#whichever one has the or a dark lord?

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Our Throne of Ruin

Chapter One: Blood-Stained Hand of a Royal

Plus-size/Chubby afab! fem! Princess!Reader x Villain!Simon

Warnings and Disclaimers: Violence, Assault, and Attempted Sexual Assault?? (Not by Simon, it is disgusting and uncomfortable so please do not continue if you have a faint heart), Gore, Severed Body Parts, Decapitation.

Genres: Romance, x Reader Insert, Alternate Universe, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Villain AU, Arranged Marriage, Dark Romance??

Throne Of Blood and Ruin Playlist <3

My CoD Masterlist and Series Masterlist <3

If you prefer to read it in Wattpad's format (Please leave comments) <3

A/n: A repost of this in hopes that the Tumblr algorithm is just fucking with me because I'm so heartbroken about the lack of interaction. Unfairly odd for you guys to ignore sum like this. I'm sorry to those expecting a new chapter. Whichever one does better will be included in the Masterlist. If this and the first one doesn't work then I'm quitting writing and Tumblr istg.

"My lady, these appear to be exceedingly valuable," Leticia, your young handmaiden, exclaimed breathlessly as she held up the ruby-encrusted silver earrings against your ears to see how they would look on you.

"I'm certain the lord who dispatched it desires a royal womb for their heirs," you said with a scoff, rolling your eyes, as you favored jewelry received as genuine gifts over bribes.

Leticia offered a simple smile, setting aside the jewelry she held into the untouched box, and instead, she searched for the ones you favored most… gold, diamonds, and pearls.

Earrings that match the pearls and gold details on the bodice of your dress perfectly, complemented by a crown crafted from the same materials as the jewels dangling from your ears.

Your senior handmaiden, Agatha, attempted to kneel and place your walking jewelry on your feet.

"Agatha! What are you doing?" you exclaimed, though the answer was clear to you. Before she could reply, you interjected, "No, please. I appreciate your willingness to serve, but don't kneel; it could injure you."

With a sigh, you stood from your vanity seat and helped her to her feet. She responded with a smile brimming with thankfulness.

"As kind and caring as ever, Your Highness," she said, lifting the small basin filled with rosewater to wash your hands, then gently wiping them with a white cloth dampened in the scented water.

The gods are aware that the woman has aged gracefully, yet there's concern she may injure herself with the relentless demanding tasks handmaidens endure. You slip on your shoes while Leticia unravels your hair from the curling cloths.

"What would you like done with your hair, my lady?"

"Pearls, Leticia…" you murmured, gazing into the mirror.

Once your handmaidens had finished preparing you, Leticia suggested a leisurely walk. She knew you might use this as the perfect opportunity to have an encounter with those vying for affection.

With a light melody on your lips, you wandered the castle's ramparts with an air of freedom.

You turn to a corner to find a man, only you could assume was a contender as well. Dressed in whatever garb their nation was to consider fashion, he had two knights along either side of him. The way he held himself, you could already tell. How arrogant.

You walked past him without much care to greet him, a test to see how he'd take rejection. He commands his knights to leave him be, striding next to you.

"I must admit I wasn't expecting to be graced with your presence so soon." He said you didn't respond verbally. Instead choosing to raise a brow at his statement, clearly not realizing that he's talking to you far too casually for your liking.

He scoffs, trying to wrap his arm around your shoulder to which you shrugged his hand off. "You reek of ale and brothels" you whispered to yourself as you subtly waved off the smell of his breath from your face.

You felt an almost cracking pain on your wrist as you were yanked back, your eyes widened, he had heard you.

You tried to free yourself but instead, he pulled the clasp and chain of your necklace, effectively choking you with the decorative metal against your skin. You pried your hands between it and your neck, desperately trying to claw his grip off.

The pain was unlike anything you had ever experienced, burning intensely. Your breaths were shallow and frantic. Tears welled up uncontrollably, spilling over.

It felt as though the muffled choking sounds were yours alone as your body convulsed. Your windpipe seemed to be caving under an unyielding grip, with every attempt to breathe met by an impenetrable barrier.

A wet, sloppy tongue dragged across your cheek, leaving a slimy trail that made your skin crawl. The unexpected touch was cold and clammy, like the lick of a serpent, and the stench of sour mixed with the pungent smell of fermented bitterness in his breath lingered in the air.

Your stomach churned with disgust as your body flinched away from his chest which he forcibly pressed against your back. Disgusting bastard, his chuckling fueled your nerves with more anger and fear.

"Pretty, defenseless little princess.." You attempted to protest, but it emerged as nothing more than a feeble whimper.

Someone, help me. Please...

You prayed for the air, for someone...

It wasn't until he was yanked away that you heard a thud, and you began to violently cough, the pressure on your throat finally easing. Collapsing to your knees, you groaned from the sudden pain, crawling away before turning to see what had transpired.

The man who just attempted to assault you on the ground and unconscious as an unrecognizable but broad figure retreated to the shadows out of the corner of your eye, just observing.

All your life, you've felt like s prey to the disgusting eyes of men older than your father, this wasn't new.

"My lady!" The scream of your handmaiden, Leticia, echoed as she rounded the corner in search of you. Panic etched her features, tears brimming at the sight of the redness on your neck.

You deemed it unwise to inform your king of the incident, especially since he was the one attempting to auction you off to a man who fancied himself a god among men.

You dusted your gown off as you instructed Leticia to ask for a tonic at the castle's apothecary, your throat nearly giving out at the soreness.

You had opted to seek solace at your place of worship before continuing through the not-so-exciting festivities your father arranged, despite your attempts to distract yourself, you cannot shake off the feeling of being watched.

Something waiting to pounce at you from within the shadows..

Prayer beads, it wasn't in your pockets.

You continue to pat around your body. "My lady, you seem troubled. Is something amiss?" Leticia asked, concern never leaving her tone since the events that transpired.

"My prayer beads, I must've misplaced or dropped them earlier," You mumbled.

"Oh.." was all she could respond, she knew how cherished that item was to you, being passed down from your mother.

"I'll make sure to find them later on, I swear that on my own mother," she lifted her palm, and a small smile broke from your lips at the promise.

You get up from your knees to set the candle you've lit down on the foot of the monument of the goddess of marriage and fertility, payers inclined to help you find a husband, unlike your father. Hoping your mother will also hear your prayers in the afterlife.

"Leticia, my shawl please" You sighed. She slipped the thin fabric over your exposed shoulders and replaced your colored veil with your earlier embellishments.

...

You composed yourself as well as possible, attempting to breathe steadily and keep your eyes open to avoid flashes of the experience from just a few hours before by picking the skin next to your nails.

Gripping your aching neck, you felt the imprints of the recent assault. As your gaze shifted to the entrance, the massive doors groaned, pushed open by the servants outside.

From the comfort of your cushioned throne, you surveyed the assembly, noting how the sound redirected their attention to the entrance, just as your eyes had done moments before.

The usual commotion and conversation that overlapped one another at such an event died out faster than poison could kill a rat, all sounds replaced by the clanking of metal... most can recognize the hollow sound of armor and the sharp end of a sword scratching the stone floor.

There a familiar broad man stood. You can't quite put your finger on it, but his face is like something out of your dreams, masked with a knight's great helm.

The silence was defending as he left the people speechless or much rather afraid to speak of anything, covered in blood and some flesh stood a stranger.

He made his way in, the crowds of nobles making a path for him as he did. The carpet beneath him somehow cushioning his heavily metal-cladded steps.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the stranger as he got closer, only now seeing what he had by his side while he hastily threw his great helm on the ground to pay his respect in court.

The severed head of the noble who tried to lay a hand on you, holding it by the fistful of hair as the blood from the neck stained the fur carpet below it.

You hear the king beside you as he chokes. He could not control his breathing, seeming to be on the verge of a heart attack.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! YOU INSOLENT BASTARD, YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!" One of the nobles in the crowd screamed with much anger, must be his father or a figure of some sort.

The man attempts to lunge at the man in armor but is held back by three of the palace knights. Loud clanking as the lord hit the armored men over and over.

Oddly enough, you weren't terrified after the initial shock. The man that stood before you severed the head of the same man who tried to commit an unforgivable act on you, it was almost poetic in its own way... satisfying even.

He knelt before you instead of your father, much to your surprise. Gasps and murmurs emulated from the nobles and royals present, apart from the screaming guardian of the beheaded suitor.

He had no respect for the head he held as he threw it on the side, having it roll to the king's feet who had no words of offense as he was too shocked to utter anything but silent stuttering.

On one knee the man with blood-soaked presumably light hair remained, his head down, eyes still on the floor. You stood up from your throne, head held high as you walked towards the armored fellow.

The intricate precious metal encrusted with priceless jewels hung on your ears and swayed along with the ones in your hair. The train of your silk gown flows effortlessly behind you.

Your eyes on him at every step, he lifted his gaze from down below onto you, his hand shifting. Uncertain of what to anticipate, you watched as he extended his hand toward you, palm open, the callouses on his fingers beckoning you closer.

You care not for the blood that stained his hand and caked under his nails, so you hesitantly slipped your fingers in his, heart pounding out of your chest as the stranger bathed in blood grinned at seeing your hand in his.

He gripped your hand in the most gentle way you've ever had anyone touch you. He lightly tugged on your arm and let you naturally step closer with his guidance as he brought the back of your hand up to his lips.

You felt his dry yet warm lips on your knuckles, eyes up on you as he looked for approval. You blinked, and for a moment your eyes drifted to the severed head.. its own open but soulless before you reverted your gaze back to the man who has your hand.

With another kiss on your ring, he releases your hand. You gaze at it, noticing how the blood has stained it in an effortlessly abstract pattern.

Breathlessly staring at your hand, now tainted with the filthy blood of one of the bastards who hurt and wronged you. Staring back at you, presenting an opportunity on a silver platter, all just for you...

Series Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @duck-a-doodle @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @drewsmusee @sommii @sleep101 @blueladys-world @myspaceisra @bumblebeesfromvenus @penumbrie @nicolebarnes

[aemondsquill]

In Honor's Name

Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your new husband, Prince Aemond Targaryen, is truly an enigma. While he is cold and dismissive, he also proves to be quite the formidable protector of his lady wife

A/N: reader is from an unspecified House and has no physical descriptions

Warnings: Aemond's rizz is atrocious, violence, toxic relationship, hurt/comfort, Aemond IS a WIFE GUY, slight angst, floooof, implications of smut

Aemond Targaryen was not known for wearing his heart on his sleeve; actually it was quite the contrary, much to the dismay of his brand new wife. Attempting any form of conversation with the man was like yanking nails. He only gave one word answers or hum in response.

However, while he was not gifted in the arts of wooing his wife with his words, Y/N appreciated just how physically attentive he was. A gentle hand on her lower back when he guided her through the halls of the Keep, his fingers resting on her knee during long dinners, or his presence looming over her shoulder at banquets and feasts. These touches were the only indication that he even tolerated her.

----

Y/N was in no mood for the festivities laid out before her. Aegon decided to throw another feast for whichever unknown Lord's nameday or birth of an heir or perhaps he was just bored. Aemond, as always, was seated next to her. If he had not helped Y/N into her own seat, she would not even had known that he was there. The silence between them seemed to be even more stifling than the obnoxious noises of merriment that echoed through the great hall.

Y/N glared at the couples dancing, envious that they seemed to be enjoying themselves. She learned the hard way that Aemond does not dance. A sharp 'no' from his lips when she invited him to dance on their wedding day was enough to discourage her from ever asking again.

'How lucky am I to be married to such a bland brooding man?' She thought scornfully. He was confusing with his gentle touches, but harsh words and Y/N was done trying to figure him out. She would only do her duty: be a loyal wife and produce an heir or two. It wasn't much of a life, but there were worse ways to live.

Y/N reached for her cup, full of a dark Dornish red, and drank it greedily. The wine was delightfully bitter on her tongue.

Soon enough, a buzz flowed through her veins like warmed honey and made her brain slightly heavy. Y/N's spirits were lifted as the music swelled and the laughter all around her felt contagious.

With a new surge of confidence, Y/N turned to her ever-stoic husband. He eyed her curiously at her sudden movement.

"I supposed I shan't ask you for a dance, Lord husband, allow me to take my leave so I may find a willing partner." Without waiting for a response, Y/N shot out of her seat and grasped her velvety skirts and stalked towards Tyland Lannister.

Aemond's mouth gaped, slightly resembling a fish plucked out of the water. He could only watch helplessly as his wife, giggling and eyes shining, began an elegant waltz with the Lannister.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped his fork tightly, jealousy boiling in his chest at the site of Tyland gripping his wife's waist and twirling her about.

Perhaps Aemond deserved to watch his wife fall for another. He knew he had not been a doting husband, but at least he wasn't cruel. He just felt uncomfortable expressing his affection for his Y/N!

Aemond would not accept the consequences of his own actions. She was his and everyone in the Keep would know it, especially that slimy cunt Tyland.

His anger was only spurred on when he watched the Lannister grip Y/N's arm tightly and whisper a salacious secret into her ear. Her face contorted in offense, causing Aemond to nearly leap over the table in front of him.

In a split second, Aemond was nose to nose with blond Lannister.

"I will fucking tear your eyes out of your head and force them down your throat if you so much as glance at my wife again." Even Y/N felt the chill of fear tingle her spine at Aemond's threat. Tyland only smirked at the brutal confrontation. Copious amounts of wine and ale only made Tyland more bold. And foolish.

Aemond placed his hand on the small of her back, more forcefully than usual.

"Come, wife, allow me to escort you to your chambers."

"Perhaps if you weren't such a frigid cunt maybe your wife wouldn't seek company elsewhere. Leave her to me and trust she will be taken care of."

Y/N felt the surge of humiliation warm her cheeks at Tyland's horrific words. The anger rolled off Aemond's shoulders in heavy waves as Tyland tugged Y/N back into his chest and continued his vicious tirade.

"Unhand my wife and I shall reward you with a swift death."

"I heard your wife has the sweetest cunt in Westeros", his nose grazed along her neck, inhaling her scent. "I wish to taste her."

A vile glint flashed across Aemond's violet eye and in an instant he yanked Y/N out of Tyland's arms, tossing her carelessly as he pursued the Lannister further.

Y/N yelped as she stumbled to the stony floor. She could only watch in horror as her husband's hands wrapped around Tyland's throat so hard that the veins bulged.

"I am the only one who will taste my wife's cunt."

Tyland's face turned red, then blue, then an ugly shade of purple as Aemond's hands slowly squeezed the life out of him. Tyland feebly attempted to grip Aemond's arms, chest, anything he could get his hands on as he crumpled to the floor.

"She tastes of the sweetest honey. She will only bear my heirs. She is mine and only mine." Y/N couldn't help the feeling of her cheeks flush at Aemond's obscene flattery.

Aemond did not let up his assault. Instead, the bulging of Lord Lannister's eyes seemed to egg him on to press harder and harder.

Y/N shouted for the nearby guards to stop her husband from killing his House's ally.

It took nearly four men to wretch Aemond away from the scoundrel. Once he stood he shrugged off their hands and immediately stalked towards Y/N. Her eyes widened in fear as she stumbled backwards slightly. Her flinch halted Aemond in his tracks briefly, a pang rattled his chest painfully. His little display of violence and jealousy only scared his beloved wife.

Aemond took a couple more steps, this time with caution so as not to frighten her more before placing his hand on her back.

"Let us retire, little wife." And she allowed him to guide her back to her chambers in silence.

The winding corridors allowed her to replay the scene over and over in her head. Never had she seen Aemond react to anything in such a way. Nor had he spoken this many words to her in the few months they had been married.

They reached the large oak doors of Y/N's chambers and Aemond ushered her inside.

"You should not have done that. You could have killed him."

Aemond regarded her coldly, "I wish I did. I wish everyone in that hall witnessed me killing him." Y/N rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. Aemond approached her and reached for her hand, but she pulled away before speaking sternly at him.

"No. You do not get to touch me after embarrassing your House like that and nearly killing a man!"

"I was defending your honor! Tis my duty as your husband!" He snarled. He reached out and grabbed at her again, this time pulling her into his chest and she squirmed against him.

"Stop resisting me. I wish to hold my wife and I shall do so!"

Never had Aemond been so vocal and obvious about his affection towards her. It threw Y/N into a whirlwind of emotion.

Finally, she stopped fighting against him and met his glare with her own. The two breathed heavily against each other, neither used to such intimate proximity outside of fucking.

"I have been damned by the gods to love you."

Y/N scoffed. "I never knew you could be so romantic. First you nearly kill a man, now you're saying you hate loving me."

Aemond closed his eye and sighed, mentally kicking himself for his fumbled words. His arm tightend around her waist. Y/N was annoyed at the warmth that flooded her chest at the feeling.

"I love you, little wife. So much so, my words seemed to escape me, but it's true. In the short time we've been married I have fallen deeper than I can possibly fathom. It frightens me. Seeing Tyland Lannister put his hands on you drove me to the brink of madness. I would kill a thousand men and their widows if you asked me to."

Y/N's eyes softened at his clumsy declaration. In his own strange and murderous way, he held a great affection for her and Y/N's heart melted at the thought.

She brushed a lock of hair out of his eye, sighing.

"You know you cannot kill every man who speaks to me."

"I know, but I can kill most of them." She chuckled at his attempt at a jest.

Aemond found himself not able to resist any longer. He kissed her soft supple lips with fervor. Y/N moaned softly in delight.

"I have to make good on a promise I made to that Lannister cunt, little wife."

[your-nanas-house]

Would you be willing to do a dark NSFW Tom Riddle oneshot?

I'd really be interested in seeing super possessive, super jealous, super protective Tom. Like maybe the reader and Tom were friends with benefits, however the reader realizes they has feelings. So, they randomly distance themselves from him and secretly start seeing one of his followers until they decide to go public. He tries to manipulate her back to being with him by saying things like "he doesn't make you feel the way I make you, does he darling?" (maybe more provocative and intense) I lowkey imagine him sneaking in the readers dorm and they were preparing for an outing with whichever follower they are dating when Tom comes out of the shadows, standing behind them and he kisses down their neck which saying manipulative things. Before the reader pushes him back and says "no, I love (followers name)" even though that isn't the case. That is when the follower the reader is with, walks in and eyes Tom wearily before the reader says "(followers name), can we go? Please, I want to go." because the reader knew that they'd cave to Tom. Tom only gets more persistent, trying to be patient, but his mindset is that the reader will come crawling back to him because this isn't the first time this has happened. However, this is the longest time the reader has been away from him and it is then that he realizes that he does have feelings which frightens him. He comes to terms with having one weakness, the reader. Ultimately, he gets impatient and does things his way to get the reader back. Sorry if this is a lot!

Hello! Ofc 🥰 sorry if it took me so much, I tried to find a way to put everything you wanted in a oneshot. Dw, I loved this idea so much!!!

Just an affair (?)

◇ Pairing: Tom Riddle X fem!Reader, Abraxas Malfoy X fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: SMUT, harassment, Tom Riddle, fluff, angst and dark themes (Slytherin!Reader but can be seen as any other house if you want to 🥰)

◇ Summary: You try to move on but Tom doesn't want that.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

Your gaze was blank and empty, focused on nothing in particular since you were too lost in your thoughts to be aware of your surroundings.

Too many things were going on in your head, especially since you managed to stop your little affair with your classmate, Tom Riddle, a pleasurable, lovable and rough affair that you kind of missed.

You really missed the warmth of his body, his teeth against your sensitive skin, his cold touch followed by the rough and needy kisses, his scent that invaded your senses— this awful sensation kept coming back every time you saw him behind the walls of your magic school ‘Hogwarts’.

You saw him that day too, after exiting the women’s bathroom with your friend and classmate, Walburga Black; you two were just heading back to your dorms when you nearly crashed against Tom Riddle's chest, the man that you tried to ignore and avoid since a while now.

You nearly shivered when his dark eyes met yours but you managed to hide it, nodding as a greeting as Walburga squealed an awkward 'hello, my lord" while she followed you quickly.

It was a Saturday so you didn't have any classes but since you had managed to join the Slugclub, you had to visit professor Slughorn to get an invitation to the club's fifth dinner of the year— then after that you would have been finally free to enjoy your day of rest and get ready for the date with your new boyfriend.

A hot, pale, blond, classmate of yours, belonging to the same house as you and to a rich and prestigious family in the pureblood's view.

Yes, boyfriend.

After you stopped to meet Tom Riddle in secret and decided to move on, you started to see one of his followers and fellow Slytherin— Abraxas Malfoy.

Your feet were a little tired from so much walking in your last few days and because you had started practicing walking in heels to make a good impression on the blond on your date— you had also bought, with Walburga, a new dress only for that occasion.

That's where you were heading at that moment, straight to your dorm room to fix your appearance before Abrasax could bring you to Hogsmeade for the day; you nearly rushed inside of your room, closing the door before heading to your mirror to start apply the makeup of the day— you already did that that morning but you wanted to be fresh and prettier than ever.

That's when a cold touch made your body freeze, exactly when your gaze was focused on the new dress.

It didn't take long for your makeup, you didn't overdo it usually, only the hair was your big problem— you spent minutes and minutes trying to find the most suitable hairstyle and then ended up pulling it up into a simple yet sophisticated hairstyle as you dropped the robe that covered your body.

"Little Dove, my little Dove" his voice echoed in your mind as your eyes moved slowly up to meet Tom's dark and empty gaze— he had an ironing grip on your bare hips and his soft pink lips were brushing against your skin.

Luckily you managed to put quickly the dress on to cover yourself a bit in front of Tom.

His white teeth grazed against the spot that made your knees weak and that he knew way too well

"You're playing a dangerous game, my dear— trying to get me by pretending to be interested in someone else" he growled sodtly, pressing himself against your back to make you feel his hardening cock as his hand grabbed your throat.

For the first time you were afraid but still pretty horny, like everytime you could smell his delicious masculine scent— but you needed to stop him this time; you could already feel that ticklish feeling crawling back in your lower belly, exploding in you like thousand of butterflies.

'No, not this time and not anymore' you told yourself more and more scared of the feelings that became slowly love.

You tried to move from his grip, your breath becoming heavier

"Tom, n-no— you must stop" you tried, earning just a threating growl causing his hands to hold you stiller, his hips grinding against your butt, managing that way to press his now rock-hard erection between your ass cheeks

"You know you want it too, Y/n—" Tom murmured against the shell of your ear, licking it slowly before continuing to talk, using now a more sensual and low voice the same one he always used during one of your heated and passionate sessions of sex

"Stop pretending or resisting, we both know that you will crawl back to me— as soon as you will realize how childish your behavior is right now".

His hand slowly moved from your hip to your front, stroking slowly your lower back before playing with your panties and move his pale hand inside of them to touch your wet pussy— like he wanted since the day you started to ignore him.

Usually this would lead to Tom having his long fingers buried inside your wet folds— his fingers would then be replaced by his cock which filled you up to your cervix, preventing you from thinking straight as he ruined you wherever he wanted, not this time though.

Sure enough, someone knocked on the dorm door taking you both by surprise— thus allowing you to move Tom's hand away from your panties before Abraxas couldn't see as he entered the room.

His clear gaze was fixed on you two and he started to frown slightly, since he wasn't really expecting to see Tom Riddle himself there— he couldn't ask any questions, though, or think much about why he was there as your voice stopped his thoughts

"Can we please go, Brax?— Please" you begged for a second time, taking his hand before following him quickly out of the Slytherin's common room, leaving Tom alone.

.

On the evening of the same day of your date and when Tom had finally managed to find a moment when you were all alone— right that day, the wizard found himself in his bed in his dormitory, on top of his cold sheets with his gaze fixed on the ceiling and his head full of thoughts of you.

His hand wrapped around his hard-rock cock, the thin fabric of your panties brushing against his balls every time his hand moved up and down.

As the thought of you with another man his pace got faster, he inhaled deeply from his nostrils while his jaw clenched

"F-Fucking slut" he murmured between clenched teeth as he thought about you, his back arched in a lovingly way as he approached his climax slowly.

A soft groan left his lips before he bit his bottom lip, purring your name before coming all over his hand and your dark green stolen panties.

He wanted you back, no he needed you back, you were his and only his— Noone else's.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

[throwaway-yandere]

Apotheosis Upon Your First Feast (Yandere!Wanderer & Pantalone/Reader)

Commissioned by: @leftdestiny-posts/@eternally-frozen (ilysm. Feel free to kill me later lmao)

unreliable synopsis: After being reassigned to Vanarana when your previous coworker became the Acting Grand Sage, with the help of Ararycan, you reunited met a wanderer on an abandoned machine. Unfortunately for someone, your childhood friend "Pantalone" has ears and eyes everywhere. (Avoid this fic if you’re not a fan of dark content. It’s not too dark but your mental health matters!) 

IMPORTANT NOTE: Please use the InteractiveFics extension and change “(Y/n)” to whatever name you want, “[Wanderer]” to his chosen name, and lastly, also change “(wood/salt)” to… whichever option you feel like. It’s a surprise mechanic *wink*. If you're reading this on a phone, just pick between wood or salt right now, keep your choice in mind and commit to it : )

Afterwards, would you be so kind as to answer this fun poll after reading the fic? Danke ♡

“Why doesn't Nara (Y/n) eat what Arasaka prepares for them? Does Nara (Y/n) lack appetite lately?”

“O-Oh, well, that’s…” You paused, looking down at the broth, “in all honesty, your cooking tastes bland…”

“H-Huh?!”

Time had passed since Lesser Lord Kusanali's official ascent to power and now is the fifth month since you first made friends with the Aranaras. Many events took place before you found your pyro vision becoming Arasaka's torch as they cooked– and if any of your coworkers saw you now, they probably wouldn’t identify you as Alhaitham’s (only) friend and Ex-Sage Azar’s lazy employee.

Maybe they would've if you helped Alhaitham and his teammates secure Sumeru’s future.

Sure, your name isn’t listed in the coup d’etat, but that’s only because you wished for the Akademiyan scholars to make the epiphany for themselves. As Azar’s ex-assistant, you laid low from projects as a prerequisite so that the populace may acquire a personality of their own to make the nation truly deserving of the title “Land of Wisdom.” 

Alas, that did not happen.

Alhaitham’s tactics were not wrong, but you felt like his group spoonfed Sumeru citizens with the Fatui’s crimes rather than having their own realizations. It did not feel like growth to you. It felt like the people casually learned from a one-sitting textbook rather than a hands-on experiment when they should’ve personally learned how minacious blind ambitions could be. In turn, he argued that your ideas were barbaric and that scholars revolting was not in the realm of possibility– hence, you did not lend your aid. Perhaps your inaction had pissed him off, but it’s more likely that he finds that sending you to Varanara was ideal for his workload. 

And in some strange domino effect, refraining from helping a coup d’etat meant eating the tasteless food known to man.

Since you were personally assigned a senseless task to patrol and report weather patterns in the area (which is unnecessary and quite frankly boring), you had befriended the infamous aranaras children from Port Ormos hear stories about. 

But the mundanity doesn’t hurt your pride as a graduate scholar. It's been fun so far.

“I'm sorry, 'Saka, it's just that I think your food lacks a bit of salt–"

"ASSISTANT (Y/N), THERE YOU ARE!!!"

Both of you flinched, causing Arasaka to topple over. The sound hurts. You snapped your neck towards the sound. An adventurer– Baharak– stood with both hands wrapped on her bag's shoulder straps with a silly grin on her face.  

… You’re turning the setting of your hearing aids down.

“Baharak, it’s been a while,” you spoke. “Would you mind not yelling whenever you call for me?”

“Oops– Sorry (Y/n)! I mean– sorry, Assistant (Y/n).”

Changing her volume doesn’t undo the pain she inflicted on your ears. Gently, you pushed Arasaka behind an elevated jag of root to cover them. To escape suspicion, you continued to stare at Baharak while feigning sleepiness.

“What are you here for?”

“The Forest Watcher received a letter addressed to you. The sender doesn’t have a name again, it just has the coin-seal thing.”

“Please hand it over.”

“Aight!– I mean, alright.”

After dismissing the loud adventurer and giving her spare mora as thanks, you waited until she was out of sight. Arasaka suddenly rose and jumped onto your lap, equally curious about what was written on the salt-scented parchment. Arasaka's preppy manner soon turned sour as they discovered who the sender was.

It’s a letter from your best friend, "Pantalone".

“Aww…” Arasaka whined. “Arasaka was hoping it was the Verdant Nara instead.”

You tore it open.

 

"My dearest, (Y/n),

If it's not too much to ask, may I trouble you to visit my office in Northland Bank soon? I merely wish to see you. Spending Lantern Rite alone this year was not a pleasant experience. It's just for a mere chat- I'll reimburse your traveling and dining expenses. Care to make it up to me?

Your beloved,

As per tradition, you threw the letter in the fireplace. Pantalone doesn’t like leaving a trail of evidence, naturally, you assumed the same applies here.

It's never a chore to visit a friend. Maybe you'll head there tomorrow–

“Arasaka doesn’t like Nara Pantalone.”

The aranara lowered their head, continuing, “Nara Pantalone reminds Arasaka of the Taste of Sadness.”

Cute. 

Every time Pantalone comes to visit, the aranaras behave like envious little siblings. Ever since you started patrolling Vanarana, the place had become the harbinger’s premiere leisure destination. The woods critters frequently tried to undermine his gifts, but they were adorably ineffective. Even if Pantalone cannot see them, the situation is nonetheless amusing.

If you remember correctly, the Taste of Sadness means salt to aranaras, right?

“Ah, well,” you laughed. “I guess you must be incredibly sensitive to his smell. He took quite a liking to salt-infused perfumes last year.”

“Don’t like perfume.”

“But I am wearing one though… Has the scent been bothering you all this time, Arasaka?”

“No, Arasaka was wrong. Arasaka likes perfume, and Arasaka hates salt. Taste of sadness. The scent of sadness.” 

“Oh, no! If Pantalone’s smell makes my dear Arasaka sad, then maybe we should drown him in Varunastra,” you chuckled darkly, expecting the aranara to react loudly over your out-of-pocket remark.

“Of course. Salt Nara would make for decent spare rations!”

You laughed out loud at Arasaka’s even more out-of-pocket reply. Out-of-pocket is an understatement, that comment straight up sounded out-of-the-CASKET. 

Before standing up, you ruffled Arasaka’s nonexistent hair like you would with your deceased sisters.

“I’ll come back in a few days, okay? In the meantime, why don’t you read a cookbook?”

“Hmph! Nara (Y/n), you’re being mean! Just wait! My sisters will make a dish Nara (Y/n) can’t say “no” to!” 

“It’s a dumb risk.”

“It’s a new business venture, dearest.”

“The market for new eyeglasses isn’t going to rise any time soon.”

“Why are you so adamant on opposing this idea?”

“Stagnation breeds putrefaction, especially in business, does it not?” You raised an eyebrow, preparing for a harangue. 

“Je suis d’accord!” The man spoke softly, accentuating his Fontaine pronunciation somewhat boastfully. Knowing your disability, he never raises his voice to the point of it hurting. “And it is precisely why I want to invest in an eyewear conglomerate in Sumeru.”

“Then why are you dropping your prior investments?!”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You sighed, annoyed.

Pantalone is an amazing businessman, but without your council, he wouldn’t amount to who he is now. Unlike most people, “sneakily ambitious” are not the words you would describe your visionless friend. Such a moniker sounds insulting given his lack of celestial blessings and you know Celestia itself never took kindly towards his well-versed dirty tricks against his opponents.

In your humble opinion, the term “industrious” is a better-suited and less backhanded compliment for him.

You’ve known Pantalone— no— “██████” since childhood. Your history stretched back so much that you no longer recall the circumstances of how you befriended him. He acted as your ears when it came to haggling and normal day-to-day chores. As far as you know, he has always been an older brother to you. In times of extreme poverty, you both prayed and starved together, scraping by using salt rocks as entrees. 

There was no one else that made your deafness bearable except for him. With no family left, he was your only beacon of hope and dear Morax– you’d rather not remind yourself of the time your dead sisters mistakenly ate mud for rice cakes when famine struck.  

You chose Amurta out of the Six Great Schools for a reason:

You can’t afford to watch anyone die of hunger ever again.

When you began living in Sumeru, you had pledged your alliance with the region but never forgot all the toil you had to go through. As a malnourished child, you quickly fell in love with the nation. In Sumeru, healthcare was free– in Liyue? You heard nothing, and you wished that “advantage” doesn’t make you blind from the evil you witnessed in the slums. Poverty ate away your hearing, your family, and your childhood dreams… 

In a way, the only reason you see aranaras in the first place may be that you didn’t have the chance to experience any childlike wonder until you escaped Liyue.

Pantalone scoffed, “whether you agree with my financial decision or not doesn't affect my resolve. Do not press more about this, dearest.”

… But you’re convinced that your closest confidant “██████” had already perished from starvation long ago.

The man before you calls himself “Pantalone” nowadays and you lose all sense of indolence whenever his presence looms. When he watched your last sister perish in your arms, an epiphany gave birth to his cold demeanor towards deities. He found it challenging to worship the Archons who had no need for mora but were eager to take it away from destitute mortals who needed it as you and your sisters did. The death of your younger sibling was his final straw, and in a sense, you also buried your old friend that night. 

Unlike ██████, Pantalone cannot forgive nor trust the Archons for their broken promises. If Lesser Lord Kusanali had abandoned withered forests, Rex Lapis had abandoned those whose blood and tears cannot amount to any mora. You were only allowed to study at the Akademiya after he decided the former was the lesser evil.

Although Pantalone never condemns you for calling him by his birth name, you cannot tell yourself that he and ██████ are fully the same person. There is an unspoken need to straighten your posture and greet him with a semi-scowl to demonstrate your maturity despite him acting cozy and warm. Worse, his lax demeanor never ceases to remind you that despite his uncomfortable reputation, Pantalone is the only companion you’d entrust your soul to even when the world warns you not to deal a contract with the devil.

“You just want to use new brackets every day—”

“I am a businessman, love.”

You speared Pantalone with a pointed look.

“—And why Sumeru? Have you landed a deal with a reputable Amurtan optician? And why didn’t you ask ME first? You weren’t cornered by Dottore or the Tianquan to kickstart an eyeglasses company, were you?”

He scowled, unamused before firing back without skipping a beat. 

“Summer, seven years ago. You accidentally bought six bunraku puppets from Inazuma—”

Your eyes widened. Not this embarrassing anecdote again.

“Woah, woah! Now, why are YOU extorting me?”

“So you’d be silenced quicker.”

“…”

This reticence was slowly exasperating the harbinger, but he never utters a complaint when you're whom he's conversing with. Pantalone cleared his throat with an elegant smile. In that moment of cessation, you figured that he had a seemingly innocent proposal in mind.

“(Y/n), my most dearest baobei…” The harbinger ventured.

“Pantalone…”

He pulled out his desk drawer and ferreted out a parcel that you suspect contains a pair of glasses.

“Would you care to be a test sub—”

“No.”

You have a gut feeling as to where this is going. He’s going to propose that it’s “just” glasses until you find out he’s been using you to track or spy on someone without your knowledge. Classic Pantalone. You won't be duped by that TWICE in a row. If you knew better, you wouldn’t have accidentally leaked intel to the Fatui that Katheryne was being controlled by the Lord of Verdure. All because Pantalone hid a recorder on one of his “gifted” hearing aids...

Listen— just because you refused to lend a hand to the Archon when she was in need and was subsequently confronted by the 2nd harbinger in Sumeru City doesn’t mean you were colluding with these fools. 

You just wanted to remain neutral in any given situation. Unlike your childhood friend, politics bore you to death. And just like the Acting Grand Sage, you’re too lazy to act as a beta tester no matter how minimal the effort the task requires.

“I only ask that you wear this pair of glasses and test its comfortability.”

“I refuse.”

“We can negotiate how much mora you’ll earn—”

“Just stop.”

“Hmm, if I phrase it as a “gift”, would you accept—”

“Hell no.”

Pantalone paused.

“Hmm…” He tapped his desk, gazing at the paperwork neatly piled up.

“Word of advice, (Y/n), it’s highly probable that the price of cocoa will rise next week,” he shrugged. “That fact is, of course, most definitely unrelated to our current discussion.”

Is he… 

Is he threatening to generate chocolate inflation over a pair of glasses?!

You scoffed, eyes wide.

“██████, you worthless SCALPER.“

“The majority prefer to call me a ‘regrator’, but that new nickname is acceptable as long as it is you who makes such mildly unpleasant utterances.”

“GAH! You— YOU—” Even though he may completely ruin your usual routine of buying chocolates after work, it's difficult to curse him out. You have no choice but to spout illogical syllables without a valid clause. “JUST— YOU!!! YOU.”

Smack.

Upon hearing your facepalm resoundingly, he laughed uncontrollably, removing his glasses to wipe his eye with an uneven grin on his face. He tried to keep his composure but he kept snorting. 

You took a peek between your fingers. What a precious noise. You haven’t heard him laugh like this for over three years now.

At that moment, you thought ██████ was alive.

“F-Fine— give me those damn eyeglasses.”

Pantalone drifted the parcel above your palm until he quickly retracted it as soon as you reached forward.

“But before I do that, can you promise me one thing?”

“What is it this time?” You groaned.

“Don’t lend it to anyone else, understand?” Pantalone slightly ruffled your hair. “I had it custom-made for you.”

You rolled your eyes, “that thing is definitely wiretapped. You’re not even bothering to hide it anymore.”

“Oh no, it’s not just that—” 

“Just that?”

He shrugged smugly, which was not a good sign. 

“The eyeglasses function similar to an Akasha Terminal, but of course, the information you’d find there is directly from my database.”

Pantalone opened the box and swiftly put the white-framed glasses on your face. He lightly tapped the frame—

and a control panel window flickered open.

Just like an Akasha.

“H-How on earth—”

“The Doctor and I had a deal. He’ll recreate at least 80% of a regular Akasha’s functions while I help him track down a few… crops. It’s a quid pro quo, I promise. It’s less of him exploiting me and more of me exploiting…— well, that doesn’t matter right now. C’mere, let me see your lovely face...”

Pantalone tilted your chin up with his thumb. His face was inches away from yours, and his piercing lilac eyes observed your glasses and what was behind them, calculating. His breathing was notably strained in a subconscious attempt to make you feel less uncomfortable from the position he trapped you in— ever the perfect gentleman— but you see his entire face flushed in a pinkish hue. A few seconds have passed, and you feel the glove pressed against you twitching. 

Pantalone pulled away, shoulders stiff.

His ears were red.

“I-It’s working as intended.”

If not for the nature of your relationship, you were close enough to kiss– an appealing notion for the harbinger, yet it is not a move he should bring himself to try.

“Y-Yeah, no kidding. That was awkward.”

He gripped his arm, looking at the window.

Pantalone is painfully aware you think of him as an older brother. Or at least, the shadow of one, given how you rarely call him by name anymore.

“My apologies, I simply wanted to take a good look at you.'

He muttered, “you’ve grown into a gorgeous person, (Y/n).”

You didn’t hear him.

“██████– I mean, Pantalone–”

“Go back to calling me ██████, dear.”

“Pantalone.” You put more emphasis on his harbinger name, watching in glee as he rolled his eyes, “I expect to be paid in chocolates and at least two months’ worth of food.”

Indeed, your proposed exchange pleased him. ██████ knows how much you value healthy eating and abhor it greatly when others waste grains of rice. Time and imagination had transformed his early memories as you as a human so close to a skeletal figurine with sunken cheeks and broomstick-like limbs. Those thoughts cause him much sorrow. Pantalone would have pampered you for free if you had only let him– seeing you eating healthy gives him life. Almost like how a father would tell his children that seeing them full is enough to make him full as well. 

Let him spoil you with food. Please.

Seeing you thin makes him feel sad.

“What do you want to eat for dinner later? My treat, as always.”

“Mint salad sounds lovely.”

“Just mint salad?” Pantalone smiled thinly.

His dearest baobei, no longer skin and bones. No longer barely fueled by rice and salt. No longer skipping meals. It warms his heart more than the exclusive springs offered to him because of his mora and title… But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Hmm… Would it be okay to request a plate of Triple-Layered Consommé?” You muttered, gazing at the floor. “I kind of miss your cooking… Just. Just kind of.”

His heart skipped a few beats as he saw your shy expression. 

You straightened up, coughing, “not that your cooking is anything special, it’s just that I don’t want to eat anything too bland and–”

“Of course! Anything for you, my love.”

Pantalone grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“My baobei, you’d be too full to walk once I’m done spoiling you…”

“D-Did you have to word it so seductively?!”

You blushed once again, which only served to worsen his urge for making you undeniably satiated. 

Oh, how he wants to keep you in a cage, locked up, and fed until he’s satisfied that you’ll never starve again…

Maybe then, you’d let him spoon-feed you like years before...

There's no rest for the wicked. When you returned to Vanarana the next day, the aranaras pulled you in for another chore at Devantaka Mountain.

“Hey, little man, get down there, right now!” 

You screamed with your hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your voice. The aforementioned "small man" scoffed, not shifting an inch from his posture, as the blue aranara crept up behind you.

Ararycan worriedly relayed that a “Wood Nara” had been trespassing the large abandoned Khaenri’ahn machine. The little vegetable-like creature had grown to trust you when it came to scaring off unwanted guests, which usually entailed eremites or treasure hoarders scavenging for scrap metal. 

“Ararycan wants to stop Wood Nara.”

You gently pried the wire off their hand, keeping it in your pocket in a very definite fashion. 

“I know, ‘Rycan, but Naras are stubborn beings.”

“Just like Nara (Y/n)?”

You gasped, eyes widened.

These plant-like beings are surprisingly masterful at the art of roasting.

 “Just like Nara (Y/n), you say?! Rude, Ararycan, rude.”

You laughed humorlessly, masking your jadedness with forced laughter. 

In all honesty, you’re inclined to believe that this job reassignment was Alhaitham’s way of punishing you for remaining neutral. But surprisingly? An Amurta alumnus like you have been enjoying the task and in no small part thanks to these silly little creatures.

It's absurd to imagine that you would consent to be pulled by these vegetable creatures. You initially believed that they were paracosms produced by a lack of stimulation. You once tried to ignore them. Regrettably, that frail facade didn't survive due to a couple of slip-ups. The first to catch you drawing their likenesses next to your weather reports was Arapas. The second was Arabalika, who overheard you whispering about how powerful they were after they defeated a ruin grader, and then Arama who heard you humming their songs. They’ve built up quite the case against you, and you had to fess up before they start giving you a hard time.

By “hard time”, you were referring to how a crowd of tumultuous aranaras huddled up and tugged your hearing aids’ wire with their teeny hands incessantly.

Which was what Ararycan is doing right now.

“Get us up there, Nara (Y/n).” 

"Careful, Rycan– you might damage the wire."

Suddenly, the hatted man's eyes widened after seeing you. Call it intuition, but it seemed like this total stranger knew who you were.

You made an exaggeratedly loud inhaling sound, turning off your hearing aids momentarily.

And then, a scream.

“STOP, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!! RIGHT!!! NOW!!!”

The difference between stupidity and bravery is measured by outcome, and neither are variables you wish for this “Wood Nara” to test out. Alhaitham would have you write two pages detailing an incident if the stranger broke something and eight more if the machine awakened. And sadly, you are only a small percent less lazy than that man.

Despite your words droning childishly, you made no move to approach him. His eyes sharpened, but you felt no scrutiny— 

This man you’ve never met wore a blatant look of disbelief.

You looked down.

Maybe he could see Ararycan…?

“Hey— can you see them?”

You swiftly swept Ararycan off the ground, who made a surprised yelp. 

The man winced.

"P-Please… Leave the forest alone…"

"And why should I care about your pathetic request?"

"Please, have mercy… T-There are creatures that live in this area… Creatures you cannot see because you lacked a human heart."

“–Ngh!”

Those memories were hard to swallow, like reading an inked sloppy handwriting submerged in water.

“G-Good riddance…”

The man coiled in pain, gripping his scalp with his lithe fingers. You cannot view the expression on his face, nor were you able to verify that he had yelped. The distance between you two was too great to conceive a communication that did not rely on shouting.

“Nara (Y/n), what are you doing?!”

Although your proximity with the aranara doesn’t cause any communication barriers, that didn’t stop Ararycan from yelling.

For some reason, the stranger flinched after seeing you carry what appeared to be air around “normal people”’s vision. Perhaps he found your actions cringe-inducing… or perhaps it made his migraine worse. Then again, both possibilities are not mutually exclusive. However, you have a feeling he didn’t flinch because he saw Ararycan.

The blue aranara leaped off of your hands.

“Ararycan is worried… Ararycan thinks Wood Nara is going to destroy the giant iron mountain…”

You stared up at the man again, wanting to go on for a long rant but refrained after realizing how immature that is. While you do have a hunch that the stranger possessed a vision, you’d bet mora that he is no match for Arabalika’s accumulated Ararakalari. 

“Say, why do you keep calling him Wood Nara? Is it because of his ginormous hat?” You whispered to Ararycan.

“Huh? Did Nara (Y/n) not notice?” They tilted their head.

“Ararycan calls him “Wood Nara” because he’s made of white wood. Ararycan is not sure if he is a real Nara.”

Their answer entered from one ear and exited in the other. You’re used to hearing the Aranara lexicon that you never take any sentence at face value since you’ve learned your lesson back when Arasaka made you scout the market for a “Taste of Happiness.” Thank the Lord of Verdure that it was only Pantalone who laughed at you for describing sugar as “white, cubic, crumbles when crushed, becomes sand, and can be eaten.”

“Hah, well, he better not be made out of wood 'cause I might burn him.”

“Ararycan doesn’t think that’s easy to do. Wood Nara smells like the taste of anger,” once again, you ignored their riddled words.

You clutched the pyro vision dangling in your cloak’s right shoulder, located opposite where Alhaitham places his. Your skill set does not differ from that dendro user’s repertoire, and you calculated what vertice you should drop upon teleporting. Grabbing Ararycan, you rushed forward...

Without making it past the one-minute mark, you leaped effortlessly to where the stranger stood.

“Excuse me, young man, but do you have an Investigation Charter from the Akademiya?”

With an unused voice when it comes to dishing out commands– much less an implied threat– your approach wasn’t even a fraction of what makes authorities like the General Mahamatra intimidating. Yet, you still tried. You crossed your arms and hovered your hand near your claymore.

This stranger gazed up, boasting his soft face and beautiful lilac eyes topped with a complexion quite like a sheltered princess. He had the finest eyes you had ever seen. Yet, even with a heaven-sent face, his eyebrows were knitted. He continued kneeling on the cold metal of the giant mossed and corroded machine. 

One closer look should’ve made you hyper-aware that his joints were not bound by mortal flesh, but your heart was more entranced by his glassy pupils. 

“We meet again. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.” 

He muttered inaudibly, hence, you did not hear him. Since you also just came back from visiting Liyue and their post-festival fireworks, you’ve turned your hearing aid settings lower than usual. You bent your knees slightly, offering a hand.

“Nana korobi ya oki,” you said. The stranger looked like he hailed from Inazuma, so you thought you’d put your knowledge to good use. “It means–”

Unbeknownst to you, you uttered the same thing in a past long forgotten.

“I know: fall down seven times, get up eight.”

His gloved hand grasped your own, and you tried not to think about how soft yet firm it was as you pulled him up. You grunted slightly from the shifted weight while he didn’t breathe at all.

“No, I don’t have any clearance permit,” he said. “And I still don't have a heart, if that still matters to you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

‘Still’? What the hell is he talking about? Aaru village is miles away from here, but is it possible that the man you’re talking to is a mad scholar? That’s concerning. 

Pushing your glasses farther up the bridge of your nose, you tried to search his face in Sumeru's records– which might be more unlawful than whatever this man's doing, but who's policing you anyways?

…

Nothing.

There's not a single official record on this man.

Not even in the Fatui's database.

Almost like the man in front of you doesn't exist.

"What the hell are you wearing?" The man sneered. "Since when did you have awful eyesight too?"

“No Investigation Charter, no clearance, just what do you think you’re doing here?” You digressed. “May I at least have your name?”

The man tilted his hat up, “and why should I stupidly give my information away?”

Your eye twitched. He kinda reminds you of Arabalika. Maybe if you gave him a cane he’ll calm down a bit.

“I do have a use for your name, awkward stranger.”

“And that is?”

Writing a report to the Acting Grand Sage regarding suspicious individuals.

“Something to call you,” you shrugged with a child-like candor, renewing your request with bold obstinacy. “I’d rather not recount this tale to various parties as That One Time An Awful Little Man Tried To Pry Open A Giant Machine And Failed.”

He exhaled curtly.

… Was that a laugh?

“How childish. Even if you don't know my name, your "friends"– assuming you have some– will remember me by that stupid description.”

“I mean, it's a memorable first impression,” you met his gaze smugly. “But why are you hiding your name, hmm? Suspicious.”

“It’s called respecting one’s privacy. Something you don't understand.”

How rude of him to make assumptions about you, “are you some covert government official?”

“No.”

“Then what? Are you some inhuman being?”

“...” He didn’t say a word.

Something tells you that the answer is close to your hunch.

“[Wanderer].”

He muttered, once again, you did not hear it so he spoke louder.

“That's my name. Don't you dare make me repeat it.”

“[Wanderer]…”

You missed the way he tipped his hat, hiding an uncontrollable smile from your view.

[Wanderer]... That does sound like a fitting name. It reminded you of a character from a franchise or mythological tale you thoroughly enjoyed as a teenager. It might be rude to share that information, though. You’re not certain how this bratty person would react upon hearing that his name might as well be the name of your lotus from a botany class.

Normally, [Wanderer] would snap a “speak up– is there something wrong with my name?” upon listening to hushed whispers or a resounding silence after his many introductions. But you’re different for a reason. 

There was no way in hell he would take the traveler's suggestion over a name you had given him.

Ararycan tugged your pants.

“Hey, don’t just stare at him, Nara (Y/n)! Tell him to leave!!!” Araycan trashed around. “Nara (Y/n) must be a brave Nara if you like the taste of anger.”

[Wanderer] is the taste of anger? Is that what Ararycan was trying to say?

You blushed, fake-coughing behind your hand.

You wouldn’t say he reminds you of the taste of anger– especially with that winsome face. If anything, his appearance looks a lot like the bunraku dolls you accidentally bought years ago.

“Well, [Wanderer], it’s nice to finally put a name to a face,” you said. “But this is a dangerous area. What are you doing here…?”

“I just wanted to look for traces of the Doctor,” [Wanderer] crossed his arms. “Unfortunately, I can’t pry this stupid machine open.”

“The Doctor? Who’s that?”

“The Harbinger who sits at the second–”

“Aah, The Outcast. I see–” you shook your head. “Wait, no, I don’t get it. What does he have anything to do with this machine here? This is a Khaenriah’n creation.” 

“I know, I’m not dumb like you. I'm here because The Doctor had plans for these automatons, that’s why I’m here.”

“But even so, it’s not advisable to wander these parts alone. You ought to have asked for a travel companion. Who knows if you run into a hoard of vanaagnis in marana?”

“Hmph. Do you think I can’t handle a few whooperflowers in a withering zone? The audacity.”

“Arrogance is the capital stock of misfortune– wait, how’d you know Vanaagnis is a term for whooperflowers?” You blinked expressively. “And the meaning of marana too– so you ARE a mad scholar.”

“I’m NOT,” [Wanderer] glared. You noticed how he seemed unimpressed when you mentioned that proverb about arrogance and “capital stock”, and his expression soured more when you accused him of being a lunatic. 

“I just… I just learned from the best.”

[Wanderer]'s stare not wavering away from you.

Your silence did not go unnoticed by the other two.

“...Why do I have a feeling you’re trying to say that you’ve learned from me?” Those words had escaped from your mouth before you could stop them.

[Wanderer]’s eyes widened.

“Can… Can you remember?”

“Remember…?”

He frowned, eyes reflecting his disappointment.

“No, no, it’s probably just a fluke,” [Wanderer] frowned with a finger tracing his lips. “Maybe my expression just gave it away…”

“Nara (Y/n)!!! Tell Wood Nara to leeaaaaveee!!!”

You tried not to flinch at Ararycan’s whining. They don’t seem to understand that having poor hearing doesn’t mean you can’t register their commands.

[Wanderer] walked past you. 

“Fine, I’ll leave this device alone, but on one condition.”

“What makes you think you’re the one in control–”

“Go out with me.”

“...”

“...”

“... What?”

Your eyeglasses flickered red.

But that red light was gone in a blink, you weren't even sure if it existed.

You laughed nervously, “sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly–”

He refused to meet your eyes like a coward.

[Wanderer] replied brusquely, “look– you're partially deaf, but you’re NOT stupid. You heard what I said, so own it.”

"Hold on– where is all this coming from, [Wanderer]?" You pivoted your heel but were too late to yank his sleeve. 

He already hovered a few feet away from you.

"I'll come to visit this place more often," [Wanderer] smirked. "You’ll still be here at the upcoming Festival, right? Mark your calendar. That’s our date.”

“Hey, you can’t just!– Aaand he’s gone.”

Despite his abrupt parting, you couldn’t help but smile over such a cheeky encounter, completely forgetting how that man rummaged through the giant machine you’re standing on without a permit.

Something tells you that you’d see him more often.

And you did.

“[Wanderer]” never failed to visit you at 10 AM sharp every day, until there was only one day left till the next Sumeru Festival. At first, you thought his eccentric personality would make the following days unbearable, but he was rather civil– just sharp-tongued. 

He would show up whenever you wandered in the forest to disseminate knowledge about the local flora and Sumeru's history. Some of them you already knew, while others had you wondering if he knew the Lord of Verdure. While you were trying to interview him for a report, not as a trespasser but as an assistant, you once purposely lightened the atmosphere to get honest responses from him. When you jokingly asked who he was, his reply was unsatisfactory.

“Who I am is not carved in wood nor stone. ᏕᎧᎷᏋᎧᏁᏋ wise told me that it’s a flexible concept and it’s easier to understand through a story, but even then, you’d only see a fraction of who that person is,” [Wanderer] peered dotingly. “If you wish to know who I am, then work for it. I’m not giving you a damn summary.”

Tomorrow is your first "date" with the man and you barely knew him.

Your internalized frustration made him think you’re insatiably adorable. 

How the tables have turned. 

After all, [Wanderer] only responded with the same answer you had given him before.

In a forgotten history, ᎩᎧᏬ were the one that spouts spontaneous philosophical questions that led him into fits of unintelligible musings. [Wanderer] berated humanity for being sentimental creatures yet look at him now, proudly boasting the name ᎩᎧᏬ gave him wherever he went. It is by no means grander than a title like God of Everlasting Eternity or other such monikers, but when Godhood has stripped away from him, that name provided more solace than a seat in Celestia.

“The Puppet”, “Kunikuzushi”– such utterances are water under the bridge. Only [Wanderer] stays afloat, like a bubble on water. Maybe a bubble is only beautiful for a moment, yet that moment weighs more than a meaningless “eternity” and he knows this well…

[Wanderer] had been played by fate. Attaining freedom, independence, and a vision did not absolve what chokehold you had on his synthetic being. 

You're a colorful character, averaging about five meaningful papers per year– all the while considering yourself a "retired" genius. [Wanderer] would've been a kinder and forgiving person if you were his young and impressionable self's creator. He envied your patients, your strange collection of bunraku dolls, and the tenderness you reserve for them. 

He missed you, no matter how often you both fought. Your hums used to enchant him when you lull him asleep with aranara songs, but they now haunt him up at night. You were his puppet and he was your dictator until you had grown exhausted of foreign power enough that you abandoned your neutrality and revolted. 

But you did not revolt against him in this revision. Without a doubt, his revised “past” still mirrored the pain he caused, but through other means. He can’t say he had no regrets when he tampered with the Irminsul. Niwa’s death had less weight in this world, and for the wanderer, death without sanctification for a significant purpose is unnecessary homicide. And instead of helping Azar’s experiment, you became a “disobedient pet” who saw no need to collaborate with his superiority complex.

Yet, despite being such a disobedient pet– in his opinion, that’s a grave understatement–, he can’t help but cherish you.

The puppet missed the way his delusion marked your body. Fingerprint-like blotches collared your neck before, but when the slate was wiped clean, so too did his inflicted bruises. He missed the way you begged him to stop the pain. He missed the way you defended invisible creatures as “Queen Aranyani’s successor.” He missed the way you begged to keep the forest safe.

He missed the way you begged to be his.

But those marks are long gone– the symbol he carved on the nape of your neck had disappeared. You no longer had anything that resembled signs of his ownership.

Not only that, but seeing you wear eyeglasses– something you haven't before– fills him with anger.

The one saving grace from this situation was when this timeline confirmed that you wouldn’t help Azar if it wasn’t for [Wanderer]. You were interested in his personality and disposition as a puppet longing for a human heart, not just any of Dottore’s run-of-the-mill creations. That observation surely boosted his ego. 

Your opinions mattered to him most in that project. Admittedly, he craved everyone’s veneration, even when they lacked true understanding.

But you were the first mortal that made him appreciate his defects…

 

"Is it so bad to live this way?" You combed his hair with your fingers. "Must you try your hand with such heresy?"

"Know your place," Scaramouche gritted his teeth. "You're nothing more than my maintenance worker- you do not deserve an audience."

"Be that as it may, future faux-god, can't you entertain me for just a moment? If I wasn't worried about you, I wouldn't be helping you with this damn treacherous experiment.

You ignored how he snarled at such a nickname, "it pains me to watch you lust for more power when you already boast an acceptable form. What is it that makes you so desperate? Is it because you can't hide the ball joints that connect your fingers and limbs?"

You continued while adjusting the tightness of his skeletal wrists.

"Is it so bad to live on as a defective being? Does imperfection invalidate a life's purpose? I only ask out of curiosity. I have imperfect ears, so does that make my life devoid of meaning?"

Scaramouche frowned, "do not compare your ears to my heart or lack thereof."

He didn't understand why his voice cracked. Scaramouche did not feel his usual temperament sizzling over but something heavy resided in his chest.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, I know you're not sorry," Scaramouche cupped your cheek, sporting an uncharacteristically loving smile.

"And your unapologetic behavior is what makes you my first sage."

His first sage…

[Wanderer] laughed to himself.

His first sage would know that if he gained a heart, he would've seen the aranara you were talking to earlier.

But this is fine. He can start over again. 

This time, he’ll make you love him normally.

Heaven, please help the white wood that fell in love for it will never be human…

…

Out of the blue, Scaramouche spun and hurled three consecutive wind blades toward the woods with precision.

Be that as it may, the walking salt is surely more pathetic.

The “trees” grunted, but [Wanderer] did not miss the smell of salt-infused perfumes.

What a shame. 

The next Sumeru Festival, your “date”, is tomorrow, yet there will always be those who lurk in the shadows to see the mighty fall. 

"Pantalone…" 

The ex-sixth harbinger snarled with unfathomable familiarity. Which was the complete opposite of the ninth harbinger, who coldly greeted him like a new enemy. 

"Good afternoon, [Wanderer]."

Pantalone pulled out a gun from his hidden holster.

"No hard feelings, sir," the businessman smiled thinly. "I am but a simple man eliminating a love rival. You see, it’s not nice threatening to steal someone’s possession."

Scaramouche cackled.

How annoying. He never liked this friend of yours– he much preferred the one that planned a coup. Pantalone was not a coworker Scaramouche liked, much less a rival. This ambitious man was always a parasite, pretending to be worried while threatening to withhold project funding behind your back. Scaramouche will never forget how he boasted insolently that he had known you longer as if eternity wouldn't be enough to make up for it.

"You never change, mortal," he laughed even harder. "I knew something was off about (Y/n)'s glasses!"

"Hmm? Is that so?" Pantalone pushed them up closer– reminding Scaramouche that he’s no terrible shot. "How strange. In any case, I quite frankly don't care what you know or do not know."

He pulled the trigger as Scaramouche stomped his feet.

Only a few knew what occurred in Vanarana that day, but there was one thing the forest remembered.

Before either of them parted, a loud bang echoed that even deaf trees can't miss.

You woke up from Araja’s house (which was the only comfortable place to sleep in Vanarana) after passing out from tumultuous loads of paperwork sent directly by the Baharak. She joked that at that point, maybe she had become a bad omen for you– and you confirmed her suspicions. The tasks the Acting Grand Sage laid out for you were taxing, if not, deleterious for your mental well-being, and worst of all–

He sent a notice that this would be your last week patrolling Vanarana.

When you spread the announcement, the aranaras were saddened by the news. Even Arabalika was unimpressed and asked if you can prolong your services. Alas, it can’t be refuted.

Noticing how tired you appeared, the village chief immediately commanded you to sleep while you pretended not to hear whispers of a surprise farewell party. Considering how the place looked positively empty this morning, you’d wager that they’re busy working on it.

But you do smell that someone’s cooking right now…

The enticing scent emanated from a large pot. As you sauntered closer, you noticed how Arasaka was tending to the food. The aranara gave you a friendly wave that you didn’t reciprocate. It’s rather chilly in Vanarana in the mornings– and the sleeves of your jacket were comfy. 

“Good morning, Nara (Y/n)!”

“Good morning, ‘Saka. That smells delicious,” you smiled bittersweetly.

“Hehe, really? Glad to hear it! One of Nara (Y/n)’s friends helped gather the ingredients. That Nara was good at hunting down prey!”

One of your friends…? You haven't introduced a lot of people to the aranaras. That can only mean it's either Baharak, Pantalone, or [Wanderer], and you can safely remove the first one since they're positively busy with guild matters. 

... Huh. But those two can't see aranaras. Does that mean they stole Pantalone or [Wanderer]'s game?

"Pfft..." You chortled. Yeah, imagining either of them getting confused as to why their hunted boar had gone missing feels like a sight to see.

You took the ladle from Arasaka’s hand and sipped the warm liquid.

…

“Oh, hey, this tastes pretty good!”

“Hehe, Arasaka is glad to hear you liked it! Nara taste buds are hard to please.”

You took another sip as Arasaka watched. The warm soup went down smoothly, but the aftertaste had a serpent-like bite to it. It tastes akin to red sorghums Pantalone would down whenever social drinking was inevitable. Your only critique was that it would’ve been a refreshing experience if there wasn’t a rocky object stuck between your teeth. You awkwardly picked it out.

… And saw a small hint of (wood/salt) between your fingers.

You stared at Arasaka.

Strange…

Something feels… off. 

This doesn't taste like happiness, it tastes like…

You shivered and yet the aranaras around you still had that same painted smile. 

 "Does Nara (Y/n) like the taste now? The taste of friendship?”

… Friendship?

No. That can’t be it.

The spoon splashed back into the bowl. You didn’t say a word, only stared at the boiling pot. You knelt, grabbing both handles to gaze upon the bubbling red liquid. With trembling hands, you picked the spoon back up and swirled the contents. Nothing was of note–

Until you scooped something from the very bottom and found thick strands of dark hair.

A very familiar strand of dark hair.

You adjusted your glasses in an attempt to find out where this human hair came from–

“Nara (Y/n) likes the scent of (wood/salt) Nara so my sisters added him in!” Arasaka innocently cheered.

Your heart dropped.

You turned pale– gagging.

No. It can't be.

Did you just eat…

“So, Nara (Y/n)– does our cooking taste bland now?”

… “him”?

“Oh, Nara (Y/n)’s friend is approaching! Don’t forget to thank him for the food!”

[gallusrostromegalus]

For the OC ask I'd like to ask: betrayal or midnight (whichever you want, or both if you have the time/ energy)

Midnight: What keeps them up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

--- It well past Midnight.

It was hard to tell in Las Noches, because the natural sun outside was just as dark as the sky, and the artificial sun Aizen installed under the dome never set. But the air was cooler, and marginally more humid.

Coyote Starrk was up, roaming the halls- he slept all day so Lilynette has the energy to play with their new friends. She liked to follow the older girls around, especially Ulquiorra's underlings, Cici and Vivi, and sometimes Charlotte, if the woman offered to play makeup with her.

Besides, it felt... normal to him, to roam at night. When things cooled off and quieted down and the other nocturnes came out to play. Hallibel, for one- Coyote wasn't actually sure when she slept, or if she did. The closest he'd ever seen is her folded in a corner somewhere, breathing deeply but as soon as he approached, she would open one eye and at least grunt her half of a conversation. Ulquiorra was usually out on the roof somewhere and he made for decent if somewhat gloomy stargazing company. Grimmjow was often stalking the lower levels, Aaroniero/Arruruerie emerged from their shadowy sanctuary to scuttle about the kitchen, and Szaylel kept not so much irregular as outright chaotic hours.

He was in the outer halls that go around the dome, artificial sunlight streaming in one side, silvery moonlight in the other, and all the noises of the night echoing between them. It wasn't actually being sociable, per se, but it soothed the lonliness to hear everyone about or not.

"AAAAOOUGH!!"

Mostly.

Coyote sighed, rolling his eyes and sped up to meet the howling.

"HAAAUGH! AAAAUG!" Wonderweiss cried, scrabbling awkwardly up a set of stairs and bouncing off the walls as he sprinted for Coyote, eyes wide and terrified.

"Hey, hey, calm d-OOF!" Coyote tried to soothe as the small hollow slammed into his middle, bawling. "OW! Dammit Kid! What's the big idea, howling like it's the full moon out- Oh. Fuck."

Weiss was sobbing, paler than usual, and going a bit funny at the edges. It happened sometimes when he was particularly upset- a third eye sprouting in the middle of his forehead, too many fingers on his hands, and two extra mouths splitting open on the sides of his throat- the ears had gone long and floppy again too.

"Okay, okay, take it easy-" Coyote kept his voice low, hands on the boy's shoulders, trying to calm him down. "-What's wrong, eh?"

"HOUSA! HOUSA ICK!" Weiss yelped, scrambling to his feet and trying to pull Coyote after him.

"Yeah, I don't know what Housa is- Alright, show me." Coyote sighed, getting up and allowing himself to be pulled along. Inarticulate as the boy was, he wasn't stupid, or prone to hysteria. The last time he'd had a howling fit like this, one of Szaylel's creations had gotten loose in the Menos Pits and grown to a nearly unmanageable scale in under and hour.

Weiss dragged him down the stairs and along one of the other external hallways, then deeper into the city, past the hall where Aizen held his interminable meetings-

"HOUSA! HOUSA!" Weiss called as they skidded down a little dogleg hall where one of the Shinigami lords was housed-

"Weiss!" Coyote hissed. "You're going to wake Tousen!"

"YAH! HOUSA!!" Weiss nodded, yanking open the door to the Shinigami's room and running in.

"Shit! I- I'm sorry sir, Weiss was worried about- Oh. Oh, fuck." Coyote realized with horror.

Tousen's room was a small, spare place- little more than a narrow bed, wash basin and desk before the heavily-barred windows. Coyote had never seen the inside of it before, but the pale strips of moonlight through the bars made Coyote realize Tousen wasn't here by choice.

The man himself was sitting on the floor, back against the wall next to the washbasin, the scent of vomit still fresh in the room. He looked awful; gaunt, and the wrong color- almost a dull gray rather than the warm brown when Coyote had first met him. His eyes were closed tightly, he was panting heavily, gripping his abdomen, and not responding to Weiss's calls and shaking his arm.

"Shit." Coyote hissed, kneeling beside the Shinigami- he was sweating and very hot to the touch, but moaned faintly. "Weiss- Weiss! Listen, I need you to find- fuck, um- Find me Paramia or Rudborne, okay? One of them might know what to do."

Weiss whimpered, looking between Coyote and Tousen.

"Go! I'll take care of him, okay?" Coyote urged, and with a final worried look at the shinigami, Weiss sprinted off.

"...Because I definitely know how to do that." Coyote sighed, looking down at the man. "Uh, um. Pulse? He should have one of those, right? Hey, um, Lord Tousen? I'm just gonna. Grab your throat. Yeah that's totally nonthreatening..." He muttered, looking around the room and finding his Zanpakuto on the bed.

Instead of biting him like Coyote would have done if someone had started poking his throat while he was barely conscious, Tousen instead rolled his head weakly in Coyote's direction, pale eyes cracked open.

"...Sssjn?" Tousen mumbled.

"What?" Coyote blinked. "Um, oh, there's your pulse... Yeah, I- I don't think it's supposed to be doing that." Coyote winced, the human's pulse not so much beating as rapidly vibrating under his fingers.

"...Sajin?" He asked again, reaching up for Coyote's face with a shaking hand. "Sajin? Is that you?"

"Who?" Coyote blinked. "Tousen? Can you hear me? What's wrong with you? Something you ate?"

"Sajin, I- I'm so sorry...." He wheezed, voice weak, hand dropping away before he could reach Coyote's face. "I- I need to get you up. Find a doctor- Do we have a doctor? Paramia knows how to do a good stitch-up, but... Fuck. Alright, come on, on your feet-" Coyote grunted, pulling Tousen's arm over his shoulder.

"AUGH!" Tousen shrieked with pain as he was pulled up. "Please! Please, don't- just let me be..."

"No way, you're the only guy here with half a brain and I'd really like to live through this whole war with the shinigami thing so I'm really countin' on you to pull through-" Coyote explained, getting one arm under Tousen's shoulders and pulling him away from the wall-

-there was an unpleasantly wet peeling sound as he stood.

Coyote looked over the shoulder of the man slumped against him to see a bright stripe of blood running down the man's spine and against the wall he'd been propped against.

"I'm so, so sorry..." Tousen whimpered. "I never- I never meant to hurt you..."

"Hurt ME? What the hell, you couldn't hurt a mouse like this, nevermind me!" Coyote yelped, scooping the small man into his arms and then nearly dropping him as he over-corrected. Tousen was much lighter than he should be.

LILYNETTE!! Coyote howled over their bond. WAKE THE FUCK UP!ITS AN EMERGENCY!

WHAT?! She snarled back as Coyote sprinted out of the little cell of a room, looking for someone, anyone-

Tousen's on death's door, we need to find a- a doctor, someone! He panted, searching the halls.

Do we even HAVE a doctor? Lilynette wondered back.

That's what I wanted to know! He grumbled, sprinting up the stairs toward the meeting room.

WHY WOULD I KNOW? WE SHARE A BRAIN, MORON!! she cried back. Fuck, Uh- Not Szaylel- I dunno, Charlotte? She knows a lot about skincare and diets?

Yeah, we're a bit past skincare- look, I told Weiss to go find Paramia, go help him? Coyote skidded into the meeting room to find the light on down the hall in the throne room. He turned the corner to find a tall figure walking towards there as well.

"Ulquiorra's back with the girl Lord Aizen wanted." Hallibel muttered through her mask and high collar. "...Humans aren't supposed to be gray, right?" She frowned down at Tousen.

"No they're not!" Coyote grinned up at her. "Please tell me I've slept through a staff meeting and that we've got an actual doctor, not just a mad scientist and a stitch witch?"

"Oh? What seems to be the matter with- oh. That's. Bad." Szaylelapporo oozed over, then grimaced at the man. "Well, get him on the table, I'll see what I can do-"

"Not you! A REAL Doctor!" Coyote spat, jerking away from him.

"EXCUSE ME?" The mad scientist squawked, aghast.

"Welcome, Miss Inoue-" Aizen's voice rippled down the hall from the throne room. Tousen whimpered, curling into Coyote's chest, shaking. Fuck, if Aizen locked him in that cell of a room, he could have poisoned him too-

"-to my kingdom of- What the hell are you wearing?" Aizen sputtered.

"Yes!" an unfamiliar voice replied.

"Oh, come on, how often do we get a chance to dissect- I mean- surgically assist a Shinigami?" Szaylel pouted, reaching for the shivering man.

---

"Mr. Cifer didn't give me a lot of details about the conditions here, so I tried to prepare for every eventuality I could!" Chirped the small mountain of clothes and camping gear that apparently contained Orihime Inoue.

"I- well. If one cannot be forewarned, one should be forearmed, I suppose..." Aizen muttered, thrown completely off script. "But as I was saying, please allow me to extend the full hospitality of Las-"

There was a brief flicker of bright light and sharp withdrawal of reiatsu in the hall behind him.

"That better not be a cero-" Aizen frowned.

BLAM!

"My dick!" Wailed Szaylel from some distance away, having been blown through several walls as well as castrated.

"Quitcher bitchin', it'll grow back!" Snarled Coyote.

Aizen closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with his middle and ring fingers, struggling to maintain some composure. "What are you doing Mr. Starrk?" He snarled, turning on his heel to confront the First Espada and instead walking face-first into the spectacular underboob cleavage of the Third.

"Are you the Kurosaki kid's medic?" Hallibel called, unperturbed by the fact she was lightly smothering her commander.

"Uhh... I mean I'm trained in first aid and I'm pretty good at healing?" Miss Inoue muttered as Aizen extracted himself from Hallibel's bosom.

"What the hell is going on?" Aizen hissed up at her.

"Great! Lord Tousen's dying." Hallibel explained to Miss Inoue, before looking down at Aizen. "Also, Lord Tousen's dying." She said pointing down the smoking hall where Starrk was emerging with a weak and pallid Tousen in his arms.

"Oh, come on Kaname, pull yourself togeth- oh." Aizen recoiled at the sight of his compatriot, and the way his spine had bled all down the front of Starrk's uniform. "Miss Inoue? Your skills are requi-" He spoke up only for the girl to brush past him without so much as a sideways glance, shed of her excess garmentry.

"Mr. Tousen?" She asked, eyes wide and already on the verge of tears. "Can you hear me?"

"I-Inoue?" he groaned, turning his ear towards her. "Where? Where's Sajin..?"

"He's fine, but you're not. Can you tell me what's wrong?" She said, taking his wrist and touching his face.

"S-stomachache. Started... I- I don't know. Can't sleep." he mumbled, head dropping back onto Coyote's chest.

"He- he also threw up, his whole back is bleedin' and he keeps apologizing to this Sajin guy?" Coyote added.

"When was the last time you ate or drank anything?" She said, pinching the skin on the back of his hand and grimacing.

"I- I don't know. Not for a while. Not... not worth it." he muttered, listless.

"Is the stomachache concentrated anywhere? and is it more like nausea or pain?" She asked.

"P-pain. Very painful." He hissed. "It's- lower right side."

Miss Inoue inhaled slowly, jaw set. "Is it better or worse if you put pressure on it?"

"Hurts- hurts if I take pressure off it?" He whimpered. "I- I can't- Where's Sajin? He, he was just here-"

"Well, Miss Inoue?" Aizen asked, strolling up and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Care to prove your worth?"

The girl was completely still and silent for a moment. Fear? Or some sort of delayed reaction? Aizen watched her for a moment, the girl's face expressionless.

"I need a sterile room, surgical equipment- scalpels, sponges, gloves sutures, the works- and the means to sanitize it, and at least two people to hold him still." she said, voice flat.

"Surgical equipment?" Aizen scoffed. "You misunderstand- I want to see what the Shun Shun Rikka is capable of."

"It's capable of restoring a hell of a lot when it comes to traumatic injury and blood loss but it doesn't work on infections or organ failure, so if you want Mr. Tousen to live through the night, you'll have to settle for my capacity as Surgeon." She said, voice quiet and clipped. "Sterile room, Surgical equipment, sanitary gear, assistants, please, before his condition gets worse."

"...What condition?" Aizen puzzled, and she sighed with exasperation.

"You! White hair and horn! Find me a room that is or can be rendered sterile!" She barked, pointing over Coyote's shoulder.

"What? Who died and made you queen?" Lilynette yelped.

"DO IT!" Coyote barked.

"Fuck! Okay!" She flinched. "There's- uh, Paramia's office. She's got most of the stuff you were yelling about. I think."

"Good. Mr. Starrk, right? Do you know where that is?" She said, gray eyes snapping up to the Primera Espada's own, and he actually startled a bit.

"Uh- yes, and yes?" he muttered, arching his neck away from her.

"Take Mr. Tousen there ASAP, get him on a bed and if there's any means of restraining him, I need him lying on his left side, everything on his right side from his hip-bone to the middle of his ribcage exposed. Understand?" She said, gesturing to Tousen's side.

"Uh, yeah, Yes, I'll go-" Stark muttered, backing up a few steps and vanishing in a burst of Sondido.

"Maybe I didn't make myself cle-" Aizen started with Orihime spun out of his grip and turned to face the rest of the throne room.

"Mr. Cifer! I presume you know where the kitchens are! I need drinkable water, any electrolyte beverages you have or failing that, anything with a decent amount of salt in it, and anything with caffeine."

"I don't take orders from you." he growled.

Miss Inoue stopped from where she'd been turning to Hallibel and glared back at Ulqiorra. "You said that if I followed you through that portal, I'd be joining Aizen's cause, body and soul."

"What?" Aizen mouthed at Ulquiorra behind her.

"Yes? And?" Ulquiorra agreed, glaring back.

"Mr. Aizen, may I then act in an emergency capacity under your authority for the purposes of keeping a member of this organization alive?" She asked, rounding on him.

What had been sad, soft gray eyes in Ulquiorra's recollection of events had darkened into the color of an oncoming stormed and sharpened around the edges in a way that reminded Aizen uncomfortably of how Unohana's disapproval could feel like a knife at his throat.

"...You have hidden depths, Miss Inoue." he smirked, pretending to be at ease if he couldn't pretend to be in control. "-And since you're being such a good team player, I will happily grant you temporary authority to see to Kaname's welfare."

"Thank you sir." She bowed her head. "Cifer! Kitchen!"

Ulquiorra sputtered for a moment and then skulked off.

"...This good favor of mine is entirely dependent on Kaname's survival and recovery, of course." He said, leaning down into her personal space, lips almost at her ear.

"Of course, Mr. Aizen. I would consider failure to save Mr. Tousen just cause for suicide as it is." she said, and then failed to elaborate as she turned to Hallibel. "Ma'am with the blonde hair! What's your name?"

"...Hallibel." She said, slowly cocking her head at the girl

"Thank you Miss Hallibel." Inoue bowed. "Do you have a good grip, and can you stand the sight of blood?"

"...Yes?" Hallibel puzzled.

"Please escort me to Mr. Starrk, I'll need your help." Inoue asked, pointing down the smoking hallway.

"Miss Inoue, what cond-" Aizen started to ask again, but the girl was gone in a blur as Hallibel promptly carried out her orders and followed Starrk's sondido with her own. "-ition are you talking about?"

"Fever? Vomiting? Severe pain in lower right abdomen? C'mon boss, even you know what's up!" Laughed Gin.

---

"So... have you ever done a surgery before?" Hallibel asked when they stopped at the door in front of Paramia's room.

"Ugh-" Orihime staggered for a moment, disoriented. "What? Oh, no- I've seen this one done before. Well, a video of it." She winced.

"Oh." Hallibel muttered. "Well. I've never seen a video of anything, so I guess you're qualified." She shrugged, opening the door.

"Miss Inoue?" a soft voice asked inside. "I'm Roka Paramia, I act as Medic here." She was a small, almost human-looking hollow with half her face covered by a humanlike skull, almost like the phantom of the opera. She also wore a green, cable-knit sweater, which was strange because it had to be at least eighty degrees in here.

"Oh thank god!" Sighed Orihime. "Have you ever done surgery before?"

"No!" Smiled Paramia. "I look forward to learning the process."

"Cool, I'm promoting you to Assistant Surgeon. Can you get the relevant tools out and sanitized?" Orihime nodded.

"I have already done so, as well as secured Lord Tousen to the operating table!" Paramia smiled, gesturing inside to where the shinigami had been strapped down to the stainless steel table. A small, childlike hollow curled up and whimpering beside him. Behind them, Starrk and Lilynette were standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do. There was a quiet sob from the table, and Orihime stepped into the room.

"Hey- I met you down at the river yesterday! Weiss, right?" Orihime asked, touching the boy's shoulder. He looked up at her, large purple eyes blinking slowly in recognition.

"Ohhimay?" he tried.

"That's right! I'm Orihime!" She smiled, patting his head.

"Augh!" Weiss sobbed, grabbing her shoulder and pointing to Tousen.

"OW! Easy, I'm not very strong- Thanks." She winced and Weiss relaxed his grip. "It'll be okay, I promise. I'm going to make Mr. Tousen better, but it's going to really, really suck for a bit but then he'll be all better, I promise!" She soothed, brushing a thick lock of blonde hair away from his face.

Weiss mumbled, looking between her and tousen for a moment.

"It's okay Weiss. I'll be alright." Tousen spoke up, voice little more than whimper. "Can you go guard the hall for me?"

"...kay." Weiss mumbled, shuffling off the table and out the door, crouching beside it, still peering back into the room.

"Thank you. And I'm really sorry for what's about to happen." Orihime bowed, hands holding Tousen's. He grimaced, but nodded and squeezed her hand in acknowledgement.

Orihime looked back at Paramia."What do you have by way of painkillers?"

"Oh, we don't believe in those here!" Paramia smiled.

Orihime blinked at her a few times, and decided to think laterally. "...What do you have in terms of alcoholic beverages or other recreational drugs here?"

"Oh! There's Tequila in the commissary!" Paramia nodded with excitement.

"Nnoitra's got Ketamine." Said Hallibel.

"He has WHAT?" Yelped Starrk.

"Ketamine. Yylfordt snitches it out of Szaylel's lab and they get high on the roof when Aizen's away." Hallibel shrugged.

"Ketamine would be very helpful, actually!" Orihime chirped, slightly manic. "Alright, Miss Lilynette? Go help Ulquiorra in the kitchen-"

"UUUUUGH." Groaned Lilynette.

"I know, he's a jerk." Orihime waved. "But he's also stupid, and probably forgot what I sent him for already."

Lilynette snorted with laughter and Orihime smirked. "I'll write you a list, make sure he comes back with everything, okay?"

"Yeah, I can babysit batboy." Lilynette giggled.

"Miss Hallibel? Do you think you can persuade... I'm sorry, I didn't catch their names-" Orihime waved.

"Yeah I can shake down Nnoitra for his stash." Hallibel nodded.

"Great! You both go do that and come back ASAP while we scrub up?" Orihime asked, giving them each a thumbs up, and the responded in kind before vanishing out the door.

"I must say, I'm very impressed with your capability for organization and command!" Paramia beamed as the two medics washed up and Coyote tried to figure out the best way to keep Tousen pinned to the table. "There was some discussion between Lord Aizen and Lord Ichimaru of abducting someone from soul society to fill in the role of chief medic, but I think you're the superior option so far."

"...Who were they going to take from Soul Society?" Orihime frowned.

"Oh... I can't remember her name. Lady Usagi or something?"

"LADY UNOHANA??" Orihime shouted.

"Yes! Lord Ichimaru suggested that abducting Lady Unohana would be more tactically sound, but Aizen dismissed the idea rather quickly- I'm sorry, have I said something humorous?" Paramia asked as Orihime crumpled to the floor laughing, and there was an amused wheeze from Tousen.

"We'd all be better off if Aizen had attempted to abduct Lady Unohana." Tousen laughed darkly.

"Yeah!" Orihime didn't so much grin as bare her teeth at the absurdity of her circumstances. "She would have reduced them both to bright red streaks on the wall and I wouldn't be here doing an unanesthetized appendectomy at one in the goddamn morning!"

[saphronethaleph]

Generically Identical

A door chime rang, in one of the finest hillside estates near the town of New Centrif on the beautiful planet of Naboo.

Several seconds later, an elderly man in flowing robes opened the door.

“Yes?” he asked, before taking a step back at the sight of the dozen individuals in identical black robes. “...oh, Sheev sent you, did he?”

“Sheev is dead,” one of the robed men replied. “I am the Rising, named successor to Yupe Tashu who fell on Jakku. I await confirmation to become the viceroy of the Eternal. We have need of you.”

“Dead? Really?” Ken Palpatine asked. “You’re sure?”

The robed men exchanged glances.

“...how did you not notice?” the Rising asked, hesitantly. “He was on board a space station which exploded with enormous violence. It was all over the holonet last year. The Empire has been collapsing for months.”

“Oh, I don’t pay much attention to the news,” Ken said, shaking his head querulously. “I know how much of it is nonsense. Dead? You’re certain?”

“Yes,” the Rising replied, a mite testily. “We have need of you.”

Ken frowned.

“I’m not sure what you could possibly need me for,” he said. “Sheev did rely on me a bit during the Clone Wars when he absolutely needed to be in two places at once, but that was decades ago. I’m a bit out of practice pretending to be him.”

“You are the twin of the Dark Lord of the Sith,” the Rising stated. “You are his blood. You are the best choice to lead the Sith Eternal.”

“What about that apprentice he had?” Ken asked. “You know, Anakin. Vader. That one.”

“He killed your brother, and is also dead,” the Rising answered. “For both of those reasons, especially combined, he cannot lead the Sith Eternal.”

Ken still seemed a bit confused.

“Isn’t there anyone else?” he asked. “Sheev always has other plans. I know that much about him. He planned the death of our father when he was very young, you know. Precocious. I was never like that.”

“Had,” the Rising told him. “Though… we did not come to you first.”

“I should hope not, if it’s been a year,” Ken said, shaking his head. “Or you’d have been very lost. Who did you try, then?”

Another exchange of glances.

“We began by attempting to clone Sidious,” one of the other cultists said.

“Oh, yes, that was his cult name, wasn’t it?” Ken asked. “Oh, I haven’t thought about that in years. It’s quite nostalgic… where were we? I do apologize, you mustn’t let me get distracted like that.”

The Rising rubbed his temples.

“We attempted to clone Sheev,” he said. “Unfortunately attempting to flash-grow a clone that force-sensitive did… not go well. The result has skin that looks like corduroy and it’s impossible that anyone is going to think it’s you. I mean Sheev. Whichever. And there is no sign of his spirit returning from after death.”

Ken blinked at him.

“...you think that’s possible?” he asked. “If it was possible, how would any Sith ever die? The galaxy would be full of them.”

That led to some muttering among the cultists.

“Not the point,” the Rising said, firmly. “The point is, we’re not sure what to do with the corduroy clone – but you are the best choice we have to lead the Sith Eternal.”

“I’m not a Sith, though,” Ken protested. “Which sort of puts a damper on the whole plan, I’d say.”

“That is a problem that can be solved,” the Rising replied. “We will teach you.”

“...I can’t use the Force,” Ken replied.

“You can,” the Rising told him. “You have not been taught. We will teach you.”

“I’m over eighty years old,” Ken said. “Are you sure I can learn?”

“I don’t see why not,” the Rising answered. “It might take decades to become as proficient as Sheev was, but you will have those decades.”

Ken frowned.

“That bastard,” he said, absently thinking about his twin brother who’d assured him that only one of them was able to touch the Force. “All right, whatever. I’m in.”

He frowned. “And we could probably bring my son in on it, as well. He’s a bit of a deadbeat, but he does have his own starship… I don’t suppose you’ve checked him first?”

“We did, actually,” the Rising replied. “He is not Force-Sensitive.”

“Well, whatever,” Ken said. “I suppose it’d be nice to get to be the one ordering people around again. The problem with a comfortable retirement is that you don’t get much to do…”

[propertyofrjl]

As someone who is currently rewatching all of Aphmau's series and has major brain rot over the Aphverse, i am desperate to find a fic where some of the mystreet people get somehow transported to the MCD universe. BECAUSE IMAGINE THE ANGST POTENTIAL IF MYSTREET!ZANE WAS IN THIS GROUP OMG.

MCD!Garroth having to see what he could have had with his own brother if things were different is breaking my heart.

OH OH OH BUT ALSO

Right imagine this little mystreet group is also when they're teenagers, smol little Zane being transported to a world where pretty much everyone despises him because MCD!Zane is the embodiment of evil.

Like, maybe little Aphmau and Zane get separated from the others and end up in Phoenix drop, they manage to make it to the town square where Molly is coming back from praying to Irene, and she sees Zane, the man who hurt her precious baby and used dark magic on their town. Molly then runs to alert whichever guard she can find (it just so happens that Laurence, Garroth and Dante are all leaving the guard tower for their respective patrols at that moment)

These men run to the town square, fearing the place they are sworn to protect is under attack by one of the most dangerous tyrants of their time, and they come to find not only Zane (who's looking around with a sour look on his face, and albeit a little smaller than Garroth remembers) but also the woman they spend their lives protecting (and two of said party are definitely, totally, not in love with her...)

And when i say they're teenagers, i mean the first season of PDH vibes, so Zane and Aphmau with these squeaky voices and no social skills, and Aphmau has spent most of her time looking around in awe up until that point because OH MY IRENE ZANE IT'S JUST LIKE MY GAME!!!

Laurence moves first, rushing over he knocks Zane to the ground harshly before yanking Aphmau away, to which she screams because this tall, scar covered, very scary looking version of her friend (or maybe crush depending on when in PHD this happens) has picked her up far too easily for her liking and she's worried about Zane.

Then Garroth and Dante move in, and suddenly Zane is being looked down upon by his big brother with such a look of disgust and hatred that has never happened before. Garroth loves Zane. Sure they disagree and fight every now and then, they're brothers, but Zane knows Garroth loves him and would keep him safe, and even though he wouldn't admit it, Zane loves his brother too. But the scary and hate filled man standing above him does not make Zane feel safe, and a flush of fear runs through him, followed by watery eyes and embarrassment because why is he feeling so weak and despised by one of the only men in his life who's provided a steady stream of love (unlike his dad)

And when Zane pulls his shaking hands up in surrender, with this wounded animal look upon his face, MCD!Garroth almost has to double take, because not even as children has he ever seen Zane look at him with such fear, the only man who'd ever brought fear upon Zane's face was their father, and maybe that gives Garroth his own little internal crisis because he's tried so hard to be nothing like dear old dad.

BUT ALSO, LETS PICTURE THIS

The rest of the group (let's say...Laurence, KC and Garroth) show up, and they try to find a way home without the help of the villagers of Phoenix drop, only to be attacked and have Zane kidnapped by people MCD!Zane has royally pissed off. The little group run back to Phoenix drop for help, and all the MCD lot just can't seem to understand why these little versions of themselves/their friends want to help Zane of all people so badly. It takes the Garroths having a full on row over it and Mystreet!Aph breaking down in tears to get people to help (because how can Laurence and Garroth watch a small version of the woman they love sob and not do something to try and help?) and obvi Lord Aphmau was on board the moment they asked and was going to do it alone before her Guards through out their protests and Little Garroth decided to cuss out MCD!Garroth for "abandoning his baby brother" (which is where the fight started)

...

Maybe I should write this myself...

Anyway, that's where my brain has gotten me today.

[redesigningxmen]

REDESIGNING MAGIK

Welcome to Limbo! Our group chose Illyana Rasputina, the marvelous Magik for this round! Introduced as the younger sister of Colossus, Magik joined the 80s New Mutants team as a young teen and has since flourished into an A-Lister in her own right. She's been a member of the Phoenix Five, Cyclops' renegade X-Men squad, the Krakoan New Mutants, and the 2022 X-Men team.

She has several inspiration points for artists and redesigners to pull from. She's most well-known for her all-black 2012 look but has also sported demonic and fantasy influences as someone connected to the hellish Limbo and her malevolent alter ego, the Darkchylde.

See what our enthusiastic and talented team of artists did this round, and make sure to follow them on social media for more fantastic art!

(The handles presented after artists names are their Twitter handles, but many use the same name on other platforms!)

Léa Dupic | @/kimodraw

"I went full speed ahead into medieval land and dressed Illyana in a full metal shiny armour, putting emphasis on her sword bearing arm with a biiiig spiky shoulder pad. Gave her a punk lesbian haircut while keeping her iconic bangs, because I think she should be allowed to be more of a punk lesbian. And I couldn't resist adding a touch of demon form with the horns. She's gloomy she's menacing she's spiky and shiny she's the girl of my dreams."

Giovanni Saroldi | @/RaulGiova 

"Just like matter, let’s give ‘Yana three states! Solid, liquid, gas? Kinda, not quite! From angelic to demonic, with her main form being the in-between totality of herself, where she can draw whichever power she needs.

It’s geometric, it’s chic, it’s retro-futuristic Terry Moore with the Horns of Galaxy The Prettiest Star meets Ludmilla from Bartok mid-transformation."

John Caden | @/johncaden64 

"I've always felt the Bachalo design was great, but could get very male-gazey.  I tried to make it more comfortable, while also keeping the same goth feel.  I do feel she needs to just go all-in goth, so let's shave her head, get some thick black mascara and commit to the bit! "

John Marsh | @/pastelrake

"What if Illyana had been a Russian figure skater?"

Joe Pryde | @/joeprydecosplay

"My inspiration for this design came from the idea of “what if Magik was an elder emo” complete with Kristen Stewart fem mullet, high waist buckled tights, and sleeveless crop top hoodie. I also wanted to pay homage to previous designs."

Haydn | @/ThatsSoHaydn 

"I had but one simple thought: What if the Soul Sword was a rapier? And thus fencing Magik was born. I wanted the geometric shapes of the dark bodysuit to contrast with the curves of the golden armor, whilst still adding a little magic and mystery with her cloak and mask. "

Dale Yaddow | @/DaleYaddow

Version 1 "The Savage Magik". Having been stripped of her magical knowledge, Illyana Rasputin hunts down various enchanted artifacts to replace what she's lost. Becoming desperate she seems to be willing to steal and sometimes kill to get these talismans. Among these are the Soul Dagger of Pixie, the medallion of Daimon Hellstrom, Holy bands from "Heven" and a cursed skull from an alternate version of Lockheed.

Version 2 "Mistress Magik" This is an older more seductive Magik that's been corrupted by the influence of Selene and embraced her sensuality, opening up a whole new avenue of mystical arts that she hadn't dared explore before. She now uses her SoulSword to capture the essences of her foes and much like Selene feeds on them keeping her young and vital.

Version 3 "Magik, Queen of Hell" Many questioned the logic of Magik giving Limbo to Madelyne Prior but the end game has been revealed. Illyana allowed Madelyne to tether her magic to Limbo, knowing eventually "Maddie" would get greedy and begin bringing more power to that dimension. With a carefully hidden clause in the Limbo transference spell Magik takes back Limbo and all the power within it and successfully overthrows all the Hell Lords, unifying the many dreaded dimensions under one fearsome rule, hers.

Anthony Ruiz | @/thwwipstickers

"Almost as soon as Magik was decided on for this design challenges I had two ideas strike me simultaneously ... The first of those ideas was the image of Illyana as a 90's Riot(ish) on the cover of a Magazine. I wanted to give her an edgy grungy vibe but still pay homage to her Demonic nature.

Shortly after Finishing my first Design I just knew I had to make my second idea come to life.

What if Illyana was an Anime Mech Pilot and Wore a Plugsuit... thats it... thats the idea. I really wanted to strike the Balance between Anime Plugsuit but still being noticeably Magik and X-men.

I kept the Bright yellow Color scheme with hints of black and red and chose to interpret her Armored arm into a Mechanized oversize cybernetic arm that helps fuel her Plasma Powered Soul sword that springs forth from her Gauntlet."

Isaiah Cox | @/isaiahbeenlost

"When designing my Magik look, I wanted to expand on ideas I had when drawing her a couple years ago by keeping her look sleek, yet scary stylish! So, I referenced a lot of Castlevania and Yoshiaki Kawajiri designs to get that cool anime look for her down! I plucked some fashion inspirations for the costume from places like: Mugler, Alexander McQueen, LaQuan Smith, JRPG rogues and medieval accessories! And for her new soul sword, I decided to give her an Odachi because since she already lived her Cloud Strife fantasy starting from the Bendis-era, I thought it was time for her to live her Sephiroth moment with this giant Japanese sword!"

David J Hughes | @/0ddeity

"I think with Magik I started out pretty traditional for her. Then I got to thinking our Russian Queen deserves a Mugler-esque fit. I wanted to go down the knight or warrior route, but then I thought ‘What If’ this was an AU Illyana raised by Patch and she got all of Logan’s training rather than Kitty and Jubilee, or, alongside them. So, bham, Oni-demon menpo mask and samurai elements on top of the Mugler flair."

Fleshmonk | @/fleshmonk

"Went through a bunch of design iterations, but settled on this cool plasticky vinyl plugsuit like version of Magik. I gave her a bob to mature her a bit and to move her towards a new silhouette."

Joshua Bruckner | @/joshingtonbear

"I took a bit from Magik's more armored designs, which I've always liked the most, and her goth jock aesthetic, and blended them. I rejected the Bachalo booty shorts in favor of a skirt, which gives her a bit of a 'cheerleader from hell' look."

Seye Sanyaolu | @/seye_art

"My intention for this redesign was Magik in a very dystopian future and so I imagined a 3/4 darkchylde Illyana that is in control of her self and powers (although almost lost it). In this future, most of the X-Men are gone and Illyana keeps a worn and frayed X-jacket on for the nostalgia :’)"

[barbwritesstuff]

I also love Chris and I would give my left kidney (or my right, whichever you prefer) if they got to be a full fledged RO. I’m just a sucker for exs who still clearly love each other and are able to overcome their issues, and there’s not a ton of ifs with a character like that.

I think it also helps that they’re the one with the most history with MC. They’ve known them long before they turned, and they’re the one RO with no connections to the supernatural world. In fact, every step you take towards rekindling things with Chris actually prevents you from experiencing the supernatural world, which I think is really interesting.

It’s like the relationship with Chris itself is a metaphor for Thicker Than in general. It’s using the past as a source of comfort and strength while you head towards a scary and unstable future.

I try to make all the ROs intersect with the main themes of the story in some way.

Chris, being the only one that knew MC when MC was alive, is very focused on the themes of humanity lost (and the pieces of it that remain). Their route also talks about lies, mistakes, and regret which I think is also 'on brand' for vampires.

Marcel is all about the masks the vampires lords wear. He plays the part of the shadowy vampire lord, but is actually softer and kinder than he appears. He kind of highlights how vampire society makes even the good vampires monsters.

Minjo is a bit of an oddball here. Her themes are less obvious. Ultimately, her themes might end up being that you can't always get your perfect 'happily ever after'. Perhaps, for vampires, it can only ever be fleeting moments of light in an eternity of darkness.

Freya's kindness and empathy is meant to highlight how needlessly brutal and cruel vampires and vampiric society can be. She's a witch, she has no reason to trust you, and yet she does, despite knowing exactly what you are. Her empathy towards ghosts, hunters, and other monsters is meant to highlight that all the paranormals are sort of outcasts in their own ways, and not as different as they might seem to each other.

Nathan is very focused on the horror of vampires from the perspective of humanity. He's seen the worst vampires can be and has turned himself into a weapon against the undead. But, in doing so, he's sort of killed himself too. He has no life outside that of the hunt. Being with him is both him and the MC deciding to live again, in their own ways.

Iliya, in contrast, is someone who enjoys being a vampire. Spending time with him, you see all the little ways being undead can be unique and special. He reads books, has affairs, carves his name into rocks underwater. But, in the end, even he isn't free.

On that note. Tracy's story is much more focused on how little freedom vampires really have within their own society. She had no choice, both in her life, and her death. Making you a vampire lord is her first real steps towards freedom, and it's incredibly dangerous for her.

Ravima route is sort of half finished right now, so is a little hard to talk about. Like Iliya, they find beauty in being dead, but unlike Iliya, their story focuses more on how those obsessions can destroy vampires as surely as the sun.

Erin isn't in the game yet but the idea I'm planning on exploring with her is how vampires humanity erodes. She was once a better person than she is now... and she knows it.

Of course, I'm an imperfect writer, so how well I can get those themes across in the final product remains to be seen. But that's the rough idea for all of the ROs. 😅

[d00medbythenarrative]

I had a fever dream again.

At the battle of hogwarts when Voldemort throws the avada at Harry he either doesn't mean it completely( Harry’s words plant a little doubt in his mind) or he secretly has an eight or whichever the fuck horcrux, the point is he doesn't die.

Instead he is left paralysed. In my mind he can't walk and his wand hand doesn't listen to him properly. And he can't use magic anymore of course.

I imagine the backfired spell would return his Tom Riddle looks but also leave a horrible scar on one side of his face. One blind eye and stuff. Really mirroring Harry’s scar bus so much worse. Also I love the idea of white hair streak.

Anyways. Voldemort is paralysed. Arrested of course. The issue is, taking care of him is a heavy task and no one wants to do it.

Stuff happens I don't know. Harry volunteers or is left with the dark lord in the grimmauld place.

I think the fun of this is the Dark lord who has nothing. Who is helpless and who know nothing, absolutely nothing good will come his way now. This is his life now. Bound to a wheelchair, ripped of his magic, constantly in pain.

And there is Harry, who is so conflicted. On one hand he needs to take care of the killer of his parents, a man he despises on the other hand, there is nothing left of that man.

He needs to live torn between his hatred and his undying need to help others, to be as kind as he can.

Horror house all around.

I think that would be such a fun story. The psychological horror, the character analysis you can do in such setting.

But alas I have no time. Such is life

[valar-did-me-wrong]

Adar thoughts if you're up!!

Who do you think Adar would have seen as a co-parent if he saw himself as father of Orcs and Uruk? Mairon himself? another fallen avari? would Galadriel be able to overcome the challenges to go into that role if Adar desired it, or is she too "anti-Orc" for that? Or is he just a single parent?

And if he had/does live into the Third Age, what would his feelings and attitude towards Saruman be?

Ooooooooo interesting questions!! (Sorry for not replying right away, asks just dumb me down everytime 🙈)

I'd like to start by saying in my head when I think of Adar this is how I see these questions answered & I bet a lot of amazing fan fic writers & meta discussions have influenced most of these opinions..

1. Who do you think Adar sees as a co-parent if he sees himself as father of Uruks?

I believe he alone was not the sole father of the Uruks, he's just the last surviving one. I believe all of the Moriondor were involved in the process & Sauron was not physically involved in the process (Adar might have held love for Sauron in the beginning but I believe Sauron despises the Uruk too much to be involved in birthing them in any sense. He was just the mastermind evil scientist breaking elven biologies and bodies enough to create Uruk from them)

I see it as a few dozens of Uruk descending from each Moriondor and then interbreeding among themselves there after.

The other Moriondor mustn't have been strong enough to survive through the ages, or something prevented Adar from dying off like them (maybe Sauron's favour because he was obsessed with him or just his grit & resilience which might have made Morgoth to consider him for a bigger role in his army!)

So I believe he sees himself and the other Moriondors as co-parents while they survived and then himself as a single parent..

Whichever poor elleths were involved in the process (which must have been torturous for them and Adar both because my Adar is not a sadist & I'll die on this hill) he believes them more as victims than willing parents and is confident they must hate the children born out of their unions just as much as they must hate their abusers the Moriondor & the dark lords.

2. Would Galadriel be able to overcome the challenges to go into that role if Adar desired it or is she too anti orc for that?

Let me put on my Adariel tinfoil hat & scream out how much I LOVE THEM real quick! 👀

Okay, so the way he forgave Galadriel for the uruk-killings I fully believe that means he would have let her take that role eventually.

Though I think that would have taken an age on both sides to learn & let go. And more than that for the Uruks to accept her. But as Second age is a tragedy, I don't think the Uruk could have been saved in canon 2nd age even if Adar is saved.

(ofcourse in a fix it they are saved! In my fix it the Uruks & Adar have Mordor, they have successful trades starting up & Sauron is shipped away to Valinor)

3. And if he had/does live into the Third Age, what would his feelings and attitude towards Saruman be?

Hmmm now there are two places he can live in till 3rd age, either Rivendell or Lothlorien.

(though for the show's story I'd have planned his death in the Battle of Last Alliance but JD & Patrick cowarded out maybe because of the time limit.. though Adar living to see Bilbo is my fix it fantasy ngl)

In both the scenarios and all of shipping & non shipping perspectives, I believe Adar's behaviour to Saruman & Gandalf would be pretty much the same.

He would distrust them & judge them personally for a long while because he has a lot of experince of Maiar which was horrible! I think eventually he will hear of Gandalf's friendships with mortals who seem not exactly men & those stories warm him up to Gandalf.

But Saruman's personality always reminds him of Mairon so he never really gets too comfortable with him & is the first one to doubt him when signs start to show.

[danger-xylophones]

Hi hi hi! Just found your account and saw your requests were open, I was hoping to request some lotr/the hobbit headcanons? Preferably about a reader who's struggling with depression while on the quest and the others notice their behaviour & give them some comfort/hope. You can do whichever characters you see fit, but if it's okay with you I'd particularly like to see Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas, Thorin, Fili, Kili and Elrond :) thanks a bunch, I hope you have a great day! <3

Howdy, welcome to the shitshow!

Thank you so much for this request! It was really therapeutic to write. Also I apologize if any of these seem ooc.

A lot of the described symptoms are things I've experienced in working through my own depression.

Warnings: depression symptoms, hopelessness, really vague reference to ideation (only in Elrond's)

Can be read as romantic or platonic, gender neutral

masterlist

Boromir

This man can be either the least or most comforting

And it all depends on how close you are when the symptoms rear their collective head

Early on, he’ll offer his ear and listen to your troubles but he can’t do much more besides helplessly shrug and say something akin to ‘we must press on’

He doesn’t outright say ‘suck it up’ but it does feel like that's what he means

BUT once you two become close (either as lovers or friends) he will try everything in his power to help

He’s not super knowledgeable on ailments of the mind, his brother was always a little more aware of the fragility of one’s psyche, but he does know the things that help him feel centered in reality

So, with your permission, he’ll take your hands in his

And squeeze them as hard as he can so your mind is forced to react to your body again

He makes sure he doesn’t hurt you but it is an uncomfortable sensation

“I will not lie to you, I understand very little the extent of your mind’s despair. I know I am afraid and I fear for the future and I know it is different than your fear.”

“Because your fear lies within absence - that there is no point in pushing forward because you cannot see a future not filled with suffering.”

And he’d rest his forehead against yours so you can feel another living being.

“But please, if you cannot see that there is a future where the light shines through unimpeded by darkness, trust that I can.”

“Trust that I see a world where there is peace. Trust that I see you there.”

.........

Aragorn

Listen, this he has his own struggles with depression

He understands the best

Why do you think he lived as a ranger for as long as he did?

Because it satisfied the urge to just vanish and have it be like he’d never existed

But he was fortunate enough to have a support system in Elrond and the lord’s children

They helped him learn that yes, there is great suffering and yes, it is pointless

But life isn’t

And since they’re immortal beings who have seen ages come and go and watched the cycles play out before them - they would know best of all

And it is this exact wisdom he passes on to you one night by the campfire after everyone else has gone to sleep

He hadn’t been able to sleep so he’d gotten up to keep you company during your watch

Only to find you lost in the void of your mind, eyes vacant and staring with a question on your lips

“There is no point.” he’d say as he came to stand beside you. “Suffering simply is.”

“Then why even try?” You hissed in distress

“Because life has a voice of its own that is being drowned out by the suffering. We are trying to raise life’s voice once more.”

“And the darkness of this world doesn’t want us to be quieted. So, it makes us hurt. And grieve. And give up.”

“But if you give up, if you surrender yourself, you do not escape it. You become it. Unfeeling and uncaring.”

“I am already unfeeling-“ you’d scoff

“But would you wish your fate - this emptiness you feel, on another? Would you wish it on Frodo?”

And his words would spark to life the little voice in the back of your mind that so rarely got to speak. And it would cry out ‘no’

“This shroud is no easy thing to be rid of.” He’d take your hands in his. “But you do not have to face it alone.”

Legolas

Legolas is another one who does not entirely understand what you're going through

But that does not stop him

He's a very perceptive elf so the second your demeanor shifts he knows somethings wrong

The moment you show the first sign of a depressive episode, whether that be a sudden loss of appetite, a spike in irritability, or a sudden despondency, he starts asking questions

And through your evasive answers, he keeps pressing the issue because he's a very emotional elf and he wants to make sure you're alright

And one night after making camp he's up in a panic because he can't find you.

Gimli mentions seeing you heading towards the bank of the nearby river and he immediately sets out, thoroughly prepared to scold you for wandering off.

But his admonishment dies on his tongue when he hears you crying

Instant panic - are you hurt? are you upset? overwhelmed? scared?

He races right over to you and grabs you by the shoulders

And since he's quiet enough to sneak up on an owl, he scares the shit out of you

And you nearly deck him on instinct

Except, Legolas is quick to catch your hand in one and cup your face in the other

"Tell me what troubles you, please, for it breaks my heart to see you so distraught."

There's a beat

And you finally break and tell him everything - your fears for the journey, your fears that this will all be for nothing, your fears that once Sauron is gone another great evil will take his place.

Every symptom and every stray dark thought

And he listens intently, cradling your face between his hands as if you will break if puts a modicum of force in his hold.

To his credit, you just might.

"I know that there are not enough words to silence the fear that torments you and robs you of your light. But please, if it would help you, allow me to hold you."

After a consenting nod, he pulls you into an incredibly tight hug and angles your ear over his heart so you can hear its steady beat.

And he just holds you until you're ready to face the others again

Going forward he pays closer attention to you and he makes sure you eat and drink water regularly among other things

He keeps you grounded

.........

Elrond

Elrond is the one who knows what to do to help you

Herald or lord, his approach is largely the same

He pulls you aside one day and takes your hands in his, tethering you to him while he speaks

"Your mind has been troubled. Please, tell me what ails you."

You can try and brush him off - the key word being 'try' of course

He is as persistent as Legolas but more capable than anyone else on this list

But he is subtler than the other elf

If you don't answer him, he starts to just take care of you

If you miss a meal, Elrond brings it to you

And he brings his own little snack so you don't feel weird being the only one eating

If he notices you haven't bathed, he will create the most relaxing bath you've ever had and offer gentle reminders to take care of yourself

Insomnia? He has literally every remedy in the world

And when your mind is a tyrant, he fends it off with reminders that not all hope is lost

And an acknowledgment that while the pain you're in is real, it does not have to be permanent and he will help you move past it

Because he cares about you and he values your life

Even when you don't

He's a healer, after all, let him heal you

He also makes sure to redirect your focus to the little things in life, the fragile things that you can protect

Elrond will make you a depression garden and he will help you maintain it for as long as you need him to

And even after that to always remind you that he loves you and that there are others who love you just as much

Thorin

oh boy

I'm sorry, he has no clue what to do

Very similar to Boromir, actually

At first, he's inclined to tell you to suck it up - or even do the shitty thing of trying to one up you with his problems

But, that will pass, eventually

The shift will coincide with his change in attitude towards you as a part of the company

If you're a dwarf, it won't take as long for him to be willing to hear you out

Hobbit, is a close second, then human, and lastly - elf

Regardless, eventually he will come around and realize that he's being an ass

He's still clueless but now he's at least making an effort to help you

Since he doesn't quite know what to do, he starts by just offering his ear

He tries to be very reassuring about the quest for the arkenstone

It'll get to the point where he opts for physical comfort

A hand to the knee, your back, your arm

When you're closer, he'll press his head against yours to ground you in moments of high stress

Unfortunately he never gets better with his words, everything he says always comes across as gruff and dismissive (despite not actually intending to sound like that)

But he has a comforting presence that he offers freely to you

And he will happily stand up to anyone in the company giving you shit for your symptoms

He has plans to encourage the greatest dwarven healers to start looking into mental health once he reclaims Erebor

.........

Fili

Unlike his uncle, Fili does have a surface level understanding of what you're going through

Honestly, because I headcanon Dis has some form of depression (genetics)

So, he's more aware of what that entails and understands that it's not a moral failing or a personality defect

He treats it like a curable disease - literally like it's a fever that will eventually break

When he notices you're acting off compared to what he'd expect, he'll pull you aside and out of ear shot of the others

"I noticed you've been a little down, lately - need an ear?"

Similar to some others, if you brush him off, he won't let it go - but he's a bit more subtle about it.

"Well, alright then, just know I'm keeping an eye out for you. It's always good to have somebody who's got your back, after all. Oh, like this one time Kili and I-"

He's almost casual about everything??? Like, he doesn't just ignore the fact you're suffering but he's very careful with showing his concern

Because he knows from personal experience that having people all up in your business (even when they mean well) is not fun

He also does a damn good job of keeping the others from overwhelming you

"What's wrong with them?" Dwalin huffs one night.

"Nothing, Master Dwalin," Fili is swift to reply as he ladles a portion of soup into a bowl for you, "they said they've just been feeling the weight of the journey a bit more these past few days. Rest assured, they're fine." The blond dwarf trounces away before any of the others can comment.

That's another thing he does - he brings you food during every meal and he eats with you

He noticed that you wouldn't eat if no one was paying attention to you and you wouldn't if people talked to you during your meal. So, he convinced Thorin to put you and him on watch during meals so you two had a built in excuse to eat in silence together without the rest of the company questioning you.

With time, he helps rebuild your hope through simple companionship and the normalization of your illness.

He knows you've got fragile pieces but you're not made of glass and he's not your savior.

He's your support

Kili

Clueless but somehow still helpful

He like...doesn't notice something's wrong???

Like genuinely, he thinks you're just like that and his whole thought process is 'yeah, they're a bit different, but I think they're cool'

I mean, how long did he call Bilbo 'Mr. Boggins' without realizing he was saying it differently?

Fili's probably the one that tells him that your odd habits are symptoms of depression

And he's just like 'oh' and then proceeds to ask what the hell that means

He hunts you down and is like 'why didn't you tell me you were sick????'

And then comes the not so fun part of explaining to him what you're actually going through

He does accidentally do the thing where he treats you like you can't take care of yourself but that doesn't last long

But he does ping pong back and forth between being genuinely helpful and being so clueless

It takes you sitting him down again and explaining to him that while you recognize that he wants to be helpful, he's stressing you the hell out

He will finally settle into his role as this supportive, comforting distraction

He's the type to crack jokes with you when you're feeling particularly down

The first time it happened, you'd gotten a little angry at him but he persisted and startled you which inadvertently helped shake you out of your slump long enough to realize you were in one and that there were steps you could take to make you feel better

And now, whenever you feel particularly hopeless - you go to Kili so he can distract you from the torment of your own mind

[runwayrunway]

No. 1 - Lufthansa

We begin with a large fish even by the standards of the large pond in which we operate. A very intentionally chosen large fish. Deutsche Lufthansa is Germany’s flag carrier and the second largest carrier in all of Europe by passenger volume. In 2018, they unveiled a new standard livery for their fleet of airplanes, and it...well. It’s this. 

Even the presentation - good lord, is this an auto show?

My feelings on Lufthansa’s 2018 livery are visceral. There’s no mental evaluation required, no taking it in, thinking about the choices made - I look at the modern Lufthansa livery and immediately, profoundly know that I hate it. And that’s not just because of the specific choices made - which are bad - but because of the space they occupy amidst a creatively barren wasteland within livery design. This is going to be a very long post, which isn’t standard for this blog, but my goal for an introduction is to break down exactly the sort of design that made me feel the need to start doing this to begin with. 

But in reality that’s only the beginning. Yes, Lufthansa’s livery is specifically disappointing, but it is so much more than that. It is the purest distillation of the greatest challenge aviation faces today, far weightier than scheduling issues, outdated IT, and runway incursions. It is not the worst example of it, not in the slightest, but it is a large airline which has a very textbook presentation of symptoms and thus feels like a great example to describe exactly what I hate about this sort of design. Let me explain. 

Essentially, airlines have found a formula. It goes as such: 

Almost entirely white body. (There is a name for this trend: Eurowhite.) In some cases, there may be a colour on the underside, generally either a light grey or whichever secondary shade the airline has committed to. In the case of this Lufthansa livery, it is just white. 

Aside from the white body there will be either a single colour (generally some dark blue, or less often some sort of red) or a few colours, usually but not exclusively on flag carriers to match their national branding. (The proliferation of red, white, and blue flags out there means that a disproportionate number of airline liveries are these colours.) Unless it is literally just a white plane meant to be as generic as possible for short turn-overs when leasing, it will at least attempt to have some sort of design, but it will be minimal, and:

All of the detail will be on the tail. There may be coloured winglets or engine nacelles, but other than that it is only at the rear of the plane that you begin to see any interest. Usually this is just a logo, though it may be an abstract design which looks like a default tumblr header. It will often only be on the tail, with nothing at all on the body proper.

The name of the airline written in a sans-serif typeface which is set as default on at least one word processor. Rarely will anything creative be done with this. It will (usually, except in egregious cases) match the impotent attempt at graphic design which has been confined to the empennage and it will have all the charm of a large retail chain’s flyer describing the benefits you’ll definitely totally get if you work for them - sickeningly corporate. Low-cost airlines may slightly vary the theme by putting their website onto the livery, either towards the back or just instead of the airline’s name. The brave will also write it on the ventral fairing, but most don’t even bother with that simple act. Some airlines have their name written in the language spoken in the country they’re based in, usually beside the English text, but most are only in English despite operating in countries where this is not the most widely spoken language. 

Not every livery which has these features is badly designed, as seemingly small changes can make all the difference. There is the occasional livery that fits most, if not all of these features that has some clever tweaks or design choices which makes me actually think it’s fine, acceptable, maybe even decent. (I have taken the initiative of making sure a few of these are among my early posts, just to demonstrate that it can be done). And some airlines depart from this entirely and come up with something even more hideous. Yet I somehow find myself respecting even these more than I do Lufthansa. 

The Corporate Standard Livery Design (Lufthansesque design, if you will) is - and I do not think I am being dramatic at all here - an epidemic. Taxiing through most airports, you sometimes have to actually try to tell the planes parked around you apart in the sea of red, blue, and mostly white. And I spend a lot of time looking at planes.  

These liveries do not only fail to inspire me. They instill in me a profound disgust. They are not trying to be good. They are trying to be what I described earlier - decent, not worth complaining about, because that’s cheaper and easier than designing something good. Graphic design is not anyone’s passion here. They’re just trying to toe the line. They’re so poisoned by the modern minimalist-design brain virus that they don’t realise that to be acceptable a livery this simple needs to do something interesting. There must be a creative decision made somewhere, a compelling feature, or you may as well be flying an MLA-formatted plane. In their striving for adequacy they become not just ambient, but lukewarm. They are a bottle of water which has sat in the sun for so long that when you drink it, even though you’re overheating and parched, it feels only negligibly better than the air you’ve been breathing in. 

To be fair, I do not only hate the Lufthansa paintjob because it exemplifies whatever-ness. Even in an industry saturated with gross in-flight nothingburgers served with some stale biscuits and a paper cup of Lipton tea, Lufthansa manages to offend in specific and unique ways. 

Throughout its long history Lufthansa has had a handful of different liveries, but from 2018 onwards this has been the situation. They’ve never been brilliant, but it’s only gotten worse over time. I normally would commit to a separate post for historical liveries, but in a move that I don’t foresee becoming particularly common I’d like to talk about the history and evolution of Lufthansa’s liveries from the golden age to now - the fall, if you will. 

(image: lufthansa bildarchiv)

Their early liveries were already pretty much plain white or metal, but they still had a few features that made them seem a bit less like photocopy paper which was meant to be printed plain blue but only got through a tenth of the sheet before ink ran out. To begin with, they used a lighter blue and combined it with a vivid yellow to add some actual visual interest. The layering of the yellow over the blue where it curves around and below the nose and on the ends of the tailplane actually draws the eye. The font choice is nice and legible, spaced apart in the center of the fuselage. I imagine it was easy to read even from far away. (Shame it’s a bit blocked by the wings from some angles, though.)

(image: lufthansa bildarchiv)

This early 707 design keeps the cheatlines extending past the nose but makes them sharper than the ones on the Connie to match the sleek profile of the jet. Back when this plane was painted adding white to your plane was a choice rather than the thing everybody was doing, which allows me to respect it for the choice it was instead of considering it the factory default. The bottom half, denoted by the cheatline, is left unpainted, which only adds to the sleekness of the overall profile, and the text is clear and plain but still aesthetically pleasing. The 707 is by modern standards pretty antique-looking; you can take one look at one and tell it isn’t particularly streamlined. This paint scheme, though, makes the plane look sharp and aerodynamic, despite not being revolutionary. I would go so far as to say I like this particular livery. This is, unfortunately, as good as it gets. 

Oh. Oh no...

Let’s assess the damage here. The cheatlines now simply meet at the front without wrapping down to the belly of the plane and the nose is a simple black tip. I like it when airlines paint their planes’ radomes, and I wouldn’t mind it here if not for what it was replacing. The font has been replaced with a generic sans serif font which is closely spaced and put up into a corner, like the name on a homework assignment - it’s not really part of the total package, just there for administrative purposes. Most upsetting to me is the tail. While I wouldn’t say I love the little section on the old plane, it at least felt like it belonged there, creating a second blue-and-yellow layer above the white. Its placement on the fin above where it begins to taper gives the plane a bit of an aerodynamic feel. It’s certainly not changing the world, but it feels at home in the livery. 

The new fin is a sharp downgrade. With nothing to mark the transition the fin abruptly goes from the white of the upper fuselage to a shiny blue which contains an enclave of the only yellow to be found on the entire aircraft. This makes the yellow stand out, as it has nothing to tie it in with the rest of the plane, and the fin itself feels almost like it’s been Frankensteined onto the fuselage from a different plane by a different airline. There’s nothing to mediate the transition from a block of white to a block of blue, like how the cheatline separates white and grey. It just is blue now, stop asking questions. This also means that the only part of the plane that the eye is really drawn to is...the tiny portion of the whole that is the fin, which may as well be floating detached in midair. 

This is foreboding. Knowing what I know now, it feels like looking back at when a romantic partner began to act strange years later, after the divorce, as you walk by the house he bought with his mistress. 

(image: g najberg)

The most recent, and only, time I flew on Lufthansa was in 2014 and was aboard one of their 747-400s. (Actually, if you’d still like to fly on a passenger 747, Lufthansa is basically your only option.) At the time, they looked like this. This is...just sad. They got rid of the cheatlines, because that’s trendy now, and they painted the whole plane white and made an attempt at lip service to the old metal lower half by painting just a bit of the plane grey, like if a human stepped into a puddle of paint that only covered the very sole of their foot. And I’m being generous by showing a 747, a plane which inherently makes any livery look less boring by being interestingly shaped itself, instead of the classic slightly pointy single-decker tube. Not to mention the double-decker design makes the text vertically centered instead of the default Lufthansa look of awkwardly shoved nearly all the way up the fuselage. 

In defense of the modern livery, it’s possible to argue it’s an improvement on this. Honestly, looking at them next to each other, it’s difficult to pick out which one I find less defensible. 

But then you see D-AIDV, an A321 painted in a heritage livery, and you feel the immediate, visceral “no!!! no go back!!!” as you remember that this is a false dichotomy and we could have something so much better if they weren’t peer-pressured into generic modern design. 

And for what? For this?

(image: hvdfonts)

For the third time, I remind you of what we have been reduced to. We have achieved a state of reductio ad absurdum where this barely qualifies as a design. This plane is more or less a white blot. You can put as many insets as you want and it is still a white blot. 

I am relatively sure that the font used is literally Helvetica. EDIT: I have been informed that it is not, in fact, Helvetica, but a custom typeface that happens to look almost exactly like Helvetica. This is, in my own opinion, worse! They did apparently use Helvetica in the past, though. Here is a very detailed description of the design process of the font, which manages to contain a grand total of zero ideas. 

I would hate this on its own already, but it’s also so closely spaced and located so far up that it makes me feel like I’m suffocating. In my own experience as a dyslexic person, kerning is the single weightiest feature when it comes to if I can easily read something or not. While Helvetica, ugly though it may be, is generally considered a very legible font, any benefits from that are more than cancelled out by committing to making sure the entire name of the airline fits between the frontmost two doors with room to spare. It feels almost hostile.

Now, all given, I at least somewhat enjoy the shade of blue used for this livery, which is darker than the normal fare. I do miss the way the grey broke up the endless white space, though, and I mourn the yellow even more - in addition to being something to look at, losing it has also lost any visible reference to the flag of Germany, the country for which Lufthansa is the flag carrier. They don’t even have the black part of the German flag despite that being basically free. If they went for black instead of dark blue I would honestly respect this a hell of a lot more. One of the most recognizable flags in the world and instead your airline looks like a discount SAS.  

Yeah, I said it. If we want to go even further with comparisons by including airlines that aren’t Lufthansa, this is basically the SAS livery. Except not, because the SAS livery does a lot that this doesn’t. 

This is about Lufthansa, not SAS. I’ll look at SAS soon enough, because comparing their look to Lufthansa’s has made me appreciate it in a way I never used to. But I don’t think I need to elaborate too much for it to be clear why SAS’s livery works and Lufthansa’s doesn’t, despite the superficial similarities. SAS took their absolutely horrid previous livery and turned it into something which might not wow anyone but at least feels uniquely theirs, while Lufthansa had something which accomplished much the same and then diluted it into nothingness, Eurowhite writ large. Two washes and you’d wonder if your Lufthansa flight is actually a Smartlynx lease.  

The way that the blue slices into the bottom of the fuselage and doesn’t fully cover the tailfin is...something? It’s a design element. It’s not nearly enough to save it, but it’s a design element. However, this presents another issue specific to Lufthansa’s paint job, best demonstrated with a specific plane: 

(image: lufthansa)

Lufthansa is the world’s largest operator of the Airbus A340, a somewhat eccentric airplane which is perhaps best thought of as a four-engined A330. I love this airplane, and am delighted seeing it overhead on my walk home from work, because Lufthansa is kind enough to operate a daily service with it to my home airport, but that’s beside the point. The point is this: what I have pictured is specifically the A340-600, which is the world’s second longest in-service airliner. Yes, longer than the A380 and the 747-400, and, in fact, only shorter than the 747-800. With a plane this long, the Lufthansa livery creates an incredible look of rear-heaviness. This plane looks like it should uncontrollably pitch up until it’s perpendicular to the ground every time it takes off. Of course this effect is less pronounced on shorter aircraft, but it’s still there, and I dislike it. 

You can barely even tell there’s paint at all on a much smaller plane! And the white bit on the front of the rudder which looks okay on a conventional empennage looks downright horrible when it’s only on the very tip of the t-tail’s forward point. 

Oh, and when you take the windows out for a freighter conversion it gets even worse. 

This is a generic-brand airplane. It genuinely reminds me of generic branding. There is a specific brand that has this exact appearance and I can’t remember what it is but it’s right there and I’m fairly sure I’ve seen it at CVS. I don’t think that’s what you want to go for when designing an airline livery, especially for an airline representing a country, but if Lufthansa wasn’t going for that they’ve failed. 

                  __________________________________________

Overall, Lufthansa’s livery is superbly boring and not terribly well thought out. It’s not worth this absolute dissertation on its own, but I’ve singled it out to complain about general trends, and for that I probably owe it an apology. Said apology is predicated on the fact that it is still a very underwhelming and bad design which could have used a lot more thought. There are a million ways this could have been made decent, and none of them were implemented because that would have taken effort and time and creative vision. I think this post actually required more time and effort than Lufthansa put into designing their planes. 

That said, Lufthansa gets a final grade of D. It’s...bad, it definitely is. There’s the vague flavour of the start of something, like the very distant smell from a barbecue happening three blocks away, but is that really even a redeeming factor? 

No. The second-largest airline in Europe should be able to do better. If I have to stare at rows upon rows of their planes any time I’m at a German airport, they should have the decency to make them interesting to look at. 

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

True Form Sukuna/Reader: A Moment in Time (Part 3- The Executioner)

Author’s Note: Hey guys. Part 3 of A Momen in Time. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed! Enjoy!

Warnings: nsft (implied/referenced), swearing, sexism, kidnapping, Sukuna being himself, implied death, blood and injury, MINORS DNI

The night before your execution was spent fending off rats who scurried around you in the darkness. 

The basement was frigid and you found your thin cotton robe did little to keep you warm. 

So this is what your life would be? 

Short with a tragic ending. 

After all the years of service you had given to this palace, the highbrow nobles who cast you to the devil to save their own skin. 

You wouldn’t go down begging for salvation from the likes of them. You’d die with honor, the genuine kind their wealth could never procure. 

~

When Uraume arrived at their master's chambers, they discovered two naked women sleeping in Sukuna’s bed. 

Sukuna himself was already awake, gazing at the nude figures he had ravaged the previous night. 

“Tell me Uraume, which of these women is more attractive?”

“Whichever one you deem to be sir.”

“Don’t play coy,  I’ll break your arm if you do.”

Uraume didn’t bother mentioning that such an act would inhibit their ability to cook. 

“I suppose from a visual standpoint, my lord, the woman with the larger bust.”

“And yet her performance last night was subpar,” he mumbled.

“My lord, the execution,” Uraume reminded him.

Sukuna grunted in agreement. “Fine then take her to the kitchen, she shall be the one I feast on, and send the other one on her way home, I might call upon her again.”

“Right away my lord.”

~

“Get up,” one of the guards barked. 

Interesting choice of words considering you had never gone to sleep, you just sat up and let your resentment build. 

The guard walked down the stairs of the basement and roughly lifted you up by the arm, you didn’t miss how his eyes lingered down the front of your disheveled robe, predatorily stopping on your breasts. 

“You know, the lord of the house would most likely reconsider your fate if you were to offer him your companionship in his chambers.”

You just glared at him. “I’d rather be killed a million times over by Sukuna than fuck that pig.”

The guard just sneered. “Well look who death has emboldened? Let’s go, your majesty, your public awaits.”

~

The guards dragged you up the stairs and slammed you down on the stage where you were to be killed, hastily tying your arms behind you and taking their leave. 

The courtyard had filled with spectators, all morbidly curious to witness a fatal blow from the likes of Sukuna first hand. 

The nobleman who had decided your fate made his way up the stairs and addressed the public. 

“Citizens of the capitol, let us witness the pure cruelty that necessitates our way of life in a world of cursed creatures.”

~

When Sukuna arrived at the palace courtyard he was greeted by the same group of kowtowing buffoons as before. He impatiently brushed past them and made his way to the stage to meet his victim.

“Lower your heads for Ryomen Sukuna,” the nobleman ordered. 

With the heads of the subject lowered Sukuna was able to have a clear view of the stage, and the person who sat atop of it was none other than you.

The maid.

Uraume quizzically looked at their master who temporarily had paused his actions.

“My lord?” they inquired. “What stops you?”

Instead of lunging his spear through you as he had intended he slowly made his way towards the stage.

~

You were already wracked with anxiety, what on earth was he doing? When you saw Sukuna again, this time brandishing a weapon that would certainly kill, he stared at you as he once had before. 

You almost wished he would just get it over with and put you out of your misery. 

Instead he just stalked towards the stage confusing the spectators and the nobleman beyond reason.

“Lord Sukuna,” the nobleman babbled. “Great and honorable lord Sukuna, we have done as you asked and brought you the person responsible for yesterday's incident.”

Sukuna ignored him, instead focusing his attention on you. 

Kneeling before him like this, even on a platform, you felt so miniscule. You could see up close how muscular his chest was, how massive his frame was. His own hand could crush your skull in the blink of an eye. 

“I saw you yesterday, tell me your name.”

You uncertainly looked up at the nobleman. You really hadn’t expected this. 

“Tell him,” he squealed out.

You gathered all your courage and faced Sukuna, opting to not break eye contact no matter how much you feared him.

“I am (Name), Lord Sukuna.”

“And how exactly were you responsible (Name)?”

“I allowed Yorozu, the woman you killed, to approach you my lord.”

He sneered, making your skin crawl.

“You’re lying,” he taunted. 

“I…I can assure you I’m telling the truth my lord.”

Sukuna chuckled.

“Humans and your loyalties. I can sense your accelerated pulse. You are not the one who was charged with that woman’s care. Or perhaps you and another person were and you have taken the fall for the both of you?”

Damn him. This was nothing but entertainment to the likes of him.

Your gaze wandered towards the servant boy. A determined look in his eye.

Don’t, you silently pleaded. Don’t confess.

The nobleman grabbed the collar of your robe and pulled you towards him. “You lowly bitch! You dare make a fool of me?”

He froze up as the crowd gasped. You collapsed back down to the ground to find a pool of blood and a severed arm, his severed arm. 

You shrieked and shimmied back as best as you could with your restraints.

Sukuna flicked the blood off of his hand as the nobleman began to cry in agony. 

“Do not touch my possession,” he warned. 

You gasped when he effortlessly picked you up with a single hand and slung you over his shoulder. 

“I’ve decided on new conditions to this atonement, this maid now belongs to me.”

You wanted to scream again, but you couldn’t. You were stunned beyond belief.

No, not this. You would have preferred to die here and now than to be horrifically eaten or mutilated. 

Panic filled the courtyard as Sukuna briskly walked out the way he came in. 

“(Name)!” the servant boy cried.

“Get a doctor! The lord of the house is bleeding out!”

“Damn you Sukuna!” he cursed. “You’ll pay for this!”

Sukuna turned around much to the crowd's horror. “Careful,” he warned. “I can just as easily take off the other one.”

~

No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Your mind raced at a million miles a minute. The white haired attendant who had stood beside Sukuna yesterday raced after their master in a frenzy. 

“Lord Sukuna, with the array of choices I have at the temple it seems unnecessary to tamper your appetite with the likes of that thing.”

Thing?

As offended as you were to be referred to as some inferior product, you found yourself reeling at the implications of that statement. 

Your joints started to regain some type of feeling, so you unwisely pounded your fists against Sukuna’s back. 

He laughed at your foolish actions. “A spirited vixen. Something that can easily be dealt with.”

“Put me down,” you growled.

“As you wish.”

He stopped in front of the carriage and tossed you inside with little effort. 

You grunted when you hit the floor with a thump.

“How dare you give Lord Sukuna orders, you ugly little peasant,” Uraume scolded. 

“Better a peasant than a bootlicker,” you shot back.

Uraume was about to unleash their technique when their master stopped them. 

“Enough!” he roared.

The two of you went silent.

Sukuna climbed in and sat beside you.

“Walk alongside the carriage Uraume.”

The order caused the attendant to shoot a murderous look in your direction. Already you burdened them with your pitiful presence and now you have taken their place.

You would have gladly swapped with them, but the way Sukuna blocked you from the exit made it clear you weren’t going anywhere.

~

The End. 

[talonabraxas]

The Legend of Radha-Krishna Talon Abraxas

The Legend Young Krishna is known to be very playful and mischievous. The story goes that as a child, Krishna was extremely jealous of Radha's fair complexion since he himself was very dark.

One day, Krishna complained to his mother Yashoda about the injustice of nature which made Radha so fair and he so dark. To pacify the crying young Krishna, the doting mother asked him to go and colour Radha's face in whichever colour he wanted.

In a mischievous mood, naughty Krishna heeded the advice of mother Yashoda and applied colour on her beloved Radha's face; Making her one like himself.

Well, there is also a legend to explain Krishna's dark complexion. It so happened that once a demon attempted to kill infant Krishna by giving him poisoned milk. Because of which Krishna turned blue. But Krishna did not die and the demon shriveled up into ashes.

The beautiful scene of Krishna's prank in which he played colour with Radha and other gopis has been made alive in myriad forms in a number of paintings and murals.

The Celebrations Somehow, the lovable prank of Krishna where he applied colour on Radha and other gopis using water jets called pichkaris gained acceptance and popularity. So much so that it evolved as a tradition and later, a full-fledged festival. Till date, use of colours and pichkaris is rampant in Holi. Lovers long to apply colour on their beloveds face and express their affection for each other.

This legend is wonderfully brought alive each year all over India, particularly in Mathura, Vrindavan, Barsana and Nandgaon-the places associated with Krishna and Radha.

In fact, the entire country gets drenched in the colour waters when it is time for Holi and celebrate the immortal love of Krishna and Radha.

In some states of India, there is also a tradition to place the idols of Radha and Krishna in a decorated palanquin, which is then carried along the main streets of the city. All this while, devotees chant Krishna's name, sing devotional hymns and dance in the name of the lord.

[theallianceofcelestials]

Oh my god, I would love to see a Hollow Knight AU written by you guys!!! It's one of my favorite games!

Based on your stories, and you guys write an amazing family dynamic that warms and cheers sad hearts. I can easily imagine the Creator taking on the role of the Pale King, while the Shadow Lord could be Kill Code, who emerges from the abyss to search for the children and other family members who are lost in Hallownest Anyway, it's just an idea, I'm sure that whatever you write, if you decide to do it, will be great, I hope both have a great day, take care of yourselves!

Hi! :D

Moongleams is the one with really amazing stories (I don't have any published yet, haha), but thank you for the lovely compliment on her behalf!

Hollow Knight spoilers ahead for those who need it!

In one of the variants for the AU you would be correct in that KC would be the Shade Lord, but the Creator wouldn't be the Pale King, but the Radience!

In this version it's the first version/original Eclipse, who would fill in the Knight/Ghost's role, because the Shade Lord is Ghost's stronger version (kinda), and since Eclipse the OG and KC are made from the same homicide code, it kinda made sense. Solar's the Hollow Knight. A separate version (which funnily enough is the older version) actually has Solar and Eclipse switch roles, since at the end of the day, their base code is still the same.

The main other version actually has version one Eclipse himself as the Shade Lord, with Solar being the Hollow Knight, and 3rd/4th version of Eclipse (our current canon Eclipse) being Ghost. Same reason as with the previous versions, OG Eclipse is the "better" version of current Eclipse (whom Moongleam and I call something else, just like 2nd iteration of Bloodmoon gets a different name). Funnily the Radience in this version is actually Dark Sun.

Regardless of whichever version it is, there are a few roles that never change! These are:

Moon is always the Pale King - ties nicely into him creating Eclipse, and PK creating the Vessels;

Sun is the White Lady, in this case being the White Lord, but he'd take on a much more active role of raising the chosen Vessel;

Ruin is always Grimm, his pretended insane side being the Troupe Master, while his real serious side being the Nightmare King;

Lunar is always a Sibling at the bottom of the Abyss;

Monty is Milibelle. That does not need further explanation;

Solar Flare is Broken Vessel;

Earth is always Hornet;

Hope you also have a fantastic day! Take care! :D