the named Prime. Both came from the same place and were made of the same spark. A former friend, a lost brother, and a worthy foe. They were on opposite ends of the war, but they understood one another in a way no other could.

Megatron had hoped to end the war peacefully, but when the mech he knew was replaced with an abomination, he knew that to no longer be an option.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Megatron was no fool. He was well aware the the war was largely based on a misunderstanding that was taken too far and inflated by those in power. Orion Pax had not intended to take the rank of Prime. Megatron had long accepted that truth. The only reason their war still raged was because Orion wished to keep things the way they were, at least in part. He wanted to change things slowly, to give the Senate a degree of power. Megatron on the other hand wanted nothing more than to tear it all down. What was short term suffering for long term gain?

What was once a small disagreement argued over drinks turned into the basis for their respective creeds. But even with that said, there was always a sense of possible reconciliation. There were peace talks periodically, and more than once he and Orion came to agreements that benefitted them both. War was still waged, but agreements and treaties were slowly lessening the fighting. Peace was on the horizon, one that both Megatron and Orion could work toward and find a happy middle in.

Then Orion changed.

Not a spark knew what happened to him, not even Orion. When questioned he had no memory of where he went or what happened, merely that he had been altered. He vanished one cycle on the battlefield, remained MIA for almost a full vorn before turning up on Decepticon lands looking gaunt and out of sorts. Out of pure kindness, the Prime in name was returned to his faction even as the Senate tried to claim the Decepticons were the ones who hurt him in the first place. It was a bunch of slag, and for the most part, mecha had enough common sense to see the truth of the matter. Whatever happened to Orion Pax was not Decepticon in origin, and that became more and more clear with every passing cycle. The former archivist had always been full of life, but he was thin and emaciated. He hardly spoke and seemed to be lost a lot of the time. His memory faltered, and from what Megatron's spies confirmed, he was slowly degrading more and more. Not even Ratchet, a world renown Doctor, was able to do anything. The Autobots covered for their ailing leader and the Senate took the chance to try and have more sway. They were largely kept at bay by the raging Autobots, but it was still a looming threat.

Orion only appeared for three more peace talks and showed up for a mere two conflicts before he ceased turning up for anything. Those few instances showed him as weak, sickly even, far more so than reports indicated. He couldn't seem to think clearly and often clutched his helm in pain. His optics were unfocused and when spoken to, he hardly registered the words. He was hurt in a way Megatron could not comprehend, and he was not given the chance to assist before the Senate had their favored champion shipped off to a location of their choosing to try and repair him. Despite the anger he held toward his former friend, Megatron worried for him. Orion had never once shown such agony before. He was always aware and calculating, cunning in his own right. To see him practically unable to comprehend where he was as he held his helm in pain... it startled Megatron.

Sending in Ravage to observe Orion only made him more firm in his need to do something about the situation. According to what Ravage reported, Orion was hidden in a bunker and spent more time suffering in his berth than anything else. Scans showed that there were strange spark signatures coming from him, and his systems were shutting down in the strangest way possible. It was as if all nutrition was being siphoned away from him and being given to a different source. No matter how much the Autobots gave him, he only got weaker and he stopped responding to anything for the most part. But what concerned Megatron the most was when Orion would convulse and strange green fluid would seep out of his vents.

He remembered clearly the cycle he finally decided he could no longer wait around to see what would become of his foe. If Orion was going to die, he wanted to be there for it, if only as a comforter. The affliction his foe faced was inhumane by any standard. Even Megatron could acknowledge that. They were not on good terms, but they were brothers once. It was his duty to see what the situation was, and if nothing else keep the information to be used to the Decepticons advantage. He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Perhaps Orion had been kidnapped and was suffering from an illness he picked up. Maybe he had been shadow played and was fighting off the effects. There were a thousand and one possibilities. What he saw was most certainly not one of them.

"Orion... what in Primus's name happened to you?"

"Megatronus. It hurts. It hurts. Make it STOP-!"

He had not even needed to break into the facility his reports showed Orion to be holed up in. The Prime in name was wandering around the destroyed battlefields miles away from his supposed base. Not a spark was with him when Megatron landed, and his former friend seemed to be in a daze up until Megatron spoke. Orion screamed and clutched his helm, his optics shining so brightly as to be painful to see. Then he fell silent and continued in his aimless march, his pedes dragging and his gaunt frame heaving with every step while that disgusting green fluid trickled from his vents in a constant stream. It was a morbid curiosity that led Megatron to follow his mentally unstable foe. He did not need to follow for long though.

As soon as Orion entered into a desolate area with plenty of energon signatures nearby, he stopped dead in his tracks. He remained eerily still for a long time, twitching periodically. Megatron watched in silence, recording everything and transmitting it back to Soundwave. Then Orion screamed. It was an agonized sound, one that could have only come from one being torn apart from the inside out. Orion doubled over, he clutched his chassis and wailed in pure torment as he began to purge. First it was just energon that he expelled, but as the kliks passed by and Megatron watched in growing horror, organs and other internals quickly joined the growing mess on the ground.

He reached out to help more than once, but Orion's field was vicious and brutal. Not only that, but he could not longer be sure that whatever was happening wouldn't transfer to him. Megatron could not risk it... and so he could only watch on as Orion seemed to clear his frame of anything of worth, finally collapsing entirely onto the ground. His optics flashed only once more before he fell still and silent, his field vanishing as a sure sign of his offlinement. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to leave, but at that point Megatron did not even have enough time to process the loss of his foe and former brother before Orion's frame twitched again. Only this time there was no return of a familiar field. No, instead the frame that belonged to Orion Pax rose to its pedes and stood, it helm limply hanging and its posture akin to that of a puppet held on strings. The optics of the deceased mech before him flared, and then haunting words echoed from a body that should have been incapable of speech.

"Leave. Do not impede efforts to develop. Mission must be accomplished. Insufficient energon for gestation completion. More must be collected."

Mandibles chattered as whatever the thing was tried to speak. Orion's face split and his limbs contorted as the thing butchered Iaconian dialect. And just like that, the walking corpse dragged itself into one of the many crevasses that were sure to lead to energon deposits. Megatron did not remain and took to the skies as soon as the thing was gone. He should have killed it, looking back he firmly believed that is what he should have done. But the loss was so fresh and the thing so unsettling that he simply could not at the time.

He wished he had. He wished he had blasted the abomination into molten metal. At least then Orion could have rested in peace. As it was, he returned to his territory and shared with Soundwave all he had seen. They briefly tried finding the thing, but wherever it went, it was impossible to track. After a few stellar cycles of no word and absolute panic from the Autobots, they agreed that whatever the thing was had made itself scarce, as was for the best. Soundwave had theories about it being a parasitic creature of some sort, a mutant caused by the chemical warfare going on in the general area Orion had been found in. Starscream, upon seeing the data, thought that it could perhaps have been a phenomenon of a corpse moving after death. There were records of such a thing, but it did not explain what happened to Orion in the first place before he perished. Megatron had no theories of his own. He didn't care to consider what happened beyond the consequences. He had no intention of ever using whatever killed his foe as a weapon. It was not only disgraceful, but needlessly cruel.

He tried not to think about it. He tried to move on... but then a familiar face met him on the battlefield roughly six stellar cycles after Orion's death. He did not wish to believe it, but a powerful build, red and blue plating, those cycling optics... there was no mistaking the frame of his old friend and foe. Orion Pax stood before him, but there was something horribly, intrinsically wrong.

"Megatronus of Kaon. Lord of the Decepticons. You have seen more than intended. The threat you present is extreme. Surrender or an offer of peace will be accepted. Failure to comply will result in your extermination at my convenience."

"Don't you DARE call me that you abomination!"

"Your aggression is noted. To my understanding you had a connection to one Orion Pax. Compensation for that loss will be in the form of an amicable peace treaty should you agree to ending this war."

"Maybe once I would have accepted such an offer from Orion Pax, but you... you are a monster I cannot allow to live."

"Your emotional response is highly irrational. You would continue war for the sake of your personal interest? If it would soothe you, do know that I have no intention of causing any damage to your kind if there is an alternative."

"Allowing an abomination to rule over the Autobots is just as dangerous as the Senate having control over Cybertron. I don't care what your interests are. You killed Orion Pax and act as him. Both you and the Senate must be eliminated."

"How unfortunate... although not unexpected."

The thing, whatever it was, walked away from the battlefield without an concern for Megatron's reaction. It was cold, calculating, and driven by some goal he did not even try to understand. From that point onward, the thing was hailed as Optimus Prime, chosen of Primus and bearer of the Matrix. How the thing got the Matrix to comply with its will was something Megatron was unsure if he wanted to know or not. The Autobots adored their new leader, although Megatron did note some concern amidst Orion's old companions. Optimus Prime was a strategic genius and met Megatron at every turn. Their battles were fierce and the thing improved with every survived clash. It was rage inducing to watch the thing become better at blending in with every passing cycle. Did the Autobots not recognize how foreign its field was? Did they not sense the animalistic nature behind its far too Cybertronian optics? Did they not see the way in which it carried itself, its gaze always lingering a while too long on the dead and dying?

Optimus Prime was an abomination, a looming doom. Megatron fought his war for freedom, but now he had an additional goal. He needed to destroy whatever Optimus Prime was and ensure that it never rose again. Even if he destroyed the Senate and took control of Cybertron, if the thing lived, it was an unknown threat, one that had already proven to have at least a bit of backing from some source. How else would it have gotten the Matrix and Orion Pax's frame? No longer was his war just for freedom, but also to ensure that Cybertronians as a whole were protected from the threat of the pretender that controlled the Autobots.

His fears regarding the thing that called itself Optimus Prime only grew when the supposed Prime dropped off the map for several stellar cycles. He had vanished for deca-cycles at a time before, but whole stellar cycles? that was concerning. He directed all his effort toward hunting down the abomination while Soundwave directed the war. And through some miracle, he found Optimus Prime wandering the dead lands with something in its arms. Megatron for his part arrived with every intention to slaughter the abomination quickly and be gone. But before he could, the Prime turned to him coldly and Megatron's spark froze at what he saw.

In the Prime's arms was a larva, a huge creature akin to an isopod and almost as big as the its forearm. The larva had optics all over its insectoid face, although they were dim and unfocused. The thing was covered in plating and its mandibles chattered incessantly. However that was not what horrified him the most. Instead what shot fear into the very core of his being was the fact that the larva was obviously changing. Its plating was a rusty almost yellow color, its face was smoothed and its mandibles seemed to be slowly retracting. Its clawed legs were becoming hidden and far too Cybertronian digits and limbs could be seen developing behind layers of protective plating. The thing that called itself Optimus Prime had spawned.

"You seem to have a habit for seeing that which you should not."

"What in the Allspark-"

"I am aware you came with the intention to destroy me, but I would ask you refrain for the time being."

"Why should I?"

"My directive is clear, my orders unchangeable... but myself and my creation are a failsafe, one meant to preserve. To destroy us would only be a detriment, at least right now."

"What the frag does that mean?!"

"Our time has not yet come. For now, we remain hidden and we will not cause undue damage. But the more you see, the more you try to understand... it will only force me to eliminate you and your kind. Do you understand?"

"To the pits with you abomination!"

"How foolish."

He tried to fight, but before he could act, the Prime broke into a sprint that would put speeders to shame. Even as Megatron took to the air to keep pace, the monster was dutiful and hurried into a hole in the ground before he could do anything. Optimus Prime and its spawn were unable to be touched. From that point onward a certain yellow scout became Megatron's secondary target. He could see that the scout was far more Cybertronian than his creator. He felt, he blended in, and he seemed to not even know what he was. Megatron would one cycle need to kill him, but until the scout presented true signs of being like the pretender, he would be left alone. Megatron was not fond of killing young, regardless of their origin.

He half expected the Prime to spawn more as the war raged. But it simply never happened. The scout was the only one, and for that Megatron was thankful. The Senate was long gone by the time the war reached its peak. Now all he needed to do was eliminate Optimus Prime and its followers. He would allow the scout to live so long as he never spawned. He simply needed to ensure that Cybertronian kind were safe...

Optimus Prime's display of horrendous limbs and fangs after he hurt the Prime's spawn was more than enough to have Megatron reaffirming his belief that, whatever Optimus was, it needed to be eliminated for good.

[ghost-bxrd]

eldritch Jason Todd is such a fun concept... fhjdszjdfuhwjieokwakmfdnsfbrniwfea

Eldritch entities will forever have me in a chokehold.

Look, if we go with concepts as eldritch entities (or concepts that said eldritch entities adopt as their primary moniker) Jason could totally go with becoming “the Unloved” in his Red Hood days 👀

[lunarmicrowaves]

The houseplant Lyf storyline has an official name now:

The Bifrost Abomination AU

I will tag the stuff I make for it with that so that it’s all in one place and organised. Feel free to do whatever you want with it, just ask me first.

Anyway, no creation of mine is complete without some weird creatures, so here is Lyf when overloaded on Eldritch Rainbow.

And now the infodump:

The form resembles a deer, a sacred creature on Midgard (also because deer are f r e a k y)

Lyf doesn’t remember anything from these episodes except for brief flashes of clarity and the general things they felt (usually fear and sadness, but also a strange comfort)

Being around Deer Lyf increases your chances of getting mutated through exposure to the Bifrost, although their effects can sometimes be reversed, unlike a direct exposure to unfiltered Yog-sothoth energy

Yes they glow in the dark

The horns/branches always spark with little rainbow light wisps, expelling the excess Bifrost from Lyf’s body.

There are patches of moss on the body, and the fur has algae and lichen on it (like sloth fur)

The eyes are somewhere under the hair, usually only visible either when they start glowing or when someone shines a light directly at them

Deer Lyf likes head scritches (Regular Lyf likes them too but will never admit it out loud)

Don’t look behind their hair, that’s where the nightmares live.