#long hair valdemar

[snobgoblin]

anyway here's what I headcanon their hair to look like (explanations below)

ok so for Vulgora I kind of just did the medieval bob thing that you seem to see on paintings a lot, except Yassified. because "historical but yassified" seems to be the general vibe of The Arcana anyway /affectionate

also please note I was originally going to give them a monastary haircut and decided against it, the reason I was going to go with this originally is because of their card actually, and because of Volta. I'm pretty sure Volta is modeled after a nun because Temperance (her patron Arcana) is one of the Heavenly Virtues (and the corresponding Deadly Sin is Gluttony so that's neat) and anyway with that in mind I wanted them to have vaguely catholic imagery to match since their card (The Tower) is associated with the Tower of Babel (and also their title Pontifex is usually used in reference to priests)

anyway for Valdemar I was kind of like. what if it was just stupidly long because they haven't cut it in thousands of years. really long flowy hair like this also reminds me of horses (which their patron, Death, is associated with, and it also cements their inspiration as a horseman of the apocalypse) I think it also cements them as kind of like, ethereal. like Nadia. mysterious. you can tell just by looking at the length of their hair that they've been here a long ass time you know (and it kind of reminds me of some fae imagery which, the courtiers remind me of the fae, which, fae is such a vague term that actually includes demons but I specifically mean the courtiers remind me of those really mischievous fairies what with their deals and complicated rules about lying and obsession with politeness and also Vlastomil saying you're not supposed to give them your real name. they remind me of those kind of fae and I think it's notable that in Muriels route Volta just kind of becomes a guardian of the forest. anyway I'm getting way off track here)

also I gave them both pointy ears because Vlastomil has pointy ears but loses them as a human, implying perhaps they all might have pointy ears

as for the colors I just used their eyebrow colors lmao

[soullessseraphim]

@snobgoblin maybe you're on to smth

Og idea

[vintagegeekculture]

"The Ayla Descent Theory" of Mary Sues

"Children of the Earth," Luis Royo.

After the success of Jean M. Auel's stone age novel Clan of the Cave Bear, there was a very lengthy trend in the publishing world of stone age adventure novels aimed at women that lasted for a decade and only really fizzled out in the early 2000s. After all, "Ayla," the name of the main character of these books, was one of the top baby names of 1987.

The target audience for these books were weird midwestern aunts....you know, the Mists of Avalon and the Mercedes Lackey/Valdemar audience. Therefore, the Clan of the Cave Bear imitators also featured things of interest to the weird aunt audience: Scotland, redhaired women with sharp tongues, commanding wolves, Ireland, Feminism, riding herds of wild horses bareback in scenic locations, Wicca, matriarchial religions, swimming with dolphins....but above all else, American Indians (a culture this audience finds interesting, as anyone who has seen the home decor of a typical weird midwestern aunt can attest), with many novels set in Ice Age America, like Children of the Dawn, Reindeer Moon and the First Americans. Decades later, this audience would form the core fandom for Game of Thrones, and the character of Khaleesi Targaryen in particular.

These books almost assuredly still have a place of honor on the book shelf of the weirdest woman at your job.

Nearly all of these imitators have two of Clan of the Cave Bear's defining traits: 1) a supremely beautiful, usually blonde athletic and statuesque main character over 5'11" who does not realize that she is so beautiful and desirable, who is good at a variety of different skills and is friendly with animals like hawks, dolphins, or horses, and 2) a love triangle between this aforementioned blond but innocent Venus and two bodybuilder muscular he-men cave hunks, one of whom is a blonde guy with long rock star hair (it was the 80s), and the other being a buff black guy with dreadlocks (or otherwise ethnic in some way).

The heroine usually picks the blonde guy in the end, but the audience usually picks the ethnic guy.

In the late 90s and early 2000s, in the broader culture of fandom, it was fashionable to dump on "Mary Sues" (indulgent wish-fulfillment author personas in fanfiction) and the people who wrote them. Accusations of creating a Mary Sue approached a kind of hysteria. Even at the time, when everyone else was getting swept up in this, I thought that getting mad about aunties writing fanfiction showed a loss of perspective, and was a bit silly. Thankfully, we've benefitted from moral evolution: the consensus in fandom now is that writing aspirational characters is a harmless activity that tests a young writer's creative muscles, like the half-Vulcan pretty new ensign on the Enterprise that Kirk and Spock both fall in love with, or a new archer girl who Legolas falls in love with joining the Fellowship. This hate walked hand in hand with insecurities, in the exact same way that people worried about their appearance or concerned with their weight are often cruel to fat people, and there were frequent tests if this or that character in your writing was a Mary Sue.

There was a running joke in this 2000s culture of anti-self insertion called the "Ayla Descent Theory of Mary Sues." The joke was that Mary Sues came into existence because Ayla, the beautiful, athletic heroine of the Clan of the Cave Bear novels, was the ancestor of their entire lineage, as the first known Mary Sue to ever exist in the historical record, described as being a statuesque blonde who did everything right and was always at the center of love triangles, and who changed human history.

According to the running joke, Mary Sues everywhere were descended from Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear, and she was the first to exist, and Ayla was the explanation of where all the Enterprise's new ensigns main characters fall in love with come from.

[nik0nk1]

I saw my chance and I choked it vigorously. Catch! I got two versions for the hairstyle lmao... unrealistically:

realistically(?):

I wanted the hair to look like cat ears (like Valdemar from Arcana- yes ik its cloth but cmon guys..) but mofo looks like horns instead. Fair enough, bros demonic. I like to imagine one day reader went missing on Viltrumite and then suddenly comes back with this fuckass hairstyle. And strength. -foodievillain

*gulp* soo I'mma just...- *walks away with a suspicious art shape fanfic in my throat*

ANYWAYS I LOVE ITTT, especially the kitty bun hairXD

I personally see her having either a much shorter hair(because it gets in her way whenever she eats, sleep or fight). Orrr a long ass hair(because she's way too lazy to cut her hair).

Also love the hair coloor

*Throws love spam at your art 💗︵⁠ヽ⁠(⁠`⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠︵💗*

HOW TO TAG YOU DJJDBBBSJD

also planning on making mertoman!reader and ShadowMilkCookie! Reader(a request from my friend lol)

[angeledeggs]

Hey! Xx can you please do a HC for the courtiers having a S/O that they’ve known since they were humans? Like the S/O probably became a demon In order to stay with them.

I sure can! Btw, this was SO fun to write<3!!

Valerius🍷:

He's so very touched to have you. He's self conscious and though most don't know it, you know after being with him for so long.

"Are you sure you still want me?" He'll whisper to you at night. "Don't you want something better than me?"

When he was younger, he would shrug away your touch and scoff at you. He dosent know how he managed to keep you. But now he doesn't. He finds one of his only stress relievers to be at night when you two cling to each other.

If you ever become a demon for him or do something supernatural to stay with him, he will definitely cry.

How could you still love him? How could someone as sweet and beautiful as you love a corrupt man such as himself?

It's not long before he asks you to marry him. He should have a long time ago. But he finds the matching wedding bands ease the ache in his heart often.

Vlastomil🐛:

He's very old. He can't remember how many generations he's lived through. How many people he's seen die. But you never do. And it's not long before he realizes what you've done.

He confronts you, begging for you to say that you haven't done anything wrong to extend your lifespan for him, but he takes one look at your eyes, and he knows.

He's so mad at first. Why did you have to stay with him? He didn't deserve you, anyway. You just had to commit yourself to him in such a way...

He sheds many tears in his office.

But one day he just can't handle distancing himself from you anymore. You're the love of his life-- he shouldn't have distanced himself from you at all, oh, he's so sorry.

He can barely explain his apology in between tears, but he gets the point across well enough when he fumbles with his own rings, when he messily slips one onto your fingers, when he drops to his knees before you.

Valdemar💉:

They never ask you how you live as long as them. They already know why. You're their beloved, and as long as you are happy, they are aswell.

At night they find themselves turn to your sleeping form and hesitate to touch you. Their fingers are claws, their skin is no longer it's natural shade, but green, they have horns. They do not deserve you. They deserve not even to gaze upon you. In their eyes, you are still the sweetest human in the world.

Only when you plead with them to finally hold you like they used to do they give in. They have missed your warmth in their cold, dead arms.

The very same night they finally hold you after so long, they blurt it out. "Marry me." They whisper. "What?" You manage. Valdemar's eyes are teary. They force your head to look away with a hand at your jaw. They tremble against your back, your form pressed against their chest. Their tears are cold against your hair. "Marry me." They repeat.

Your ring is made of iron and bone.

Volta🍰:

She's so touched that you've stayed by her side for so long. She dosent like to think of it, though. She feels a lingering dread in her belly when she does. Why, you're human, it's such a surprise you've lasted as long as her. She is a demon after all, the only way you could last as long as her is if you--

Oh, no. No. You shouldn't have done that at all, you shouldn't have become a demon just for her. Why would you do that?

She loves you more than anything, you're her darling, why would you do such a thing? She finds herself constantly crying at night, distraught even as you comfort her.

She can barely eat or talk to the other courtiers she's so upset, so angry at herself for not noticing and intervening sooner. She should have noticed! She should have noticed that you became a demon like her...

Two demons. She contemplates this for a long time. Two demons, together. A sudden thought strikes her.

She runs to you in the middle of the day. She trips over many things, but it's fine, she needed to do this on her knees anyway. She scrambles to your legs, still on her knees, and clasps your hands in her own, and declares her offer of marriage.

She has no ring for you. But she has a bangle on her wrist. And so that shall be your wedding ring.

Vulgora⚔️:

They would be happy forever if only besides you. They always told themself that. And it's so true. They love you so much, more than anyone, more than anything.

And they had always just assumed you were human like when you both met

They don't think much of you living as long as them, at first. They don't pay attention to many things, after all. And then one day, they're just looking at you when they realize, that, oh. That's why you lived so long. It's because you're like them.

They don't know what to think, they're kind of numb to it at first. How could they not notice?

They think of it for a long, long time. Such a long time. They are unusually quiet. And then one day they just embrace you so tight your back cracks, their muscles tight and tense.

Pressed in an embrace, they present to you their oldest sword, and they beg for your hand in marriage, to commit themselves to you as you had commit themselves to them.

❀

[mrmeowsli]

˙⋆★𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐔 𝐏𝐭. 𝟏★⋆˙

I created "some" Human Valdemar sprites [there's a preview below], it was supposed to be for my first Dorian game I'm planning but then I realized, I can't do that shit😅 and well I don't want to gatekeep these so if you want to have full access of all the sprites, just PM me and I'll send the drive link.

You could use it on your Dorian game, memes, personal use👀, or if you just want to see it nonetheless so long you credit me—if you do use it—that's fine since the sprites have no watermark [linking this post is enough thank you🥰].

The hair design is from this post, the expressions are a combination of canon and fanmade but the rendering is all me. That's why I also want to share this because it's a collective of multiple works from people of this fandom and not completely mine.

Here's what it contains [Expression - Amount]:

Disgusted/Shocked [1]

Sad [1]

Angry [2]

Calm [2]

Crying [2]

Happy [2]

Neutral [2]

Worried [2]

Flustered [5]

All of them have seven variants:

Normal [W/O Mask]

Head Tilt [W/O Mask]

Normal [W/ Mask]

Head Tilt [W/O Mask]

Veil [Masquerade]

W/O Veil [Masquerade]

Veil [Normal]

I know it's not a lot, just shy of 190 for now🤭 I may make more. Anyway, here's a preview:

Look at theeeeeem😍 I swear I don't like them, I love them. Again, PM me if you'd like to use/see the rest.

[sxftkxssxs]

How do you think the main 6 would react if MC was related to one of the courtiers (sibling or child of) and they still had a relatively good relationship with them, like hanging out over tea or freindly bickering ect. Bonus if its valdemar cause they're probably the scariest out of all of them xx

//I love your HCs BTW xx

I just went ahead and used Vlademar! If you do want versions with the others then I'll gladly do that! I'm glad you like my writing <3

M6 with a Mc who’s a sibling of one of the courtiers

Asra

...You're actually related???

Wonderful, amazing, love of his life, related to Vlademar??

He's filled with a mix of disgust, surprise, and confusion.

Why that one? Out of all of them he despises Vlademar the most.

He does try to not fight or be salty towards him at least, which is only slightly successful.

If Asra runs in on you two catching up over tea he'll be absolutely flabbergasted. Vlademar?? Crazy experiment doctor chatting over tea?

He'll always come with you when you go to see your sibling, and in doing that he learns a lot about the both of you and your relationship.

Julian

downright terrified 

you’re?? The sibling of Vlademar?? 

he’s spiraling, and there’s a 80% chance he will faint 

he’s always been intimidated by Vlademar even before he met you, and now it’s even worse

Julian will be sweating buckets around them. No questions asked.

It’s very weird seeing you banter with them, though. He never thought he’d see the Vlademar so relaxed and having a good relationship with someone.

Vlademar has threatened Julian more than once just for existing around you, and then tries to act like he was joking when you come around.

Nadia

You have to be kidding.

You're related to the craziest of the courtiers? Why couldn't it have been Vulta!?

She's stressing, growing metaphorical (and possibly literal) gray hairs.

As long as you both won't be a thorn in her side, (and you don't turn up in a ditch somewhere), she doesn't mind you two having time together in the palace.

She finds it incredibly awkward when she runs in on you two having some friendly bickering. This is still the same Vlademar right? You didn't replace him with someone on the streets of Vesuvia?

Nadia will try to spend some time with the both of you together, but she usually sits out on your little get togethers.

Muriel

He's not very pleased with this information

Vlademar was literally a follower of the devil??? And now you're fighting them over if a pastry tastes good??

Muriel would definitely hold some resentment. If you really do want them to get along he'll try his best.

Inanna in turn, also despises Vlademar. She'll never stay in a room alone with them.

He doesn't really like spending time with your sibling, they unnerve him.

Inanna will accompany you if she has to, especially if it'll ease Muriel's worry.

Portia

She's shocked

Portia is more easily introduced to them as your sibling, but she definitely holds a grudge against how her brother was treated during the plague and how cruel Vlademar can be

She doesn’t often hang out with the two of you together, but if you ask her to she will!

She learned how to fake pleasantries from working at the palace, and she puts them to use here

Pepi sits in your lap, making you look like an evil villain.

Lucio

again, why that one?

He never really liked Vlademar (or any of the courtiers)

You just had to be related to one of his past (Demonic?) "friends" didn't you?

He doesn't like being near Vlademar at all. Lucio will completely leave you two to be by yourselves.

Melchior likes to stay with you though, and will definitely growl if you two start bickering too harshly

Mercedes is with Lucio, screw hanging out with Vlademar!

[painful-pooch]

Hello Izzy, I’m happy to see you and I’m sorry to know you are going through tough time. Please take a good care of yourself when you had the chance and I hope things get better for you soon. \(TT )✨

As for the ask game, I think would be fun to see Bruno react to or discuss his thoughts on this meme if I’m not too late-

Oh I think you will like this haha. Also thanks for this, fam. I have been holding onto this one for a minute, so please enjoy.

~~~

Bruno stares at his phone for far too long, peeking up to glance at his chuckling team. He half laughs, licking his bottom lip to keep his words in check, but he can't help himself. "So you all think I sit in some comfy chair all day while you all do the cool stuff? And the boots on the table?! When do I even do that? And I am surprised to see you few laughing since you guys are Air Force too!"

Lukas stretches and high fives Sebastian. "We got the old man. Bru Bru, you see, you are what we call ancient. You need to sit in a nice comfy chair and relax. Leave it to us younger peeps to get it done."

Sebastian is trying not to laugh, but they fail and slap at their own knee. "I mean you are going to be a Major. And you will be sleeping for a MAJORity of the time!"

Khrystyna holds her hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I am just the enlisted one. I have no opinions besides knowing your old recliner in the sofa speaks volumes."

His jaw drops. Traitors. All of them. He rubs at his face and glares at Valdemar. "You put them up to this. My own Airmen, you Army weasel."

"Damn right I did. You with your rickety joints, chair, and coffee mug. We have got to send you to the farm, Old man," Valdemar bites back with his own playfulness.

Bruno stands up and narrows his eyes. "You are all going to pay for this little game. I promise you that. I AM NOT LAZY!" He stomps off into the living room and sees a brand new recliner with a red bow, a coffee mug on the seat that says World's Best Major, next to a certificate with his name and the golden oak leaf rank. "What's this?"

Miranda, Kieran, and Oscar are standing to the side, each of them smiling happily. Kieran doesn't usually say much, but he flips off the soon to be Major. "We were sick of hearing the thing squeaking when you took a fat nap."

Oscar holds out a chess piece, and upon closer inspection, he sees it's a King. "Long live the great Bru Bru," he murmurs, making eye contact for a few seconds before looking away. That... makes Bruno tear up and take the piece, running his thumb over the embossed figure.

"J-just because you guys are giving me these things doesn't mean I won't kick your asses later." He clears his throat and focuses on Miranda now, who comes up to him and tacks on a golden oak leaf to his collar.

"You can do that after your nap." Miranda pats his cheek and beckons to the chair, the others taking off the items and bow, leaving the man with no other option than to sit in the recliner. She forces it to lean back and Bruno groans a little, staring up at them all.

"So what if I like my comfy chairs. I like the good things in life. Do I not deserve it?" He asks, an eyebrow raised before closing his eyes. This... is nice... really nice.

The Marine woman ruffles his hair and rolls her eyes. "Sure you do, Chair Force. Lukas. Now."

Bruno hears a camera click, and his eyes snap open to Lukas holding a polaroid camera. "What. Was. That?"

"Uhm... Gramp's first nap?"

"Run. You all better run!" Bruno scrambles to get off the chair as the rest of the team darts in different directions to hide from him. Sure, he may fit the stereotype just a little, but he can absolutely take down anyone with his Chair Force ass.

[duchesssoflennox]

MARRIAGE OF KING HAAKON VII AND QUEEN MAUD OF NORWAY🥺🤍💍

Prince Carl, the second son of then-Crown Prince Frederick of Denmark and Princess Louise of Sweden, was born at the Charlottenlund Palace on August 3, 1872 and was christened Christian Frederik Carl Georg Valdemar Axel. Maud, meanwhile, was the youngest daughter of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) and Princess Alexandra of Denmark. Both Frederick and Alexandra were children of King Christian IX of Denmark.

At a young age, Carl was not expected to become king because he was a second son. So, he built a career in the military, where he served as a naval officer at the Royal Danish Naval Academy in Copenhagen. Maud, meanwhile, was the liveliest of Edward and Alexandra's three daughters. She fell in love with Prince Francis of Teck, the younger brother of her sister-in-law, the future Queen Mary .Francis and Maud exchanged several letters, however, as time passed, it became clear that the love was one-sided as Francis had no interest in Maud.🥲💔

As cousins, Maud and Carl often met, especially during family gatherings. Rumours eventually circulated within the family that the two might get married. Carl proposed during a reunion at Fredensborg Castle and Maud accepted. Their engagement was announced on October 29, 1895. Princess Alexandra was initially hesitant of the engagement because Maud was 3 years older than Carl, She only relented when she realized that Carl would prove to be the right husband for her sea-loving daughter.🌊🤍

The engagement delighted Queen Victoria (Maud's grandmother). According to Queen Victoria's Maid of Honour, news of their engagement “…caused much excitement at Balmoral…and has been the cause of much telegraphing…The Queen is delighted and healths were drunk at dinner.” 

The wedding was set on July 22, 1896. The wedding was almost delayed after Prince Henry of Battenberg's untimely death, but it was finally decided that the wedding should go on as scheduled and that Princess Beatrice (Maud's aunt and Prince Henry's wife) and her children would not attend. European royals converged in London for this wedding. Members of both the British and Danish royal families were present, as well as their Greek, German, Russian, and Swedish relatives. The bride wore a simple dress fashioned by Miss Rosalie Whyte of the Royal Female School of Art. It had a long train and was made of pure white English satin which was woven in Spitalfields, a section of London known for its weaving. She wore the Princess of Wales' wedding veil and instead of a tiara, she adored her hair with flowers.

Queen Victoria recorded in her Journal: ‘After the Benediction, Maud came forward to her parents & then to me & I kissed both her & the Bridegroom’.

the famous royal painter LAURITS REGNER TUXEN painted the wedding using the photos taken at the wedding! Queen Victoria gave the painting as a present to Maud's parents, the Prince and Princess of Wales.🥺❤️‍🩹

[snobgoblin]

PLEASE MORE LONG HAIRED VALDEMAR I BEG

GLADLY

for the first one I was like "you know in Portias route where they just kinda have tentacles coming out of their back. what if they can do that with their hair"

this one's to show off the length and also you know how in Muriels route they can control skeletons. imagine if they just use skeletons sometimes to help braid their hair so they can fit it into their bandages (how does that much hair fit uhhhh precision don't ask)

[uselessvaldemarsimp]

thank you for your service

Dorian. Dorian. It's not that complicated Dorian. It's not that hard. look- hey look at me. look at me Dorian.

[runwayrunway]

No. 16 - SAS (Scandinavian Airlines System)

I mentioned this was coming beforehand. Today we’re diving into a livery that has a lot more going on than you might think at first glance, a haunting portrait of what Lufthansa’s livery wants to be - the livery of the only airline to be mentioned in more or less every YTP ever made, SAS!

This isn't actually the modern livery, sorry. I'm a fraud. This is an anachronistic 2007 Avro RJ that apparently even back then had a livery basically all but identical to the modern one save for the lack of the SAS text. It still bodies Lufthansa and then some. I just had to find a place to slide it in because it's a very funny image that I love very much.

Legally known by the extremely catchy name “Scandinavian Airlines System Denmark-Norway-Sweden”, SAS was founded in 1946 as a consortium of the national carriers of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. This makes it among the very few airlines to currently serve as the flag carrier of multiple countries.

It’s been around for nearly 80 years, but it’s only had four liveries in that time. I mention these because I think it’s worth contrasting with Lufthansa, which bled off traits over the decades until it was nothing but a dry husk. Unlike the slowly putrefying decrepit corpse which is Lufthansa, SAS is a young adult trying to find her identity who can't stop dyeing her hair different colors and deciding she hates it. Let's talk about those phases, and where we ended up at the end of it all.

1946 - The Original

image: Bene Robió

This picture is of a modern plane, OY-KBO “Christian Valdemar Viking” (all SAS planes have names ending in ‘Viking’) wearing a retro livery, but it contains the only part of SAS’s original livery of any interest at all. 

If we zoom in we can take a look at the end of the cheatline, where it morphs into the figurehead of a Viking longship. This is a nifty little touch that represents their national identity and is itself sleek and nicely designed.

And it looks even better on the 747.

It’s also the only notable thing about this old livery, so it’s not worth lingering on for too long. I thought it was worth mentioning because it's neat, but this livery was literally adopted when they very first began flying - in 1946! At that point it was pretty rare to see airlines have any livery at all aside from their name painted on bare metal. This was actually above and beyond for the time.

image: towpilot

It didn't look half bad on the DC-3, either. This was a consistently nice style and for its era I would say it was pretty good. But are we judging by the standards of the time? No.

So, for the time I would probably have given it a high grade. But it is not the time.

So I am giving it a C-.

There are still things to like about the longship design, don't get me wrong. But there is just literally nothing else going on, and it's not enough to have the only piece of your livery that's actually identifiable be so small and easy to miss.

1983 - Belly Stripes

image: Lars Wahlstrom

In 1983 they swapped to this livery, commonly known as “belly stripes”, designed by the iconic Landor Associates, prolific purveyors of liveries. It’s a pretty abrupt change, isn’t it? I like this livery, actually. It’s nice, if understated. The stripes are specifically the colors of the Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish flags. Apparently they worried the figurehead would be hard to understand (fair) and the association with Vikings might be bad optics (yet they continued to name their planes this way). 

Like I said, it’s nice. It’s fine.

This, like the original livery, is something that can be evaluated by modern standards or by those of its time. In 1983 majority-white liveries weren’t as ubiquitous as they are now and planes still frequently had cheatlines and all-over color and even bare metal fuselages so the bare white plane with the tiny bit of color and the nice font was actually something of a statement. Even by modern standards it’s executed a lot nicer than many similar liveries, but the market is just so saturated that it only really works in the context of its time, I think. Having a plane be nearly all white is no longer an artistic choice. It's a non-choice. And that's the world I live in, and that has to color how I look at this. But all the same...I can't tear myself away from it. In photographs from the time it is as pristine as newly fallen snow.

So I'm giving it a B.

I like the belly stripes livery. It's a neat and unique way of showcasing the flags. It's cleanly executed. I like that the stripes are diagonal instead of straight and that they're aligned with the letters, which are also in a very nice typeface. I just wish it existed in a less Eurowhite-saturated environment where it could shine to its fullest.

I somehow never noticed how adorably stubby the pre -30 DC-9 models were. Thankfully this has been remedied. Just look at her. Like a really round bird hopping through the air.

I think it’s interesting how, while Lufthansa slowly lost creative interest but only ever became a different design altogether in a sort of Ship of Theseus way, SAS fully overhauled their livery multiple times. They’re definitely trying to find something that works for them, regardless of the cost. They refuse to rest on their laurels. I admire that mindset, and it’s not ended badly so far. 

And then it was 1998. 

If you look very closely you can see something horrible in the distance.

No, okay. It can't be as bad as you're making it out to be, you say. And you are a fool for saying this.

Oh no. Oh no. Sweetheart, what happened to you? 

So, this is really really bad. Really really really bad. This looks like it was designed with the same philosophy I used to design original characters in middle school - oh, I like this color, let me add it without considering the overall balance or composition. This design was made by people who were paid to make it. 

This has almost all the features I hate most in a livery, all the way up to the abrupt color transition at the tailfin, but an additional one: that absolute atrocity right at the front. If you’re confused what I’m referring to, I don’t blame you - they made it nearly invisible. If you squint very hard, though, you can see ‘SCANDINAVIAN’ above the windows and ‘AIRLINES’ below it, completely illegible due to being painted in a silver color barely darker than the main fuselage itself. 

It looks amazingly funny with rear-mounted engines, though. That's her fanny pack.

All I can really say is: why. Why did you do this? Why.  

I am actually somewhat ashamed of how little I noticed this when out in the wild. It’s a testament to the sheer saturation of mostly plain liveries with a hint of red and/or blue that this monstrosity blended into the background and evaded my notice. (And in my defense I’ve never been to one of their focus cities so sightings have only been in passing.)

This might sound harsh, but I'm about to say this and stand by it. Here is a better SAS livery from the same time period.

With the engine covers on it looks like one of those plastic tips they put on toy pistols. Also, doesn't keeping the red engine caps defeat the purpose if you also have red engines, since they're meant to be clearly visible so you don't accidentally try to use the plane with them on? Do they not have a different color available for red engined freaks? Many questions.

That's right, SAS's 1998-2019 livery fails the Star Alliance Test!

What is the Star Alliance Test, you ask? It's very simple. Star Alliance is an airline alliance - basically a club for the world's most elite carriers to hang out in and codeshare. The three major alliances all have special liveries that they might have a couple planes from each of their members wear.

I hate alliance liveries. I think airline alliances should be represented by a little symbol on the airline's standard livery, not the other way around. I would like to know what airline this plane is from before I know if it's a member of OneWorld or SkyTeam. And if I need to know that they usually have a symbol for the alliance somewhere on the plane anyway.

The Star Alliance logo on a SAS ATR 72, directly behind the cockpit window and in front of the door. If you really squint you can even see the words 'Star Alliance' written underneath it.

Star Alliance is my least favorite. SkyTeam's livery actually looks pretty good. OneWorld's is the ugliest at base, but it lets the airline keep some of its branding at the back of the plane, which makes me hate it less. So Star Alliance loses by default. (Let me know if you'd like a full review for these, though.)

The Star Alliance Test has exactly one question. Would I prefer that all this airline's planes were forcibly repainted into Star Alliance liveries instead of allowed to remain in their current state?

In this case, yes. I very much would. And that means there's only one grade I can give to this livery.

F. See me after class.

That's right. Fly away. Ideally to get repainted in something more presentable.

The 2019 Overhaul

(To clarify, when I compared Lufthansa to SAS in my post about them I did not want to imply that they literally copied SAS - their revised livery obviously came out a year earlier, and they were definitely developed privately around the same time to keep up with modernized trends surrounding livery - they’re just similar safe, non-revolutionary concepts that SAS executes a lot better.)

I don’t normally buy the whole ‘the darkness must come before the light’ line of thinking, but SAS clearly does. Because even here, in this abomination, are the building blocks for what would become something reasonably decent. And, in 2019, SAS made that happen. 

Those are engine covers, by the way. There's no red on the engines. There's actually a tasteful silver trim under there.

So, this is what we've achieved. At first glance, it looks pretty similar to Lufthansa, but the closer you examine it the clearer the differences become. 

First, the white fuselage. Well, actually, that’s not the case for SAS. It looks white in bright sunlight, but it’s actually an off-white beige (Pantone 9083C). You can see that in this picture of an SAS plane parked next to a SWISS plane, and when you put a bunch of Scandinavians in crisp white shirts in front of it. 

image source (left): Daniel Ross | image source (right): SAS

I mean, no, it’s not exactly neon pink or anything, but it’s still a noticeable change in tone relative to other planes, and that means it’s a decision someone made. And that makes me happy. 

I think the world has begun to somewhat agree with me on the whole non-integrated-tail-colorblock being bad to look at, because SAS has also extended the stripe of blue down to loop under the rest of the fuselage. Honestly, if I were them I would have made it wider so it covered the full empennage on t-tail models, but that might make it look weird in its own way - I’m not here to design liveries, I’m here to complain about them. I just think it's still a bit too small to make the jet look fully balanced with the big SAS at the front.

The awful red engines have been replaced with a far more tasteful alternative - silver with a blue stripe at the front and silver trim on the very front edge. I like that a lot. No criticisms. 

The silver text has been kept, but it’s been reduced from a bunch of small letters to just a very large SAS, which is a lot clearer even when in low contrast. It’s difficult to nail down my thoughts on this. Obviously it’s an improvement, and I wouldn’t want it to be removed entirely, and I’m not sure if a more solid, emphatic version, maybe in the same blue as the rest of the livery, would actually be better or not. I think I overall like the silver wordmark? As long as it’s not a really bad angle it’s visible enough, and it adds something a bit interesting. Even if it is illegible at least they also have the name on the tail. It probably helps that it’s only three letters long. Still, nobody is going to be confused about what airline this plane belongs to. 

I think the wordmark looks its best on turboprops wearing the livery. I honestly feel like most good jet liveries look awkward on props and vice versa, but this transitions very well. Not many major airlines still fly props, and almost none of them adapt their liveries well to them, but the wordmark fills the space really nicely on the shorter fuselage of the ATR and the high wings break up the line in a way that looks pretty darn nice to me. More airlines need to fly props, and they need to take notes on how to make a livery work for them. 

Aside from the too-small amount of blue, my one real outright complaint is the very small Noto Sans(?, unsure) ‘Scandinavian’ written on the engine nacelles. It feels pointless and looks out of place. It looks extra out of place because the rest of their livery is in Rotis semi-serif, and the combination really clashes. It’s a little baffling, because they certainly have the option of just using the SAS logo again - the only other place they use the full ‘Scandinavian’ is on the belly. My personal suggestion would be bringing back the longship figurehead for the engines, but that’s just me. It just looks more like a watermark than a design feature. 

Look, I never said I loved the SAS livery, but someone clearly designed it. The implementation is still a little shaky in parts, as if the airline is regaining its footing after the red engine years, but it’s stumbling towards being good and it’s just short of the point where it can sit down and rest and reflect on its progress. 

SAS gets an overall grade of C. Which is also what the GPA of the other three came out to, I think! My calculations are admittedly a bit improvised.

Makes Lufthansa look like chumps, though. I think we can all agree on that.

[uselessvaldemarsimp]

the long haired valdemar revolution has begun

[lonely-shine]

Plagued by Thoughts of You

[Read on AO3]

*Fandom: The Arcana *Rating: Mature *Relationships: Asra/Julian *Characters: Asra, Julian, Mentioned Apprentice *Chapters: 1/1 (one shot) *Wordcount: 2.700~ *Additional tags: Red Plague, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, hurt no comfort, grieving/mourning, non-explicit sex

*Summary: The death of apprentice Shell left a gaping void in both Asra's and Julian's hearts, which they try to ignore with single-minded focus to their goal (one bringing her back, the other curing the plague) and looking for something they know they can't have in the other.

********

It was late when Asra got back to the shop, the sky dark and cloudy overhead, the streets cold and quiet. He sighed when he finally stepped in and closed the door behind him, tired; it had been a long day at the Palace.

"Finally alone..." he muttered, mostly to himself.

Faust slithered out of his sash and flickered her tongue at him.

"He is so annoying, isn't he?" Asra said, smiling and giving Faust some scritches. He didn't dislike Ilya, and hadn't minded when Countess Nadia asked them to work together, but he was so tiring to deal with. "So clingy and so needy and..." And he's not her, he thought, frowning, but didn't voice this aloud.

He was not her. He was not her and would never be. How could he even think of being with him when Shell was dead? How could he be so preoccupied with the cure when that wouldn't bring her back? She was his apprentice too. He knew her, he knew her and still did nothing to—

Asra took in a deep breath as he braced on the shop's counter, his knuckles becoming white from the force of it. His vision blurred and he saw his own hands in different times and places: cupping Shell's face as she lovingly gazed at him, covered in blood as he retrieved her ashes and charred bones from the grounds of the Lazaret.

'If I can't convince you to stay and you can't convince me to go, maybe we should split up,' she had said, and he had agreed, feeling hurt and betrayed, and left. Left her behind. Left her to die alone and...

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling and redirecting his thoughts to anger instead. "He's not her," he said, aloud this time. Anger and hate felt better than guilt and grieving, made him feel more in control, and he needed that feeling of control. "And he's impossible."

Faust wrapped warmly around his shoulders in a gesture of comfort, and he let out a shaky breath he didn't quite realize he was holding. "You miss her too, don't you?" he said, then stepped away from the counter and towards the shelves, all stuffed to the brim with books and magical items. "Soon enough. I will bring you back, Shell," he said, taking one of the heavy tomes in his hands. "I will fix this."

********

By the time Julian finished his shift it was well past midnight. He crammed into the nook that functioned as his office in the medical dungeons and lit a candle for light.

He rubbed at his face, sighing, and slumped into the chair at the narrow desk —ridden with scattered books, papers, and medical tools— that took one of the walls of the tiny space.

The days at the Palace were long, and the nights were even longer. So much death, so much suffering... How many victims had he seen? Strangers, acquaintances, his own colleagues once they succumbed to the disease...

And then there was her, he thought as he unlocked the desk's drawer and took out Shell's last record to him. He hadn't seen her body —she had been directly cremated at the Lazaret, he later found out— yet he could still picture her dead on his arms, on Valdemar's table during their demonstrations...

Julian shivered. Valdemar always made the fine hairs on his nape stand on end. There was something... off about them. Just as well that Shell's body never entered the Palace. He couldn't have borne to see her in that state.

The paper page of the record crumpled as his fingers reflexively clutched at it, his eyes fixed on Shell's signature at the bottom corner.

How could have he missed her death? She was his apprentice, his responsibility, and he didn't even know she was sick until after her death. How could have he been so careless? He should have kept a better eye on her. Should have protected her. Now all that remained to remind him of her was that record...

The record, and Asra.

He was a little surprised, when Countess Nadia introduced him to them. Shell had talked about Asra with him —and from what he'd gathered, they had been very close indeed— but he never thought he'd meet them.

Asra was... a little odd. So carefree and with his head always on the cloud, even in the midst of a plague. Were all magicians like that?

Belatedly, Julian remembered Shell was a magician too —she hadn't talked that much about it, while they'd worked together. Oh, but she made it sound so different! More coherent and less hocus pocus. Almost more like engineering than magic. Almost.

No, it must be something about Asra himself then, and not his profession. But he must be a good one, even so. Shell had spoken fondly of him, and she had been so kind and brave and... Well, she must have had good taste.

Or, well, she usually must have. She must not have been at her best when she answered to Julian's half-hearted flirting. Probably was just humouring him anyway. Or just being kind. He shouldn't assume.

But, ahh, how had she made his heart sore! Should he have confessed his feelings to her? Maybe not, considering how it all had ended up. What kind of man would he be, to confess his love and then forget about her until after her death? Better he had kept it to himself.

Julian sighed and put the report back on its place in the drawer.

He couldn't save Shell, it was far too late for that, he knew, but he could find a cure. He could prevent more deaths. Shell had wanted to help the people of Vesuvia; he had a small hope that in finding a cure he would earn her forgiveness, if only a little, for being too busy to notice it when she was gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

That thought spiralled inside his head enough that it made him dizzy. He got up from the chair and almost hit his head on the ceiling.

He had to get out. The air down in the dungeons was always so thick and oppressive, he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, not with the thoughts and smell of sickness in and around him.

Julian left the Palace at a brisk pace, and soon he could feel the cobbled streets of the city under the soles of his boots. The air was misty, and cold enough that it hurt his lungs when he breathed, which felt right.

He told himself he didn't know where he was going, that he was just wandering, as he walked down the streets. Just a stroll to clear up his mind.

However, his mind was too full of concern for a certain magician for him to believe his own lie, his steps clearly leading to the Centre City.

He was just checking on them, Julian tried to convince himself of on the way. He couldn't let harm come their way. They were the last connection he had to Shell. If they died...

No, he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't keep Shell safe, but the same wouldn't happen with Asra.

Giving up on the pretense of a random stroll, Julian turned his heel and took the shortest route to the magic shop. It was late, but Asra was a nocturnal creature too. With any luck, he'd find him awake.

********

Herbs, magical tools, and heavy tomes were scattered on the backroom’s floor as Asra tried another spell, the air filling with a thick, purplish mist as their power manifested.

They had consulted every book they could get their hands on during their research. Books about the Arcana, curses, healing, forbidden spells, necromancy… The latter ones always required a body to work with, which was useless when they hadn't found but charred bones and ash of Shell.

None of the books gave them the information that they wanted, that they needed. They’d have to figure a way out themself.

A sudden, insistent knock on the door distracted them from their musings, making them turn their gaze away from the book they were holding. Who could it be at that hour? With a sigh, they went to answer.

When they opened the door, Asra found the lanky, nervous figure he knew well waiting outside. "Ilya?" They couldn't help but frown, not that Ilya dropping by was rare, but the hour definitely was. "What are you doing here? I told you I'd be fine."

"Yeah, I know, I just—" Ilya tiptoed his way around them to get inside, then snuffled his nose at the thick, purplish streams of mist coming out of the backroom. "Wait, what— What are you doing here?" He started coughing, doubling over at the power of the spell in the air.

"Can't you tell?" Asra said, letting the door close and grabbing Ilya by the chin to make him look at them. "Just a magic trick."

"Ah, something from one of those ridiculous tomes?" Ilya asked, breathing heavily.

They sighed, letting go of him. "Something from one of those ridiculous tomes." They took a long look at him then. Ilya was... He was a lot of things, but he held an imprint of Shell in him. It was not strong, but it was proof of her existence. Maybe... "If you'd like to help, I'm sure I could find a use for you."

"I—" He swallowed audibly. "Will it help? If I do it, will it change anything?"

Asra's gaze darkened as they turned away. "I hope so," they said, voice low and dangerous, drawing the curtains to the backroom open.

Ilya followed them inside, giving a wary look to the scattered books and the magic circle drawn onto the small, round table at the centre of the room.

Asra gestured to the circle, serious and looking directly at Ilya's eyes. "Blood. Bone. Sweat and tears. All powerful catalysts for these spells," they explained, carefully regarding Ilya. They knew perfectly well how squeamish he was about magic, how superstitious. How far was he willing to go? How committed was he to Shell? He couldn't know the spell was for her. Would he help them anyway? "I wonder... How much are you willing to give up, Ilya?"

"I— Uhm, well, that is to say— You know—" He gulped, visibly straining against the force of the spell permeating the room, then bit his lip as he looked at them. "I'll give you all of me, if that's what you need," he finally said, blushing.

So loyal. So eager. A lopsided smile twitched Asra's lips up, despite themself. They shook their head. "For now, I just need your hand."

Ilya immediately extended his arm over the table, no hesitation. Asra raised an eyebrow, half amused, half surprised by this. They hadn't expected such willingness, given his dislike for magic... Then again, maybe he was just trying to gain their favour.

No matter, a willing offering was a willing offering. They took out an ornate dagger from the pile of objects scattered around the tiny room and, holding his wrist firmly with their free hand, sliced Ilya's palm open.

Blood sluggishly came out from the shallow wound, trickling down his skin and dripping onto the table.

Asra held their breath when the magic circle started glowing upon coming in contact with Ilya's blood, daring to hope it might be enough... Then deflated when the glow quickly faded away.

"Is, er, is that it?" Ilya asked, sounding uncertain.

They let go of his wrist, turning away from the now-dark circle, feeling tired once again. Another one that did nothing. "That's all I need from you, Ilya."

"Now, hold on, what kind of magic was that? What did that do?" He stepped around the table, towards them, his voice equal parts curious and concerned.

Asra shrugged. They didn’t feel like explaining. "I'm not sure. I won't know until it happens. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps..."

"Are you putting yourself in dange—"

Asra sighed and turned around sharply, shutting him up by grabbing his wrist. "You talk too much, Ilya," they said, their eyes fixed in his.

Ilya looked back at him, blushing up mightily. "Th-then just tell me what to do instead."

Asra felt themself smiling, their anger now faded. Ilya wasn’t always easy to deal with, but then again, he wasn’t always difficult either. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" they said, taking a step forward, forcing him to take one back.

"Y-you— Oh my god, yes." He managed to blush even more deeply as they slid one of their legs between his. "I'll do anything you want, anything at all, whatever you need."

Asra sobered down somewhat at the look of hunger and longing from Ilya. Longing felt too close to love. "You know I can't give you everything you want, Ilya."

He slid down to his knees, not taking his eyes off them. "I'll take what I can get."

They placed a hand on Ilya’s throat, not as much grabbing it as just resting their fingers there, for the moment. Still, they could feel his pulse jumping as they leaned down to whisper on his ear. "And when it hurts you?"

This close, they could hear him gulp. "I can take it."

Asra laughed, with no real mirth nor malice behind it. They pushed Ilya down on the floor, hand on his chest, and leaned down to breathe on his neck. "Then let it be. Just stop me if you need it."

********

'Just stop me if you need it,' Asra had said.

But he wouldn’t. Need it, that was. He wanted the pain. And Asra being the one delivering it felt right.

Julian could feel Asra’s hands sliding under his clothes, griping, scratching, pulling moans and groans from him. He held onto their hips with urgency, pulling them closer.

"Hands to yourself, Ilya," Asra said, their voice firm, snapping like a whip.

He obediently let go, putting his arms above his head, submissive.

"That’s better." Asra smirked and resumed his handling, expert and teasing.

The magic in the air was gone, but Julian’s shortness of breath was not, even if for fully different reasons now. He pleaded, he begged, and wherever Asra touched him, he felt his skin burn in a way that only left him wanting for more.

He could feel the tension increasingly building up inside him as Asra traced paths on his skin with hands, teeth, and tongue, marking their way and making his head spin. He arced his back towards Asra, struggling against their grip and calling their name when it finally released.

Asra looked at him from above, a lopsided smile on his lips. He seemed pleased, but he wasn’t done yet.

"Ah," Julian breathed. "Let me hel—"

"Don’t," Asra said, a hand pressed to Julian's chest while keeping the other on himself. "Stay down."

He nodded, obedient, his heartbeat fast against Asra’s palm as he worked himself up on top of him, sweaty, struggling, and so freaking beautiful Julian couldn’t help but stare as he too found release.

Still panting , Asra stayed still for a moment , catching his breath, then combed a hand through the mess of his white curls, pulling them back and away from his face. He smiled, c heeky , looking at him from above. " I hope that wasn’t too much? "

Julian bit his lip, holding a groan back . " Not at all. "

Then Asra got off him , standing up, and started fixing himself and his clothes back together. " Well, it got rather late to keep at this, " he said, moving away and disappearing from his view.

Julian wasn’t sure if they were talking about the sex or the magic. When he sat up to take look at them, Asra had produced a pitcher of water and a glass from somewhere in the room, and was offering the latter to him.

" O-oh! Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the glass. The water was pleasantly cold.

Asra nodded and leaned against the small, round table, leaving the pitcher on it. "You should get some sleep, Ilya. You start early tomorrow." He paused for a long second, looking away, then got up and away from the table. "You can take the couch in the shop, if you need." He said, finally looking back at him with an expression Julian couldn’t read. "Goodnight, Ilya."

[meat-loving-meat]

Nuclear weapons AU snippet to answer @bluewingedcoyote 's question about Tylendel

I LOVE making supplementary multimedia stuff for fanfics, so this snippet is meant to be a Something Awful (or. well. the Valdemaran equivalent of Something Awful.) thread with comments from several different users about Tylendel's death announcement. Idk if it'll make it into the final fic (if there ever is a final fic lmao), but it was SO MUCH FUN to make. Hopefully I'll find the time to make it into a doctored screenshot at some point!

It's kind of long, so no pressure to read it btw! Posting it just in case you're curious and have some time to kill.

Original forum post from user 0:

This makes me sick to my stomach:

www.heraldiccircle.gov/anouncements/oct2007/tylendelfrelennyeobituary

Comment from user 1:

For anyone too lazy to read the full announcement, a summary: Tylendel was just 17 years old. He died by calling a Final Strike after an unexpected airstrike killed his Companion, Gala. The last thing he did before dying was lead 20 refugees through a Gate to safety. He was posthumously promoted to Herald status to honor his and Gala’s sacrifices.

To reiterate: Tylendel was 17 years old. 17. He wasn’t even old enough to vote in the country that sent him to war. He was planning to take online classes in praxographical studies once he graduated secondary. He ran a gimmick [MySpace] account where Gala would try to type out inspirational quotes with her nose. By all accounts, he was funny and loving and joyful and seventeen. 

He hardly ever posted pictures of himself online, so there are only a few to showcase here. www.imagehostersite.com/albums/remembering-tylendel-frelennye

I’m in shock that Valdemar, a country so deeply obsessed with righteousness and upright morality, still has fucking child soldiers. I feel sick that Tylendel, a boy the same age as my little sister, killed himself to protect us, when us adults should have been the ones protecting him.

Comment from user 2, quoting user 1:

Hey can someone tell me what the photos are? They aren’t loading for me

Comment from user 3, quoting user 2:

The image hosting website is experiencing really high traffic, so that’s no surprise. Here are some descriptive captions:

1. A professional portrait of Tylendel Frelennye riding Gala in a vibrant green field. Tylendel is wearing a gray set of formal riding wear, and his blond hair is mostly hidden by a helmet. He is smiling at the camera with one hand resting on Gala’s neck. Gala is wearing ornate ceremonial tack. She has her head turned to the side so that she can make eye contact with the camera.

2. A slightly blurry photo of Tylendel Frelennye sitting in the rubble of a collapsed, burned-out building. He is wearing military fatigues and has a rifle resting across his lap. He is laughing with his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

3. A screenshot of a [MySpace] post from the account LendelLendel. The post contains a photo of Tylendel Frelennye and another boy, whose face has been censored with a cluster of black pixels, asleep together in a plush armchair. The chair is almost too small to fit both of them, even with their feet propped up on an ottoman. Tylendel’s left leg rests over the other person’s right, and the other person’s head is tucked against Tylendel’s shoulder. The lighting is low and warm. The post is captioned, “The best way to celebrate our one year is with a nap, apparently.”

Comment from user 2, quoting user 3:

The description of that last photo is so heartbreaking. Does anyone know who the boyfriend is?

Comment from user 4, quoting user 1:

Fuck you’re so right about the child soldier thing. I can’t believe that he was allowed to fight. What do the Companions have to say about this???

Comment from user 5, quoting user 4:

So I’m a lurker on heraldspotting.net, and there is all kinds of speculation over there about this, but to sum it up, the majority of Herald Trainees never see fighting until their internships, and it’s almost unheard of (at least in recent memory) to send a minor to a combat assignment. However, from the size of his Final Strike, Tylendel Frelennye had a very powerful Mage Gift—the prevailing theory is that things are much, much worse than the government is letting on, and the Circle felt they had no choice but to use Tylendel’s Mage Gift to fill the gap left by Eivaran’s death. In response to the recent outcry, they released the minutes of the meeting where they made the decision to send Tylendel—mostly just to prove that the King’s Own Companion supported deploying him—and several Heralds and even a few Companions opposed sending him, but they were in the minority. 

It’s painful to admit, but Tylende Frelynnye prevented a massive incursion of Karsite forces and he likely killed upwards of half a dozen of their mages. I can’t speak to whether the ends justify the means in this case, but from a purely utilitarian perspective, sending him was the correct choice. I have relatives who would have been displaced from their homes without his sacrifice, and many Valdemaran lives will be saved with the deaths of those mages. It breaks my heart that a child had to die for that, but I can’t say without qualification that it was the wrong choice.

Comment from user 6, quoting user 5:

Child soldier apologist spotted ^^

ASDLKDFJKLSDFLK ANYWAY. THAT'S HOW TYLENDEL DIES IN THIS AU

[write-kin]

helping hands

cal gets a chance to assist his new benefactor, and ignores an unpleasant truth. (thank you again to @just-a-silly-little-whumper for letting me play touys with your guys)

CWs: violence, mentioned gore, Lord Soren Denholm (just in general), torture, psychological manipulation, typical lord denholm stuff really

-

Cal turns the feather in his fingers, examining it. It’s off-white, long, the size of his forearm. Sturdy, but not as sturdy as it could be. Bryn’s feathers were sturdier, stronger, almost denser. Of course, those belonged to a were-griffin, so they were different creatures. 

“You can keep it, if you’d like,” Lord Denholm says dismissively, “he has plenty more.” 

“He?” Cal asks, and is met with a small ‘mm’ in response. 

“Ah, I forget you’re not familiar with them. When did you say your Master would be retrieving you?” Cal grimaces at the phrasing. “My Lord,” Cal says, insistent on the terminology, “said he had sent a carriage which would arrive at the end of the month.” 

“About ten days, then. Good. Tell me- how is Lord Valdemar these days? Rumors abound that he’s gone quite mad.” Cal sighs, a small sliver of irritability slipping into his tone. 

“Meaningless conjecture, I assure you. He is fine. Honestly, I’m half-glad he’s isolated us, to avoid all the chatter.” 

Lord Denholm laughs a bit, and pulls back from the bookshelf he’s been shuffling through. He looks at Cal, eyes trailing to the feather he’s examining, and then back at Cal’s face.  

“You seem quite enamored with that feather. Would you like to meet who it came from?” 

Cal nods a yes. He has no idea what he’s in for.

Cal hardly expects to be walked down into the dungeons, but he supposes he should have expected it. Lord Denholm gives him a short tour of some of the areas they pass, but all of the information he vaguely processed goes out the window when he sees a humanoid figure cloaked in its own ivory-white wings. He watches his host unlock the door to the cell, and follows him, eyes wide in curiosity.

Lord Denholm holds out a hand, indicating for Cal to wait. He opens the door, stepping in first, speaking so low, so quietly that Cal is sure he isn’t supposed to hear this. 

“Hello, little ruin. I’ve brought you a new friend.” 

He stalks back towards Cal, gesturing him into the room. Cal steps in, hands folded in front of him, feeling like a child being introduced to a class. Instead of several equally-nervous students in front of him, however, there’s just one other person, wrapped in their own wings. 

Lord Denholm looked at Cal before frowning, stepping forwards and beginning to gently tease the wings from where they wrapped around the stranger, nudging them open.

The best way Cal could describe him was an angel, hair golden, warm brown eyes clouded and unfocused. He was dressed in thin clothes, not nearly enough to keep him warm in the cold air of the dungeon, and he stared off into space, beyond the two of them. He was breathing, leaned on the wall, wings wrapped around him. The lights were on, but no one was home. 

Cal moves to ask a question, but he’s interrupted before he can get a single sound out. 

“Completely catatonic, unfortunately. He can’t feel, see, or hear anything. I do try to wake him up, of course, but nothing has worked.” 

Cal saw something twitch in Lord Denholm’s face, but couldn’t identify what it was. He chose to identify the emotion as exhausted resignation, no matter if that was truly what was being expressed or not. 

“On the bright side, it does make for a useful body for experimentation.” Cal was about to speak, to protest, but was interrupted. “He won’t remember anything, and while I typically have… someone else… fix him back up after, I presume you wouldn’t mind assisting me instead?”

It takes a second, but Cal nods. “I suppose there’s no harm in it. What are you looking to accomplish?” Lord Denholm smiles, and there’s a flicker of something Cal can’t place as he takes Cal by the forearm and pulls him closer to the angel.

“I’ve been working on a little something. You brought up a history with studying magic, yes?” “Yes, but- mine’s more of a study of necessity. Of handling the issue of too much latent magic.” “Mm.” Lord Denholm nods. “This is… not that. Do you consider yourself qualified to assist me in testing a spell? Unfortunately, it is one which needs a living subject, and my other test subjects have had… a difficult time. It must be him.” Cal rolls the idea around in his head. On one hand, someone who can’t fight back, who may be unaware of what’s happening… it makes him feel sick, a sinking feeling settling into his throat. But on the other hand, Lord Denholm’s sharp eyes on him and his own desire for power- even over one who is powerless- he can’t help but buckle under the pressure.

“Alright. What do you need?” 

The sharp smile widens, and he pulls Cal closer. 

“I’ve been testing- prototyping, really- a spell. I need you to be on hand as I test it for today. I’m attempting a small medical examination, to monitor him. Make sure he’s well.” Cal pauses, but nods. That makes sense. “Could you fetch him for me? Just up onto the table there, please.” Lord Denholm gestures to a table across the room, about waist height.

Cal looks over. The angel has chains around his ankles- poetic, in any other situation- and he looks like he’s worlds away, eyes clouded over. 

He steps forwards, crouching down a bit. “Hi. My name’s,  um… Cal. It’s nice to meet you.” He paused, looking back to Lord Denholm, who raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to have to get close now, okay?” He knew the man couldn’t hear him, of course, but it made him feel better to talk like this. Soft and low, like one would talk to a child afraid of a new adult. Slowly, Cal knelt down and reached out, clicking open the cuffs one at a time before he picked up the angel- a bit of an odd embrace, seeing as he was taller than Cal and had huge, beautiful wings, which made the whole ordeal a bit difficult and clumsy. After a bit of struggle, he ended up ‘walking’ the angel with his arm over Cal’s shoulders, even as one of the wings kept bumping into his face.

Still, he brought the man over, sitting him up on the table, holding his hands and propping him up against the wall for stability. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know. He can’t hear you.” Lord Denholm took long strides until he stood beside Cal, placing a couple of things down on the table. 

“It makes me feel better. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” Cal’s reply was met with a sharp scoff, a barely-smothered laugh. 

“And here I was thinking most fledgelings like you took after their sire. You do know what Valdemar gets up to in his castle, yes?” Cal pauses.

“I’m aware. The difference is that we work on those who deserve it.” Another laugh. “And what makes you think that he doesn’t? He could be a murderer. A con artist. Or worse.” Lord Denholm runs a hand over the man’s wing as he speaks, a small smile on his face.

“He’s an angel,” Cal says, “they don’t- they aren’t capable of things like that.” The look of mild, amused incredulity he gets in response to that tells Cal his education at the abbey may have been a bit lacking in more places than he realized. 

“I want you to hold him as he is.” Lord Denholm speaks, and Cal nods, hopping up on the table so he can support the man. He gets another amused chuckle from his host as he shifts to put his hands on the angel’s shoulders, supporting him quite awkwardly.

“Good. Keep him like that.” There’s an odd tone in Lord Denholm’s voice, one that makes Cal almost wonder if something else was going on, but instead he just focused on keeping the angel in place. He tried to keep the two of them as comfortable as possible. After all, it was for the good of research, but nobody had to be uncomfortable, right?

A flick of the wrist, and his host’s hand has a faint shimmer of magic over it. Impressive. He smiles, a look that says ‘watch this’, and then his hand is pressing into the angel, right under his collarbone, on the side where Cal holds him. 

It’s equal parts fascinating and nauseating as the hand pushes through the flesh with all the effort of pushing your hand through mud. No claws, no blood, nothing but a simple, easy, smooth motion. Cal isn’t sure if he’s blinked while he watches the display. 

Against his best interests, Cal lets out a low whistle, wide-eyed and impressed. Denholm grins, and moves his hand, slowly, like he’s pushing through molasses. There’s no visible wound left when his hand moves, but there’s some bruising on the angel’s dark skin.  

“His muscles are in good shape. There’s the same ratio of muscle to fat from last time I checked him.” Cal nods, feeling like he’s supposed to be taking notes. Something in his brain calls bullshit, and he tells it to shut up before any doubt can settle in. 

“You’ve done this before?” “I have to make sure he’s not deteriorating. What kind of a host would I be if I let my guests break down under my care?” 

Cal decides that’s good enough, and shifts the angel when Lord Denholm waves a hand, moving him so he slumped forwards a little. The hand inside of his chest presses in further, and there’s an uncomfortable bulge visible on the man’s shoulderblade as Denholm searches for something. Cal feels a little nauseated. After a bit of this, Denholm presses down, and there’s a sudden, violent jerk of the angel’s arm, shoulder going up and almost hitting Cal. After he settles back down, the man’s breathing steadying back to low, shallow breaths, Denholm removes his hand, coated in blood. 

Cal’s stare as Lord Denholm lazily draws his tongue along his thumb, tasting the man’s blood, doesn’t go unnoticed. His fangs have extended, and he hadn’t realized just how hungry he’d been until just now. 

With a chuckle, Denholm extended his hand to Cal.

“Would you like a taste?” He was… hungry. But the idea… it sickened him a bit, even as the orange-scarlet caught what little light there was in the room and shimmered in its thin coating on the man’s hand.

“I’m okay.” “If you insist.” The smug grin returned, and Cal’s host knelt down a little, so his face was roughly level with the man’s stomach. 

“His reflexes work. Remind me if we do this again while you’re here, alright? I want to see what I can do with that.” Cal nodded again. “Move him so he faces forwards.” The man was shifted from his slightly diagonal positioning, and Cal settled down, watching his host and the angel in equal parts. Idly, he looked at the feathers next to his face. Bryn had preened before, so he was used to dealing with feathers from winged humanoids. They were pretty.

A soft grunt echoed from the man, which caused one of Denholm’s eyebrows to raise. Cal looked back down, and saw that his host had a hand inside of the angel’s stomach. “Are they… like human organs?” Cal asks, against his better judgement. He’s only met with a shrug in return, though. 

He stares as the hand runs through intestines none of them can see, sometimes eliciting small noises that seem to come more from bodily instinct or pressure on the lungs than anything else. The only movement Cal makes is to push up his glasses. The movement is almost hypnotic. In his mind, he’s imagining the movement of intestines, the idea of pulling them out like unraveling a skein of yarn. It’s oddly, disgustingly beautiful, and he almost loses himself in the mental image. 

Then, after what felt like moments and eons, the hand moves, pulling out of the flesh slightly, never fully leaving. 

“I want to try something new, alright?” Denholm asks, and Cal gets the feeling he’s not the one being spoken to here. For a stark moment, he’s just an accessory to this exchange, a pawn in- 

No. No, no, this is research. Denholm is talking to himself, nothing else. He moves the man so Denholm could more easily press his hand back in, at the shoulder, searching with intent this time. 

He presses in, just a bit farther, and his wrist shifts like he’s grabbing something. 

Cal didn’t expect to see the man’s pupils come into focus. He expected the sharp intake of breath even less. And when the wings stretched out and one snapped to hit him directly in the face, he was taken completely off-guard, knocked to the floor with surprising strength. 

His hand flew up, and Cal wasn’t sure if it was the fact he’d just been hit in the head with a wing- and then shortly after, the floor he’d fallen onto- or not, but he was momentarily delighted when a small trickle of blood came out of his nose. He was circulating- which meant he was healthy, for a vampire. 

He came back to his senses relatively quickly, though, and he realized what was going on. Denholm was shaking his hand off, and the angel was breathing heavily, eyes wide, having moved drastically. 

“Sir- Mister- Lord Denholm, we woke him up!” “No.” Cal’s excitement was cut short as he saw Lord Denholm step closer, and something- magic- snap around the wrists of the angel, pinning his hands to the table. In a panic, Cal scrambled back up to his feet, darted forwards, trying to dispel whatever this was- he was awful at figuring out what magic was what, if Bryn was here he’d have it figured out, if Bryn was here he’d have some salve or herb or potion or incantation that could free the man in seconds. 

“Hello, my little ruin.” Lord Denholm’s voice had lost the gentle, if sleazy, kindness it’d had when he spoke to Cal. It was now equal parts predator and poison, calm and cold and slimy. 

“That’s not my name.” The angel spat, struggling against the bindings. 

“Altair, then. Don’t get used to it. I trust you enjoyed our experiments?” 

Altair. Elze’ith- from two nights ago, the nice one he’d spoken to, the pretty thing- had spoken of him. Of being separated. Of longing, and desperation, and wishes for him to be safe, wherever he was.

Cal made a mental note not to tell Elze’ith of this. 

A hand pressed against Cal’s chest, pushing him in a smooth motion so he stepped back, hands pulled away from where he was trying to dispel the magical restraints. 

Denholm had brushed past him like he was nothing, and the way he looked at Altair was sickeningly hungry. 

“Did you like your new friend? He’ll be staying with us for a few days. I thought I’d show him a few of my favorite things.” Cal’s stomach turned in knots, and he stepped forwards again. He can explain, he’s sure this is some sort of misunderstanding, there’s a happy ending to this. There’s a way things work out where nobody’s mad and he can do the right things and everyone likes him. He’s sure of it. 

“Are you- are- are you okay, I-” “Quiet.” 

Denholm’s voice catches him off guard, and Cal shuts up. This is different. Lord Valdemar- Montresor- has only spoken to him like this a few times. It’s gotten the message across. Enough for Cal’s voice to die in his throat, even as it’s another lord giving the order. 

Altair snaps something at him, hisses some insult Cal isn’t privy to, and Denholm hisses something back. Cal feels like a foreign element, and he just wishes his legs would let him run, let him get the hell out of here, try and find his way back home and not stop running until he’s back in his king’s arms. 

“Cal,” Lord Denholm says, and he looks over his shoulder. Cal stares back, and he hopes to everything he considers powerful that he doesn’t look half as scared and sickened as he feels. “You seemed interested in Altair here. How about I leave you two alone to get to know each other?” The tone shift catches him off-guard. He’s done something wrong. He’s not sure what. It’s like he’s back at the abbey again, and when Denholm waves his hands to extinguish the torches across the room, Cal realizes he’d probably told the man a little too much when they spoke by the fire a few nights ago. He can’t make himself speak, can’t make himself move. He doesn’t have half the fight Altair does- Altair, who’s still trying to free himself, wings fluttering wide.

Denholm’s smug smile returns, and Cal suddenly, painfully understands how it feels to be on the other side of the power dynamic here. 

“And don’t bite too hard, if you need to feed. I like him alive.” 

And then he closes the door, the magic dissipates, and Cal and Altair are left alone, to stare at one another in the darkness.