#just a lore post … enjoy

[xxplastic-cubexx]

[right to left]

finally finished This Wip from Ever ago and so now i ask you ever look into another dudes eyes and suddenly want to do whatever he wants

[princessbrunette]

basketball!rafe knew he needed you the moment he set eyes on you once more in that hotel bar.

personally, you thought he might’ve been a nobody on first glance. a really handsome nobody, so he couldn’t have actually been a nobody — but it was the intrigue that drew you in regardless. to set the scene, you didn’t have to go far to find him, no — this was the fanciest hotel in your hometown and you were there alone. something about getting all dressed up and then your friends cancelling last minute, it didn’t matter — it felt like so long ago that you’d forgotten all about it. all you remember was seeing the handsome nobody in a t-shirt and a cap strolling up to the bar.

it was only after doing a double take, you realised the nobody was rafe cameron.

now you’d already known rafe from the obx. distantly, of course — a couple of parties here and there, some lingering glances when you were convinced he was a fuck boy. he was apparently a little unhinged back in the day, but after his dad died he fixed his shit and went pro with basketball, making it big. like mentioned, you weren’t friends, merely acquaintances with the boy a couple of years your senior— but he’d always been someone you saw get their shit together and think, you know what? good for him i guess.

now rafe remembers his history with you differently. apparently, he used to shoot hoops with your older brother in your backyard with a few other friends back when they were younger. still a casual hobby for rafe, and playing it anywhere else but a kook’s backyard might’ve looked too poguey for him to be caught partaking in. at the end of the day, golf was meant to be his sport. it was fitting and low maintenance. basketball took the cake everytime however— helping him mentally in more ways than anyone could imagine.

anyway, he remembers you — a lot younger than you are now, flip flops slapping along the patio as you arrive on destination — mouthing off to your big brother about bouncing the ball too loudly off your wall or spending all the money your mother had left for pizza on the counter. you were this tiny mouthy weapon, even having the infamous rafe cameron snickering down at his shoes as your brother whined back at you, trying to shoo you back inside. he recalls even catching a couple of strays, your shrill youthful voice referring to the eldest cameron as a ‘lanky meathead’.

“jesus, you gotta keep your sisters mouth in check dude. gonna grow up n’get her in trouble n’shit.” he’d shake his head as you’d waddle back inside, bouncing the ball and shooting. after that it was just parties as you grew up, seeing a familiar pretty face through a coked out haze and thinking ‘who’s that again?’ in passing or overhearing you talking to your friends, still carrying that same slick mouth that you only got away with because you were so hot.

only now, he’s staring across this dimly lit hotel bar, the first time in a while that he’d been back in his hometown and there you are — staring back at him, a face he’d never forget except you’re all grown up now— practically spilling out that slinky little dress and acting as a magnet, his feet dragging him over to you before his drink had even arrived from the bartender.

not even five minutes into conversation and it’s abundantly clear that you’re still that spoiled little cheerleader he knew once upon a time, only this time you’re tilting your head to the side with your brows furrowed in confusion that bordered on disinterest when he tried to explain what happened in his most recent game. you weren’t here to talk about that and it showed, leaning over your margarita to adjust his expensive looking chain, pulling it to sit above his tshirt instead of tucked beneath, cutting him off to question “so you knew my brother, right?” he liked that directness about you. the fact you kinda seemed like a bitch. it was a challenge, the urge to tame and rough someone up still very much sat at the surface of his wants and desires.

once a spoiled brat — always a spoiled brat, only now you’re his spoiled brat six months later, clinging to his arm and digging your manicure into his bicep with a whine as a silent command for him to magically vanish any of the surrounding paparazzi outside the airport.

“get rid of them.” you eventually mewl, in a demanding way that represented the physical embodiment of you stomping your pedicured foot.

“you think i fuckin’ want them here?” he sighs, no stranger to your ridiculous requests. that’s what was so intoxicating about your relationship — yes you were a little bitch sometimes, but he learnt how was best to put you in your place. most of the time you were happy, fucked and fed with racks upon racks sat in your expensive handbag, clinging to him and tottering along at his side in heels that cost an arm and a leg— but the times you were snarking up at him, telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ he was more than happy to grab your throat and ask “the fuck are you talking to like that, huh?” which oddly would cause a smile to emerge on your face and the attitude to melt off you for an hour or so.

that being said, you kept him in check too. now rafe wasn’t like he always was — unhinged, explosive and overall angry at the world. no, he had an access to therapy now and basketball worked for a good outlet of his frustrations, all whilst opening up a new world for him to get his fresh start away from all that family bullshit he had to put up with a while back (cut them all off, minus wheezie who he sends money to every month and facetimes to talk shit.) that being said — he would be the one to catch an attitude out of the blue sometimes, which was often remedied by a sharp eyebrow raise from you, a dramatic head swivel and a “you better fucking talk to me nice, rafe cameron. not one of your fucking fan girls.”

with a tongue in his cheek, he’ll shake his head and drop the whole thing — but not without saying “y’know you run your mouth like you’re six foot four with two pistols tucked sometimes. shit.”

life outside of your relationship with rafe became a dream all because of him. quickly, as rafe skyrockets to success in the basketball world, you’re skyrocketing to being the top pinterest muse— starring in every girls ‘future manifestation’ moodboard with snaps of you courtside in your pretty little outfits cheering on your boyfriend. you were glammed to the nines at every game, because you knew you’d end up on that big screen one way or another.

when travelling with rafe for his tournaments, you’d get the princess treatment you deserved and that was a promise. designer shoes, designer bags, steak meals that cost the same as your house back home and you were not poor by any stretch of the word. he liked to flaunt you, flaunt his success. he was the man now, like he’d always wanted to be — and effortlessly so, not the charade he was putting on back at tanny hill throwing those parties whilst suffering on the sly. no, he had everything now— and was happy to share that with you. you didn’t have to do much to gain this treatment, no. holding him down was enough, but he’d be happy to accept your payment of gratitude in having his cock wedged down your throat in the limo back to the hotel, ending the night on your back with your ankles on his shoulders and that same chain you fiddled with when you first reunited swinging in your face.

it was no secret that the two of you fucked. it made up a good 60% of your free time together, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. rafe could still get very frustrated — with his manager, with his teammates, with people from his past cropping up, even with the general public who had opinions on his playing — and with that, what better way to pound out some frustrations then by bending you over a balcony in a foreign country? rafe had a good team behind him, and luckily so — because it wouldn’t be the first time a hotel had attempted to get the two of you blacklisted for causing too much of a noise disturbance, notes pinned to your door found in the morning reading ‘Dear guests, whilst we are thrilled that you are enjoying our hotel, we please ask that you keep it down for the sake of the other guests. To remind you, other guests do not need to hear your lovemaking through the night! If this continues throughout your stay you will be asked to leave.’

your basketball player boyfriend would pluck the note off the door the next morning when you’re leaving together for the day, your sleepy self tucked under the arm of his hoodie covering his jersey as he scoffs, handing it your way carelessly. “pussies. they can’t do shit about it.”

unstoppably so, despite your hate for gossip past being in high school the notes would turn to blind items as rafe truly came into the public eye. you couldn’t scroll three videos on tiktok without hearing ‘this north carolina basketball player and hometown it girl may have come into hot water again at this famous vegas hotel after making sure their wall neighbours heard the ins and outs of their passion — april 27th, crazy days and nights.’ that, or the blogosphere getting ahold of the blurry and ambiguous paparazzi shots taken of you supposedly ‘getting it on’ on the beach.

unfortunately, this public knowledge that the two of you were real fuckers was not enough for twitter, which resulted in your first leaked video.

rafe should have known to be careful when the two of you in a lustful haze filmed an amateur tape the day before you had to fly home for a little while, the basketball player knowing he’d miss being in it and needed some material to work off whilst you were gone.

the video was 1 minute and 49 seconds of pure glory. filmed on landscape with an outstretched arm rafe captures you, whining and mewling as you roll your hips on his lap, bouncing on his cock as he watches the two of you through the screen, swollen lips parting and tongue flattening to catch your nipple as you do so. he grips your ass hungrily, aiding you on fucking down on him before delivering a firm smack to your ass that makes you jolt, only unlatching his mouth from your tit to grumble out “s’what i’m fuckin’ talking about baby. who’s your daddy, huh?” looking up at you from your needy spread out position.

you still recall the way your heart dropped into your ass seeing your name along side rafes in the trending tab, following by the words ‘leaked video’.

your legal teams were all over it instantly, working hard to get it shut down off every site it had been reuploaded and desperately attempting to track down whoever had managed to get into your boyfriends cloud to expose it— a couple weeks of watching paparazzi shots of rafe taking calls outside buildings, yelling down the phone and flipping off the cameras in moments of frustration and stress — for him to then be on the phone to you from a hotel room later that night, talking you down as you cry like a baby and complain.

“i know, i know alright i’m workin’ on it. gonna get that shit wiped from the net i can promise you that now, i got the guy who can make it happen for me. but for now, look y’know there’s — there’s nothin’ i can do alright, i can’t make people fuckin’… unsee that shit unfortunately just be glad you look so sexy in the video cause — okay, shit, the hell are you yelling for? m’just tryna help—”

after a while it does infact die down, and the video can no longer be found — yes, even on the shitty pop up porn sites that had reposted it with twelve watermarks in the worst quality. however, it didn’t stop jaded basketball fans from bringing it up any chance they got — getting in heated debates online and using it as an insult to the cameron boys playing skills. god forbid a rafe fan would speak up for him after a particularly poor game, his mentions getting filled with nothing but a screenshot of your boyfriend with your titty in his mouth.

though it had faded, the two of you learned that there was no way around it than to humour it — your boyfriend barely addressing the tape by quoting it in his instagram caption after one of his big wins, the post of him grinning on the court with his trophy tilted ‘who’s your daddy, huh?’ which of course, sent twitter into a spiral.

[carlsdraws]

been playing PoE i love getting to be the weirdest person my companions met all day

[poisonouspastels]

can you believe these are statements made by the same fucking guy over 10 years apart

[sevastiel]

Behold ye, my Protoframe oc, Darius.

(Ft @doggojin and @thatfluffyboi's Chanho n Sol, they make an delightful trio tbh)

Some extra deets (lots of notes on him be warned) post cut! :)

Separated into physical and psychological/lore.

Physical notes :

Spanish-Mediterranean, mid-to-late twenties, looms at a ridiculous 6'6" (200 cm I believe? around there.) but is normally hovering an inch or two off the ground. Thankfully, he's gotten into the habit of tucking his legs in a bit so he doesn't hit every single doorframe that he passes through. He lost his left leg from the knee down due to an unfortunate incident with a landmine, and had a prosthetic for several years before the techrot.

Darius's body is made up of connected pieces held together by sentient energy, and all of his organs have either been replaced by the techrot-sentient hybrid growths, or are no longer necessary and have been removed. He currently lacks the entirety of a regular digestive tract as we would know it, and subsists mostly on energy. However, should he require physical mass for either rebuilding/modifying himself, or creating other sentients, he can 'eat' by putting materials in his mouth, pulling his bodily pieces together, and allowing the techrot systems to dissolve things into more workable particles, or pushing things between separated segments of his body (usually his chest) and letting the sentient bits pick things apart and feed them to the rot for storage. (This takes longer and is less effective at energy conservation) Extra notes on this later when we discuss his abilities.

The connective energy between segments is manifested in string-like bundles of force, which are manipulatable and can be 'touched', though unless he's focusing on keeping his energy properly contained you will likely get a light zap, and with prolonged touch you'll likely be able to feel them hum with power. They normally have about the same tactile strength as woven spiderwebbing of the same thickness, stretching easily but ultimately severable with either enough effort or something sharp. Should you sever all the connections, the piece will just fall off. Removed pieces aren't controllable by him any longer, but are re-attachable, and although he's got a body plan that his form defaults to, every single bit of him is entirely modular except for his cranium. Removing his jaw takes some effort, as there are technically still segments of flesh (his lips, basically) holding it on, but it is possible. If he really puts his mind to it, though, he can remove a segment, and maintain the links through mental focus, or by tethering them to something that he/they can feed off of. Through this, he can make replacement limbs for others, or additional armor, given they've got the bio-energy to keep the segments active.

Bodily segments are almost entirely made of toughened armor plating, with the majority of flexibility being located on the twin pieces that make up his chest/torso, as this is also where the majority of the techrot based organs lie. Although he does need to breathe, each segment intakes oxygen individually, through the softer and more porous dark insides. He has full sensation in any piece of him that he's linked to, as the energy connections serve as a nervous system, and can 'digest' pieces if he's in desperate need of energy/materials in a pinch.

Being modular, he can, in the same way he summons other sentients, simply craft himself differing body parts whenever he so pleases. The larger the piece, the more effort/thought it takes, since it requires a greater complexity of systems for nutrient, oxygen, and waste management. Due to his own lack of knowledge, he doesn't manifest any replacements larger than his own legs, and would rather just spit out a patch and slap it onto injured areas and let the techrot do its thing. This is why his 'armor' looks less dramatic compared to actual caliban, because why the hell would he want that much weight throwing him off balance? He'll accept the techrot/sentient's desires and keep his form adjacent to it, though.

Ability wise, he's functionally pretty similar to a vampire. While he technically could subsist entirely off of regular food, it would require a lot of time and careful dieting to gather the proper resources his body needs, and his energy levels would be rather constantly low. So, instead, he just eats as much techrot as he can and prays for the best, or drinks directly from power generators when he can get away with it, or anything similar. Pure energy as a baseline keeps all his sentient systems running, and metals/proteins allow his techrot systems to keep going. Thankfully for him, he's got two boyfriends who are both quite energetic, and really don't mind his needs as much as they should.

Manifesting sentient fighters usually happens in the same way as he manifests new pieces of himself, but with the added caveat that they don't need functional internal systems for long term usage, and he can charge them up with his own power to keep them running as long as he needs. This is obviously extremely resource intensive, but if it keeps those he cares about safe, (and since it appeases the eternal need to consume and create and consume and create and consume and create) he'll do whatever he must.

Due to all of the above, he prefers particularly tight or comfortable clothing,, as it helps mitigate the changes that happen depending on his energy levels. The less he's got, the looser his pieces, and things will just fall off if he's dead tired (lol). So... Avoiding that is nice. Additionally, although he needs his chest cavity within reach for making sentients at a quick notice, he does like looking in the mirror and not seeing his own body immediately as so blatantly inhuman and monstrous. The straps he uses for his military harness are half to hold things and half to straight up just keep himself together. The mask is for keeping his eyes clear of gore while he's in the middle of shit, because that was a severe issue beforehand. Take a bite, get blinded bc there was more fluid than you expected, have to panic and try and fix that mid combat, leaving you even worse off than you were previously? No thanks.

--

Psycological notes and lore:

Before Entrati got his hands on him, he was a well respected mediator that worked on communications for the ICR, and worked directly with the Hollvanian government and its military to allow for the ICR to remain in the city.

Coming from a well off and well expecting background, from a young age he was put through his paces and taught to be the finest edition of a modern renaissance man, giving him very little time to do anything but his studies, and very little affection from anything but perfection. Even then, kinda mid. As such, he is a well mannered and well spoken fellow with a deeply repressed childish nature that only ever comes out at the worst possible times amidst the best possible company.

Having been tailor-made for communications work, he was also ensured a healthy dose in very many other skills that might come up from time to time while traveling. (Including, but not limited to, sewing (which he hates), cooking (which he has extremely low patience for), midwifery (which thank god hasn't come up yet), medical triage (unfortunately has), general electrical and mechanical knowledge (much better for him now than it was before), a few languages, and so forth. Post becoming a protoframe, much of his knowledge has degraded due to the changes required for his brain to be able to control his bio-energy, leaving him constantly irritated when faced with a challenge that he knows DAMN well how to deal with, but cant remember specifics on.

He deals with irritation and anger very expressly, not one for subtlety or sarcasm when it comes to his displeasure. This man will Not be the one making snide jabs across the table, he would instead pull you aside privately and explain quite logically the behaviors he's disliking and see if either an agreement can be reached or if another specialist should be put forth. A trait learned from his parents, no doubt, but also one that helps considerably when it comes to governmental relations and respect.

All of his emotions are generally delt with highly logically, which, when it comes to more positive or soft feelings, gets very awkward and confusing for him very fast. One might find have found him before sitting on a bench, staring up at the falling leaves. If you asked him what he was thinking about, he'd respond that he's trying to comprehend why exactly he should be feeling happy about witnessing something so mundane. He wouldn't leave, of course, he'd still watch, but there will always be a part of him that shies away from emotions as a whole. All the sweeter, imo, when he really starts feeling and letting himself feel. Love is a strange thing, isn't it?

During his time in Hollvania, he got infected through volunteer work, doing his best to actually be helpful past the eternal red-tape. He hid it for as long as he could, taking extra care to frequently wash, scrub down, and then properly bandage and ointment up the affected bits of his arms so he wouldn't risk spreading anything, but it didn't do much for him at all. He was needed to maintain good relations, often running intermediary briefing dialogues to keep both sides as up to date as possible on the ICR's doings, so duty really did pull him in half. (haha) As the rot progressed and claimed more of his body, leaving him weaker and more frequently ill, it was less and less ethically feasible for him to keep working, despite it more or less being the only thing he really knew how to do, and there being very few people who could replace him. If he wasn't doing something, if he wasn't being productive, solving problems, keeping people happy, then what was he?

And then he heard of a man with a miracle cure, our good old Doktor Friday, and the fact that it worked. Naturally, Darius paid him a visit, already having used his infected status as an excuse to let him do a bit more hands on assistance wherever he could. And Entrati indeed did give him a cure, listening and nodding along to all the reasons Darius gave as to why he would likely be a good test subject, especially if it meant that if it worked, Darius would be in an excellent position to grant Albrecht significant funding for expanding his cures to the greater populous, who needed them desperately.

Well, it sure didn't fucking do much, did it, leaving him visually better, but when word got out that the others who'd taken the cure had become super-spreaders, you bet your ass he started panicking immediately. He'd been in rooms for extended periods of time with everyone in command, just his presence might have been enough to entirely destabilize the local government, or absolutely gut the ICR. So, once more, he claimed a stomach illness to take some time off. This was a very big problem, so back he went, livid as all hell, to hunt down Entrati.

He got the whole spiel about unforeseen mutations within the techrot responding strangely, and although he didn't believe it, he already had nothing left to lose. He wasn't a soldier, sure, he had training in fencing, could handle a gun, but he couldn't help like the others could, and he could not go back to the one thing he'd been set up all his life to be. And Entrati had a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he said that there might be something that he could do, but it would take time, and multiple tests, to be able to make it all work. There was another strain Dr E was experimenting with that, as he was shown samples and heard the explanations, seemed to be able to nullify the techrot almost entirely. (It was actually just subsuming it, but visually, the two outcomes were nearly identical.)

So he said yes. Like a fucking idiot.

The initial dose laced him with the helminth strain, preparing his body, granting him strength, even though it hurt so very much, the pain leaving him borderline insensate, unable to do anything but lay there and cry as he felt his very flesh twisting and saw Entrati approach with the second dose after a few hours.

Number two was a low dose of the sentient strain, modified, following Caliban's biological approach, and the reaction between the two was violent, techrot subsumed with a rapid hunger and made to serve a new master. Darius's body quite literally began tearing at the seams, and Entrati took his time with the process, utilizing several more small injections, so he wouldn't die of pure blood loss.

When all was said and done, his twisted body was held together by a scant few threads of power, and he was very much unconscious, having fallen into a coma that would last multiple days, fed with an occasional battery set into the new cavity within his chest.

Wisely, Entrati was not there when he awoke, starving, terrified, and in great pain. All he could focus on was the hunger, that pulsating desire that screamed at him to consume, create, consume, create, consume, create, his human mind utterly overwhelmed by the twin techrot and sentient desires. It took him some time to figure out how to move again, much less walk, and the hunger only got worse by the second.

When the Hex found him, they came across a crying, shattered man, tearing into mounds of freshly killed techrot with his bare hands, stuffing wires and flesh alike into his mouth with an inhuman voracity. He was guarded by bizarre automatons, whos' origin was quickly made apparent by him reaching into that glowing gash that bisected his entire body and pulling out another, his own form splitting and reshaping as he dragged it free.

It took quite some time for him to regain his humanity. Quite some time to mediate the new desires of his reformed body with his own. The urges have not left him, but at least he's got a choice, now.

Prince of both worlds indeed.

[sleep-nurse]

purgatory / the nothingness

[aseuki]

That breakroom gossip comic was so fun! Do the little reapers have any more fun stuff to share? Loved getting to see their “releaxed” escapades during the holiday update 😂

[Holiday Update]

Uses this as an excuse to airdrops a whole legend we didn't have time to dip into last time in here

As usual, many thanks to @alagaesia-overlord for letting me borrow her OC Strix and also for co-writing the script!

[dawnbreakersgaze]

"𝐈𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞.

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐫?"

[genericpuff]

so, was kore born from Demeter's grief and Zeus' wrath? she appears from the asphodel's cooing and reaching for Demeter after an obviously detrimental event. we know Zeus played a role in Kore's "creation." are we to understand that Kore is a manifestation of Demeter's vitality and bounty and Zeus' impulsivity and destruction? is this why Kore's nature is dualistic? she is literally born into a bed of flowers that are associated with the life cycle and also remembrance. her existence commemorates a terrible event and also the beginning of some sort of cycle towards healing and growth. idk. i like your interpretations of things, i like the way you write and how you incorporate everything into the story. you breathe realism into this retelling and i really appreciate your perspective and creativity. i hope you continue to hone your writing and art--you have great skill ♥️

[ilumel]

— local mandalorian unimpressed by lightsaber duel. more at 11.

[thedarkzyxabyss]

Some TV and Shattered Dream comics that were rotating in my head for a while + Something I forgot to address with TV being addressed :3

[wyvernity]

wip posting just to get something out there, and it's def a mixed bag!! the only thing more inconsistent than my posting schedule is my art style RIP

[crystallizsch]

Trouble? You're only in trouble if you get caught. So don't let me catch you ~

uhhhhh say hi to jamil and yuusha's kid jas(mine) pt 2 (also here and here are like my only two other posts of her)

HFDDF OKAY SO - i actually had these unfinished sketches from months ago of jas as a nrc student and scarabia housewarden

this sneaky little bastard (affectionate) had never left my cranium she was just sitting idly by

im sobbing i hate jas so much (lie i love her)

jamil and yuusha still aren't supposed to have a kid so i just imagine this to be an alternate timeline for them 🤧🤧🤧

soooo info dump time ---

━━━━━━✦ scarabia housewarden nrc jas

jas has a vice-housewarden who is her childhood best friend (figuring out if i want them to be twst rajah or abu)

also thinking about if i want yuusha to be a staff member in nrc with grim or just dead during this time (why? just because)

no further info tbh, scarabia housewarden jas is just vibing

━━━━━━✦ child jas stuffs

i'm SO indecisive about her design as a toddler/preteen lowkey 😭

she was very sweet as a toddler but somewhere along the line she just became more carefree and chaotic

jas is a mama's girl but is more alike with her father than she cares to admit

octavinelle trio and heartslabyul duo + grim are like the honorary uncles (jas's favorites are floyd, ace, and grim bc they sometimes enable her with shenanigans)

even though jas has favorite uncles, najma is the favorite favorite. i imagine she's just the cool aunt

if mama yuu is "shrimpy" then jas is a "tiger prawn" (bc rajah)

jas LOVES doing people's hair including her own; would rather do them by hand rather than by magic

jamil showed jas how to breakdance once and it became ingrained in her personality ever since

(there's probably still more about her that i'm forgetting but this is it for now)

━━━━━━✦ bonus future jamiyuu stuff because i miss them

jamil took yuusha's last name surprise surprise (if they get married)

i imagine after nrc they'd be travelling together actually, not necessarily settling down

(i'm REALLY not 100% on them settling down and having a kid but i still love jas a lot so im so conflicted) (that's why aus exist 😔✨)

(and if hypothetically they do settle down i think yuusha being staff in nrc with grim + maybe jamil who travels for work (or being a house husband??? maybe they alternate roles) can be adorable ideas)

━━━━━━✦ (i also had this thing that i never posted about that one trope of a fankid finding themselves in nrc bc of portal/time/mirror shenanigans)

(jamil found both of them asleep somewhere and refuses to wake them up)

also some bonus tidbits about this scenario with them:

💜: Is she a family member of yours? How'd she get here?

🐍: I have never seen that child in my life before now. And there's no way I could have missed news about a new relative of mine.

💜: You know how ridiculous it sounds if she's related to me. I'm not from here. She even looks more like you!

🐍: Jas has the same color of eyes as you. Didn't you tell me she mistook you for her mother?

💜: ...Yeah, but I don't like what you're implying.

🐍: Well, I'm not exactly happy with this either.

they're just both in denial of the implication of this child existing and neither of them is saying it out loud.

and the angst/wholesomeness(???) of jamil asking jas's full name and hearing that she has her mother's last name instead of his

eventually they grew attached (unfortunately) until somehow they send jas home to her original timeline

and then they finally have a real conversation about what all that was about

anyways thank you for reading if you've made it this far;;; end tweet

[youredreamingofroo]

Hold Me, Console Me - -

Was not expecting to make a set of Hiraeth renders this year, but here we are

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[ previous hiraeth installment / brat text inspired by this tiktok ] [ shoddy captions in the alt text since some text might be hard to read ]

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Reaper Pov)

Heads up to everyone, this has a big chunk of exposition/notes at the start, so if you want to skip that, I'd reccommend it :,) I'll make the first line of the actual story bits a different color, probably purple, just to make it easier for everyone!

Also! @ancha-aus and @papiliovolens Hello! Hopefully the energy here is fun for y'all!

No edits, fuck it we ball!

   Reminder to self: Reaper has been ruling over his kingdom for decades. He's rule at least 2 generations prior to Nim's reign. His kingdom is on the edge of an ocean strait, enough that he can just barely make out the towers of rival castles across the water (like. Very American example here, but standing on the Michigan portion if Lake Michigan, sometimes you can see the Chicago Skyline across the lake, just barely. That kinda thing.) The only thing connecting him to those smaller cluster of kingdoms is a land bridge that connects the two closest points of the land. Several fishing villages live along it and it's stable, but it's a great funnel to cut off approaching armies. Reaper's kingdom has a powerful port, mountains bordering its land-border and seas on the others. A perfectly isolated paradise. (Also I think he inherited the throne from Life, who loves safely in the mountains among Nature)

   So, Reaper has been able to maintain peace for himself for ages, while the kingdoms on the other continent with less geographical advantages hadn't been as lucky. Conflicts, wars, usurpings, it all kept them at a disadvantage. Kept them *behind*. 

   Reaper was already a grown adult when he recieved the crown. It really shouldn't have fallen to him, but when Life 'died' she left in her will that Reaper (one of her advisors) was to take the throne. Of course, he did just that, and became insanely successful. (A lot of the other characters from his AU either aren't there or established their own kingdoms past the mountains.) 

   He's been able to watch the kingdoms apart from his own grow, listen in on their rumors and new problems. 

   For instance, he knew of the tradition of having a Court Wizard, their last one grew old and passed, and Reaper decided to write to the folks at magic academies across the several other kingdoms, saying he would visit to look for candidates. 

   He rarely left his kingdom, but considering he could dust people at will (well, if he removed his gloves) he wasn't exactly afraid of dying. So he left, abd he searched, and he met Geno at one of the academies. 

   Geno was a top student (set to become a new professor, if not for taking on the chance to be a Royal Wizard) and by then certainly an adult. He was making income for his brothers, and he was sure a Royal Wizard job would be cushy enough to send back Gokd for his brothers until he coukd move them in. Magic was natural to Geno, (inspired by Anchas AU here) a destructive sort, which could bend reality as it was. He often disguised it as other magic types, but he showed off to Reaper, admittedly. Reaper was the king of a prosperous kingdom. He needed this. 

   Reaper was impressed by Geno's control over magic, and he was certain he wouldn't find another wizard so skilled, nor so spirited. (Reaper attempted to say something and Geno rapidly started explaining his magic, completely absorbed in making sure Reaper got it right. He was bold.) But also. Reaper was a simple man. He thought Geno was the most handsome monster he'd ever seen in his years and years of rule. He liked the way Geno's voice sounded when he talked, he liked that squinting that his one socket did when he talked, he liked how fluidly Geno's hands moved when he summoned his magic, he liked it all. He was enamored. Down bad. 

   So, it hardly took a day before Reaper returned to the school to talk to Geno and offer him the position. Reaper was happy to agree to Geno's terms (the pay was to support his family, he'd said. Reaper ensured tye money would be delivered safely) and only after the contract was signed did Geno get to be excited. Openly excited. Because while he didn't hate the idea of teaching, being a Royal Wizard was thrilling. New. And Reaper liked to see that. 

   Geno had joined Reaper about a month later, coming by Ship and arriving with a new energy and passion. He was happy and so Reaper was happy. 

   And then, of course, Geno got word of Error being missing. Having gone missing in the center of Nightmare's Kingdom. 

   Reaper knew of Nightmare vaguely. One of a pair of twins, the sibling always pushed to the side and out of the limelight. Reaper had seen that ritual play out every generation, and he wasn't surprised to hear Nim planned to continue it. Though, he'd been shocked to hear that Nightmare had stolen the apple from his brother and taken the throne by force. What happened to the other twin was vague, none of his spies ever seemed to find much trace. Reaper kind of assumed he was dead. 

   And from there all he heard were bad things. That kingdom had been rough to start with, black markets and blood sacrifice and poor tax prices and poverty run amok, false religions preying on people, crime. It was horrible. So when Nightmare began to build his elite force openly, and fill it with criminals and gypsies (Reaper gets... skewed info sometimes, this I'd referring to Cross and Horror) he was amused by the boldness, and expected the kingdom to crumble in months. 

   But years passed, and things had... honestly gone silent. Sure there were rumors, but there was less harmful action directly from the crown. So Reaper had kinda let the news fade to the background. Until Geno brought up the kingdom to him. 

   Reaper agreed to send spies to search, but ultimately settled on devising a treaty, to see if he could get his people safe entry to do a more thorough search of the land for his missing sibling. 

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   Reaper had sent out his letter a month ago. Something in his gut had told him that, whatever Nightmare was scheming during his absence, it would be much better to establish a basic treaty before he acted. 

   He hadn't been optimistic, of course. Despite the years of relative silence, his spies had been reporting odd movements og Nightmare's elite knights. It spelled trouble. 

   That was why, upon recieving the response from King Nightmare, he'd retired to his personal quarters, asking one of his men to stay outside his door. If Geno came asking, he could not enter. 

   Geno had been looking a bit better since Reaper had sent his first correspondence, but he found that his Wizard was nowhere near the fiery man he'd hired. Part of Reaper urged him to take up a supportive role, let Geno lean on his shoulder, to tell him his brother was likely already dead. Keep him all to hinself. 

   But. No. Taking advantage of Geno was not what he wanted, he wanted to help him, and to see the weight lifted off his shoulders. So for now, it was best to keep these letters private. If Nightmare was volatile, if he declared war or refused, Reaper couldn't bare to see the look on Geno's face. If he read this alone, there would be a chance at damage control. 

   So, he held the letter in his hands, sat at a heavy, dark wood desk that had been carved with flowers and animals. A remnant of when Life claimed this room as her own, Reaper couldn't bear to see it removed, so he kept it around. He liked running his fingers along the carvings of the snakes and the squirrels. 

   The letter. It was originally carried in a simple box, wooden and falling apart. The inside, however, had been lined with nice cloth. Clever. Easier to keep it from being noticed and stolen. The paper was thick, and folded over onto itself. A deep black wax seal held it shut. 

   Tilting it against the candlelight, Reaper could just barely decipher the Royal crest of Nightmare's kingdom. A curling branch of an apple tree, tucked away inside the shape of a sword. Two unknowable bird-like shapes on either side of the blade, wings open. 

   He took his letter-opener to the wax, slicing it away from the thick paper with a clean swipe. Unfolding it, the first thing he noticed was the handwriting. 

   It was swooping, elegant, and had several embellishments on certain letters, as though the writing itself was a sort of art. Reaper was shocked by the careful spacing and clean document. Most kingdoms had a scribe scribble a response, then packaged it in a gold-guilded box that got the messengers killed. This was refreshing. 

   His eyes skimmed the page, and what he understood was that, yes, the king would be interested in such a treaty. He asked for more details, for another letter to be sent, and offered that, perhaps he had something to offer as well to make their deal more robust. 

   It was signed at the bottom, in an ink that Reaper had to double-take to notice was tinted a slight purple compared to the others. Nightmare's signature, completed at the end with what he thought might've been the abstract face of an owl. Did he do that for all his signatures? 

   Reaper lingered, and read it, and re-read it, and then called in one if his spies to see if they spotted any codes or hidden writing. Only when he was positive he had not missed a single bit of trickery, did he draft a reply, decide on terms, and send it out to the other King. 

   Something about it was strange. Reaper had never known anyone from that kingdom to send their own letters, let alone hold their own quill. There were rituals, rites, certain rules to every little action. Honestly, he was pleased to see it hadn't been written in blood asking for a pact. (Yes, Life once recieved a letter of that nature.) It was a bit jarring. 

   But, he was doing this for Geno. He would stop at nothing to help his Wizard return that smile to his face, and to perhaps get worry from his mind long enough to resume spoiling him in gifts and gestures so be mind notice how deeply enthralled he was. 

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   The letters, once Reaper sent his reply, came in more frequently, and with a certain vigor. 

   Reaper had only asked for a few things. A trade deal (purposefully vague) support if his kingdom ever went to conflict (unlikely, Reaper was very secure), and free passage of his people and soldiers to visit without prosecution. He had been honest in sharing that someone of importance had gone missing within Nightmare's borders, and he wanted to seek them out.

   Nightmare had sent his reply in the form of a fully detailed plan. What exports and imports each kingdom would benefit from, the best routes to take, which crops and productions were in cycle this season, and more. He admitted he was sure Reaper could handle himself, but magical weapons might be arranged for shipment, and he offered up his kingdom whole-heartedly for a search. His tone was almost remorseful as he explained he couldn't spare his own men to assist, but he agreed search parties would be welcome so long as they did not disrupt the flow of life in the kingdom. 

   It had been full of effort, Reaper had been unable to suss out any loopholes. No tricks. And, shockingly, there was a lack of the mention of any pacts or bonds that must be made between them for the treaty to progress. 

   In honesty, the plan detailed by this supposedly evil tyrant seemed to be tame. And... helpful.

   Reaper, in his next letter, had expressed gratitude, and had then carefully broached the topic of binding the contract. How Nightmare planned to proceed. 

   Nightmare, to Reaper's utter shock, denounced the old ways of his kingdom. Of his mother. The writing was a bit less neat, but Reaper could practically feel the frustration oozing off the page through the extra dots of ink that had no-doubt been flung from his quill in his furious writing. 

   He was polite, but reassured Reaper that he was not intending to complete any of the old peace-making practices, and instead would be following Reaper's customs for a treaty. A simple signed contract. Two copies, each the same, each signed by both of them. 

   Again, it almost felt too good to be true. 

   Over the course of several more letters, Reaper learned to begin taking this seriously. Nightmare seemed to be powerful, and skilled, biding his time to make major changes. 

   Nightmare added no clauses preventing Reaper from acting against him, or sheltering his enemies. No talk of war at all aside from a mention of defensive weaponry which was being produced by his own Royal Wizard. The King seemed entirely interested in truly growing a bond.

   And then he asked to meet in person. 

   Invited Reaper to his kingdom, as a show of good will and trust. To prove that things were different now. And Reaper, against his better judgement, agreed. He would bring himself, and Geno, and a few of his men. To sign the treaty, to arrange searches, to begin establishing the trade routes. 

   To see Nightmare, the tyrant his people feared, in the flesh. 

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   Reaper arrived to the border in the dark of night. He had been delayed by duties for a few hours, and had sent a messenger ahead to inform whoever would be waiting to intercept his caravan. He and Geno were tucked together in the carriage towards the front, comfortable, but still weary. At least, Geno was. He was on-edge. Worried about his brother more deeply than usual. 

   He could see through the window as a pair of men approached on horseback. They only spoke to the front of the caravan, but Reaper knew who they were merely through the rumors his spies had delivered to him. 

   By the moonlight and a few torches, Reaper could see them. 

   One sat atop a beautifully white mare, his armor a similarly gleaming off white and dark steel, his face was covered by a mask, a snow leopard, with intricate spots adorning the gleaming surface. 

   By his side was another, riding a significantly sturdier horse, it might've been a mottled grey. He was draped in a cloak, but wore the Visage of a lion. It seemed to be stuck in a silent glower, the red eyrlight beyond the eye-holes giving it an air of warning. 

   Reaper had always wondered about the tradition of masks. They had been seen elsewhere, but they originated from this very kingdom. No other location took them quite as seriously or held them with such a high regard. Supposedly, the idea of a masquerade originated from here, though it would be seen as sacrilege from its people. 

   It was obvious that Nightmare had sent some of his elite soldiers to guide them. The presence of those four had been felt across the continent, Reaper had little doubt he and Geno would arrive safely to their destination. 

   And so the carriage rolled onwards. Several times, Reaper and Geno drew the curtains over their windows, but even Geno's anxieties weren't strong enough to keep him from admiring the views of the countryside from the carriage, or from letting Reaper joke with him about a few things. From speaking optimistically about finding his sibling. Of meeting the king. Of things being okay. 

   The castle was imposing, just as Reaper had heard in the rumors. 

   Much of it's walls and gates, and even the building itself, was carved. Stone slabs erected, then chiseled into the weaving lines of tree bark and intertwined branches. A few fences even appeared as petrified hedges, carved in such a way Reaper wasn't sure the gods hadn't created a plant made of stone, specifically fir this land. 

   The towers resembled twisting trunks, rooves resembling canopy. It was almost unsettling how glorious it was, just from the outside as they rolled forward. 

   When the caravan finally stopped, Reaper and Geno had composed themselves, and the door opened just as Reaper had experienced hundreds of times. His steward announced him, and he floated easily out of his ride. His feet did not touch the floor, merely hovered a few inches above it, but he didn't miss that even the path seemed to writhe with smoothed stone roots, overlapping into a beautiful pattern of grey. 

   Geno followed him, and only when they were stood side by side were they finally approached. 

On either side of the grand entrance door, guards stood at attention, but their greeting came from where the lead of the caravan had parked. 

   The two masked figures who had guided them here rounded before Reaper and bowed deeply. The snow leopard-masked knight was fad more stiff and formal. The lion had the guts to meet Reaper's eyes. 

   "King Reaper, we are two of King Nightmare's Royal Knights. It is an honor to be your escort," Spoke the snow leopard. Cross if his sources were correct. "If you would follow us, our King awaits you and your companion in the grand hall." 

   They both rose from their bows, and Reaper chuckled lowly as his caravan slowly dispersed from behind them, servants helping to guide the others who arrived with them. 

   "By all means, please lead the way, good knight." He agreed. 

   Cross set off at an even pace, Reaper and Geno remaining at eachother's sides. The lion-mask, Horror his mind supplied him, followed behind them at a lumber, not yet having spoken a word.

   Sometimes (often) Reaper found it hard not to keep his eyes on Geno. From what he knew, Geno was raised without a family, practically raising two little brothers while also raising himself. He had no formal training in politics, or ettiquitte, and certainly no experience beyond his magic academy, and yet in moments like these, among the wonders of the world, being treated as one of the important people, he managed to keep such composure. He was stoic, and so handsome. 

   He had to draw his dark sockets forward again. Focus on the task at hand. In just a few minutes you're facing the monster of negativity and darkness himself. He told himself. He was not afraid, but he didn't know what to expect. It couldn't hurt to be cautious. 

   And so in silence they walked, down halls that felt more like a forest stroll steeped in morning grey, before they came to an open arch. 

   Beyond it, stood a large hall. At the farthest point sat thrones. Two large ones, two small ones, the usual amount, though Reaper imagined it must be lonely when he others are so woefully empty. 

   As they approached, Reaper could spot the figures there. Three, stood just before the thrones, at the base of a few steps which separated floor from seat. 

   One, was a skeleton who was clearly a servant. They stood with an empty silver platter tucked under their arm. Soft white eyelights turned to the approaching party, before they disappeared as the servant bowed. This drew the attention of the other two figures, before the servant was dismissed without a word. 

   The other two were... quite small. Reaper likely towered at least a head over both of them even without floating. The one wore the mask of a black panther, the only details striking from beneath his shawl being striking white eyelights. They were bright, and focused on Reaper without fear. Dust no doubt, one of the criminals, murderer and smuggler.

   Then the last. He held a cane in one hand, and was draped in wonderfully tailored fabric. A cloak perhaps two sizes too large for him trailed on the ground, and one simple Cyan eyelight protruded from behind an owlish mask as he turned to observe their approach. 

   It was only as they were a few paces away, as Dust bowed and as Reaper thought of who this might be, that the pieces lined up. 

   An owl mask, Cyan magic, dark clothes. This was the King of this kingdom. 

   As they came to a hault, Cross circled around to stand with Horror, neither of them giving a second glance to, who Reaper could only assume was, their King. 

   "The King Reaper, delivered as promised. It's a pleasure." Dust practically mumbled, his voice not bothering to show so much as an inflection at the words. 

   He raised from his bow naturally, and remained still as a statue as Nightmare, small, small Nightmare, closed the distance. 

   "Reaper. It is a pleasure to see your trip was smooth. It's truly an honor to have your presence here today." Nightmare did not bow fully, but it was enough to show respect. "As well as your Royal Wizard. I do hope that you will be able to locate that who went missing." He then said, directly addressing Geno, who stood silent at Reaper's side. No doubt just as taken aback.

   He took only a moment to ponder just how young the king sounded. His voice was not deep, nor imposing, nothing he had expected from the rumors and allegations. It was bordering on the type of uncertain pitch developed by acne-ridden teenagers, though he did well to control its tilt. 

   He hoped his surprise didn't show through in his empty sockets. That his mouth hadn't twitched in confusion upon his realization. 

   "It's an honor to be invited, Nightmare. I have been eager to meet you and finalize our discussions." Reaper replied easily, "Not to mention, in all my years I've never had the pleasure of visiting your land, let alone your castle." 

   I'd didn't need to be said. It hovered in the air between them, clear as day. Clear as the sun that rose over the castle hours ago. That no one had visited this land on purpose in decades. That they'd isolated themselves besides a few strenuous allies. Reaper never had reason to visit before now. 

   "Well, I imagined that we might finalize our contracts tomorrow after breakfast. For now, I'd like to offer you a tour of the castle and have you see I intend to be true to my word." Nightmare offered, extending a hand outwards. For a shake. 

   Reaper, after not a moment of hesitation, took Nightmare's outstretched hand. His hand, buried beneath a dark glove not unlike Reaper's own, felt small. His shake was firm and confident, and their eye-contact didn't waver, but Reaper couldn't help but feel that something was deeply wrong. 

   Those bones were frail. Thin. He imagined if he even squeezes his fist a bit more they might snap between his fingers. 

   They couldn't have been the same bones of the king who the public had known. A tall, dark, imposing figure with tendrils of darkness and an aura of doom dripping in his wake. The king who could hold off crowds of people at a time, who was given the powerful magic of the ritual. 

   And just like that he took his hand back, and he grinned loosely. Nightmare watched him, before nodding. Almost to himself. 

   Nightmare steadied himself with his cane, before turning to a door off to the side, which seemed to be opened now. 

   "We'd better be off, then. The castle is large." He prompted, letting Dust take the lead as he fell into step beside where Reaper floated. Horror and Cross trailed them as they exited. "I hope you will excuse the escort. My elite knights, Dust, Horror, and Cross. I've asked them to keep a close eye on the lot of us during your stay, to ensure nothing goes awry." Nightmare supplied. 

   Reaper gazed ahead at Dust for a moment, never letting his easy grin fall from his face. "No harm in a little extra security, I can see the appeal." He reassured the king, and noticed, just barely, and Night's shoulders relaxed. They'd been tense beneath the cloak. That big, heavy cloak. 

   Something was wrong here, he was sure of it, but whoever this was, this was who he'd been speaking to over letters all this time. He was sure of it. 

.

   The day to follow consisted of Nightmare and his knights leisurely guiding Reaper and Geno from place to place. The site where the Royal Guard trained, the library, the armory, the Court and the extensive advisors (who were, very notably, largely peasants), back to the library, and in and out of the dining room to eat meals. 

   Over the course of these visits, Reaper noticed quite a bit on his own. 

   He noticed the way that Nightmare always had one of his knights to his back. Not on purpose, he imagined, they seemed to seamlessly slide into position if they noticed he had a blindspot. And speaking of his knights, Reaper noticed he was one short. Killer. The first. His mind had informed him. Serial killer, the most violent and unpredictable of the four. Missing. It was unsettling. 

   He also noticed the servants. Nightmare seemed to know every person who served him. By name. And absurdly, he thanked them. Summoned them that way. Monsters and humans alike, Nightmare spoke to them amicably. Last Reaper knew, servants might as well have doubled as sacrifices in this place. 

   Along that same thought, he noticed a very specific servant. One who seemed to tend to Nightmare directly. The knights, Reaper, and Geno all seemed to have servants at random. Nightmare was cared for specifically by that same servant who'd been in the throne room. Food, it was at every meal. Strange. 

   At at meals, the others removed their masks, each revealing their skulls without hesitancy. Nightmare only lifted his enough to take a bite. Reaper only caught a glimpse of pearly white bone. 

   Nightmare did not share this sentimentality with his guards. At least, not as far as Reaper could tell. His men, aside from the Knights, seemed contented to stay far from their King. 

   This was their King, though. He was certain now. 

   After dinner, Nightmare said he had better retire early, and informed them that they were welcome to roam as they pleased, and that Horror would watch over their quarters whenever they chose to turn in. 

   Nightmare had exited, leaning heavily on that cane of his. Reaper wondered to himself, then to Geno, whether the dark king had been injured. It seemed likely. Perhaps he had taken the treaty as a claim to secure power even as his health declined... but no, he seemed so young. Younger than should have been possible. With how he had been so enthusiastic about his vast collection of books, or as he described the trade routes overtop a large updated map of the continents. 

   They had the night, and Reaper knew he would not be breaking this treaty, no matter how... underwhelming Nightmare was in size and power. He seemed to be making headway for change. No sigils, no rituals, no blood pacts. Nightmare had ambition that not many had anymore. He respected it fully. 

   It was after breakfast that they would sign the treaty, and lock Nightmare's copy safely away. Then, Reaper would work to send out his first search party. After, of course, Nightmare introduced the two to his Royal Wizard. 

   The man had come up in many of their letters as a fire-power expert, and Nightmare seemed to take pride in him. Reaper only hoped Geno would get along with him. Maybe it would get his mind off of the impending search. 

[dhajetii]

mirror selfies for Kerry this time!