#Architecture Of Incomprehension

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔘𝔫𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩 𝔒𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔰 - ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔒𝔣 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

[nobutsrslyimagineit]

the phevolution

[wackywasabi09]

Another WIP bc I wanna post something and nothing is done. Sigh.

Pls don’t comment on the anatomy XD I refused to pull up a reference when I started and it’s too late now

[peninkwrites]

The Green Room - Ch 3 of 4

Showfall Media’s recasting process starts with a trip to the green room. There, cast members are offered the truth before the slate is wiped clean…

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 2

Ch 4

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE - RECASTING 104

“Hello, Charlie!  It’s good to see you again,” a cheerful voice jars him awake.

Charlie sits up sharply, heart already racing, body remembering things his mind can’t.  He feels something constricting his chest, tightening around his wrists, even his ankles.  “W-What…?  Why am I… Why am I tied down?!  Why can’t I move?” Charlie tugs desperately against the bindings around his body.

“Hi, Charlie,” a woman sits across from him with a clipboard, smiling.  “You’re tied down because you have a history of quickly getting violent when you start to remember, but I’m sure you can figure as much from how you’re struggling right now! I’m going to try to move fast, jump-start the process, we’re pretty good at it by now, huh?”

“What’re you… What’re you even saying?” Charlie can’t explain the panic gripping him, but he knows this is wrong, this is bad, but that doesn’t change the fact that he cannot move.

“Charlie, I am a technician who works for Showfall Media.  You call me Dr. Smith,” she says gently.  “We’ve met and talked many times before, you just don’t remember.”

“Where’s…” Charlie’s chest feels very tight, old pain digging into him, not merely internally, but it feels like his skin is pulled too taught, phantom claw marks digging into his back, wrapping around his torso.  “Where are they?”

“Where’s who, Charlie?” The woman asks.

“Where are the others?” Charlie feels dread deep in his gut.  “Do you… do you have Ranboo?”

“The others are alive.  They’re fine, Charlie.  They’re either in their Green Rooms being prepped for recasting, or they’re waiting for their next roles,” Dr. Smith looks slightly puzzled.  “Hm.  You don’t usually ask about specific costars, but I guess this last role you had, you really bonded with Ranboo as the Hero, huh?”  She laughs.

Charlie feels sick.  “Roles?  I don’t… I don’t understand.  I don’t know what’s happening,” he has a tremor in his voice, even as he feels like this is not a place for weakness.

“You will,” she says simply.  “This is the part where you listen.”

Charlie glances frantically around the room, it’s irritatingly calm, furnished with padded wooden chairs, almost like a waiting room.  They’re alone, as far as he can tell.  He looks down at his own body and sees thick straps holding him in place.  There’s no way he could tear free, he sees no escape, so he slumps back, weary.

“Listen to… listen to what?”

“Hm, we could call it a recap of sorts.  You’re one of our oldest cast members, so there’s a lot to fill in, but we also are really good at this by now, huh?” She says, voice sickly sweet.  “What do you remember, Charlie?”

“What… I don’t… I don’t remember.  I don’t remember fucking anything, alright?!  I don’t… I don’t understand what’s happening.  Who the fuck are you?” Charlie sounds more pleading than angry.

“I told you who I am.  Are you asking who Showfall is?”

“And you’d tell me?  If I asked, you’d tell me what Showfall is?” Charlie says it like a challenge rather than a question.

“Of course.  You can ask me questions.  Whatever you like, and I will help you fill in the gaps,” she says with a knowing smile.

“I don’t… I don’t want you to tell me.  They’re my memories, I should fucking remember them!” Charlie shouts at her, still trying uselessly to tug free.

“Yes, that complaint I still don’t quite understand.  Obviously, you don’t remember them, so, what’s the harm in hearing it from me?”  She asks.

Charlie falters.  “Still?”

“Yes, Charlie.  Still.  I knew you would say that.  You always do,” she nods, as if satisfied.

Charlie’s anger is swallowed by panic then swallowed by dread.  There’s a long pause, as she waits for him to reply as he has many times before.  “Always?”

“Yes, Charlie,” she speaks with endless patience.  Every time, the terror is new for Charlie, but for her, it’s part of the routine.  “Always.”

Charlie pauses, trying to piece together with what little memory he does have.  “Showfall… Showfall made all this.”

“Correct.”

“And… it was a show.  All of it was a show.”

“Correct.  And you were following a script, and whatever story you currently have in your head is not quite the truth, and no, you don’t have a family or anyone waiting on the outside for you.  Although,” she laughs, “waiting would imply if you did have a family, you would have access to them again one day, but that’s simply not true.”

One by one, she answers his next questions.  She knew what he was going to ask, because he always asks.  Charlie is stunned, frozen save for his frantic breathing.  “This is… this is fucked,”  he laughs, voice high and frantic.  “This is totally fucked!”

“Mhm,” she is neutral, not attempting to defend the company nor admonish its immortality.  “How is your memory looking?  Sometimes if I go too fast it doesn’t start coming back immediately.”

Charlie’s mind is not an empty cavity, there are memories, memories that contradict and overlap, memories he cannot trust.  “I’ve been here… I’ve been here for so fucking long, right?” He’s still pleading, maybe for a different answer.

“Yes.  A very long time,” she waits for him to continue.  “See, I shouldn’t have led the conversation like that.  I should have just let you repeat as needed.  So, go ahead!  Ask what you’re going to ask,” she says brightly.

Charlie remembers the cabin.  He remembers being a child there.  He remembers the walls always had ghosts, he just didn’t realize that included a camera.  The role he played couldn’t have been the cabin.  It was the devil, it was the slime and the absurdity and the cruelty he remembers with distaste, but the cabin… The cabin was fake too.  He remembers seeing the set just before… just before the pain set in.  He remembers the cabin being real, too.  Not merely when he found himself emptied of all impulses except mischief, but of older memories.  Much older.  Those memories too are distorted and strange, little shreds of understanding.  Sleeping underneath the bare wooden rafters, playing with toys, his little bike.  The whispering from the walls keeping him up at night.  If he was there as a boy, if that’s where he grew up, then why can’t he picture his mother’s face?  Why are there only this bare shards of memory, never something to be called a whole person?  Charlie tries to search for a life within himself, but there’s only the pieces.  His entire life, broken like that stupid jar of ashes… He maybe had a grandmother, but he doesn’t remember her, he only remembers the ashes.  “I don’t… I don’t remember anything before… before this.  It’s just… it’s just bad, it’s just lot’s of bad a-and nothing from before.  When do I… when do I start remembering before?” Charlie asks.

She has an answer ready.  “Well, most people even without rewrites don’t remember very much that far back.”

Charlie feels nauseous.  It reminds him of claws embedded in his chest.  “How… how far back?”

“Coming up on 19 years now!  Don’t worry, I haven’t been here that whole time, before me, there was someone else who was assigned to you, and before then, someone else.  And, before you ask, that means you joined Showfall when you were five years old.  You, of course, weren’t part of any of our productions until you were much older, it was more like… you were in training.  No, we do not have any record of your parents.  We have no idea who they were, but no one has coming looking for you, not even back then, so it doesn’t really matter, now, does it?”

“Why’d… why’d you say don’t worry?  Is that supposed to… to fucking reassure me?” Charlie buries the tremor in his voice and tries to fill it with anger.

She shrugs.  “Sometimes it does.  If I didn’t say that, you’d get freaked out, try to hold me responsible,” she laughs.  “When, we both know I’m just doing my job, I’m just a cog in a much bigger machine.”

Charlie tries to think, he tries to piece together what little he can gather, and he finds only pain.  “There was… there was the cabin, I don’t understand that, but that was… oh god, it gets worse… it gets so much fucking worse, on the table, on the… the operating table, why did I sound like that?” Charlie asks desperately.  “It’s… two memories, it just sort of goes… it blurs together.  I was talking to Ranboo, but I was also screaming, I was begging him to stop, I wanted it to stop, but at the same time––like, the exact same fucking time––I felt nothing.  I just… I just talked to him.  How does that… how does that make any sense?”

“Well done, Charlie.  See, Showfall has a wonderful process that allows us to have both post-production footage and live footage coexisting simultaneously,” Dr. Smith sounds almost excited now, ready to gush about the magic of Showfall Media.  “We cannot fully erase your body’s reaction to, say, disembowelment, but you just screaming the whole time doesn’t make for good TV, of course, so post-production programs you before the show, to act you know, entertaining, while your body and mind still react to the trauma being inflicted, all at once!”

“S-So… so what you did to me, what… what you had Ranboo do, that… that wasn’t fake?”

“None of it was fake.  We here at Showfall value authenticity.”

Charlie nods slowly, eyes swimming, words choked and weak, “so… so what I remember, the cabin, that was real?  But I… I saw the cameras a-and the missing wall, it was a fucking set, but what I remember, it’s– Fuck, my head feels so fuzzy…”

“Well, that exact backstory wasn’t fully accurate, but the best way to make a sturdy backstory is with grains of truth.  You grew up somewhere like that, but yes, it did have a 4th wall.  In the literal sense, not the philosophical sense, of course.”  Dr. Smith stands.  “Scent and taste are some of the greatest triggers for memory.  Would you like a mint?  You’ve had one here before.  They’re nice, see?”  She takes one from the bowl on the coffee table and puts it in her mouth, as if to prove it’s not poisoned.

Charlie shakes his head.  “I don’t… I don’t have parents.  So, who raised me?”

“Showfall did.”

“No, no I mean–”

“Who exactly, I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes.  “I thought I already clarified this, I’ll do better next time,” she makes a note on her clipboard.  “You didn’t have a singular guardian.  They worked in shifts, Charlie.  There is no one person you can pretend is a parent.”

“That’s… that’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“You’re looking for a family, correct?  Or, as I said, maybe just someone to blame?  Usually it’s one of those two.”

“Will you just let me fucking answer?!  Just– Just stop saying it for me!” Charlie snaps.  Weaker, he stares at the faded carpet.  “You… you said you would stop.”

“You’re right.  I apologize.”  Insincere.  She sits back down across from him.

“I… I remember.  I remember some… stuff,” Charlie starts out unsteadily, still refusing to look up at her.  He feels like there are lines of hot wire across his back and his stomach, phantom claw marks he remembers well.  It could have actually been hot wires at the time too.

“Go on.”

“I remember… I was in my office… but it wasn’t my office, it was… it was a mall, but I didn’t realize it… not until Ranboo grabbed me…  I couldn’t see it, not until… Fuck, that doesn’t make sense, how can… how can something look different from one fucking second to the next?!”

“I said I’d answer your questions, but that one, the science is way above my paygrade.  In that instance, your headphones played something that you were programmed to respond to in a certain way.  Not that that was necessary, it was just useful to ensure you reacted the right way when Ranboo took the headphones off.  I can’t explain much better than that,” she at least sounds apologetic.  “Regardless, your office…” she laughs.  “It isn’t real.  You realize that, don’t you?  That was your office.  The details, the home outside that office, that part was… as I said, edited in post.”

Charlie stares at her, baffled and anguished.  “My… my whole f-fucking life… none of it is real.”

She smiles, condescending pity radiating.  “It’s as real as you are, Charlie.”

“I just want to be a person!” He pleads, choking back tears, throat still raw from screaming on that operating table he so vividly remembers.  “An actual… an actual fucking human being!”

She sighs, and she looks terribly kind as she stares at him.  “You don’t even know what that is.  You’ve been here far too long for that.”

“I…” That seems to stun him out of it a bit.  He feels sick.

“Let’s focus on what you remember, Charlie.”

“No!  No, I don’t… I don’t care, I know it’s not… I don’t remember, I don’t, I want…” Charlie trails off, hanging weakly from the chair.  He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, what he’s hoping will come of this.

“What do you remember?  It will help, I promise.”

Charlie finally nods.  He doesn’t look at her.  “I remember… the kitchen.  That kitchen, in the cabin.  The…” Charlie closes his eyes, two intersecting versions of the same place overlapping and creating a fog in his head.  “The door into the basement was wrong.  In the… in the fake one.  That door, it was supposed to open onto the top of the stairs, not…” His eyebrows furrow.  “Not right into the basement, it doesn’t make any sense.  It’s not a basement.”

“Well done, Charlie,” the woman almost sounds teasing.  “The set could not have an actual basement, obviously.  Just as it couldn’t have an actual attic.”

“But I remember…”

“Yes, you remember the Cabin being laid out like an actual building, but the actual set had to work differently, see?”

“That… that doesn’t make sense.  I… I remember…” Charlie finds it harder to catch his breath, as two layouts overlap, creating something almost impossible in his mind, his comprehension wanes, his vision blurs.  “It doesn’t make sense!  It doesn’t make sense!  It can’t be… It can’t!”  He gasps for air, screaming until his lungs ache.

Dr. Smith stares at his hysterics with mild alarm, but not anything like concern.  “I’ll make a note about set design for next time, clearly, the contradiction is too much,” she says by way of comfort.

“My head… my head f-fucking hurts.  It’s the same door, it’s the same fucking door but it opens on stairs and!  And it goes right in the basement and there’s no fucking fourth wall!” Charlie laughs, high and hysterical, vision blurring as tears finally spill free.  “It doesn’t make… any  sense… Any sense…”

“Charlie, please calm down, or I’ll have to sedate you.  That will put off your recasting, and undo our work here, and make the whole process much more unpleasant,” Dr. Smith tries to talk loudly over his babbling.

“It’s broken!  It’s all fucking broken!  I can’t remember, I can’t––it hurts!” He yanks against the restraints even as he feels sharp pain, as his skin breaks and blood beads around them.

“Sedate him,” Dr. Smith snaps her fingers and a masked figure enters the room.

“Stay away from me!  Stay the fuck away!” Charlie struggles desperately, trying to pull away when the figure grabs his head, pushing it to the side, exposing his neck.  Charlie sees a needle.  Then the room starts to blur.  He can’t scream anymore.

Dr. Smith’s voice continues through the haze.  “I’m sorry about this, Charlie.  We’ll be more careful with set design next time.  And next time we meet, I’ll make sure you have a mint, hm?  Things tend to go better when you do.”

Charlie cannot protest, he cannot scream anymore.  “Normally, he’s much better behaved.  He hasn’t gotten aggressive like this since we introduced the new restraints.”  Her voice is fuzzy now too.  She isn’t talking to him.  His wrists don’t hurt anymore either, instead, a staticky numbness has spread. “We should definitely be more careful with the architecture.  And be extra rigorous with his recasting, brutal, even, considering how bad it got this time.”   Blackness eats away at his vision until he can’t see.  It’s getting harder to hear.  His chest hurts.  “I know the showrunners won’t love waiting on the recovery time, but better than a breakdown like this happening live…”

And then, as always, there is nothing.

[interruptingmooshroom]

Okay this is adorable, and I love them, and if they were slightly edited I’d be so chill with them being everywhere.

BUT

This is hostile architecture disguised to be cute.

Hostile architecture is, in a very simplistic understanding (please research for yourselves), a way to make the environment hostile to anyone seeking shelter or trying to stick around for a decent amount of time. In this example, you see a cute dinosaur in the center. This dinosaur is secretly evil, as it would stop say… a homeless person from lying down.

Some other examples may include bird spikes, spaces purposely being tilted to avoid comfortable sitting, “Accessible” designs being used as an excuse (no this is not an excuse for y’all to be weird about disabled people), small jutting shapes on spaces you might’ve been able to lie down in (under bridges, for example, when they have concrete coming out below it), having fucking LEANING BARS and removing benches, etc. etc. feel free to add your own examples.

THE MIDDLE DINOSAUR IS A FUCKING IMPOSTER (the other two are fine, they’re friends)

The dino benches are super cute. The angle is a little weird, though. And there's other seating if you're scared of dinosaurs. Looks like there's non-dino flat benches in the back on the right and a raised stone bench / retaining wall area on the left with grass and trees. I'm a little worried that there's no arm rests on any of the seating areas, though. It might be difficult for people with mobility issues to stand back up. Super cute for in front of a dino museum, though! And I totally want one.

[shegetsburned]

archeology teacher!kento who’s your first-semester teacher for your anthropology major. he was recommended by one of your friends so you took his archeology class.

archeology teacher!kento who’s considerate and kind towards his students and has an inspiring passion for history although he comes off as stoic and aloof.

archeology teacher!kento who laid his eyes on you the first time when you came after class to his desk to ask questions, leaving a permanent impression on him with your cute demeanour and bright smile. your interest made him question his.

archeology teacher!kento whose athletic build molded by his tight blue shirt attracted your gaze more than once while he explained roman architecture with his back turned toward the class.

archeology teacher!kento whose subtle eye contact makes your heart flutter and your thighs clench together. he’ll always find your gaze whether you’re at the back of the class or on the sides.

archeology teacher!kento who won’t hesitate to take overtime if it means being able to deepen the subject with you and help you in any way he can.

archeology teacher!kento who shifts closer to you while showing you slides of ancient artifacts, occasionally brushing your elbow with his.

archeology teacher!kento who’s normally capable of separating sentimentalism from service, but can’t get you out of his head. thinking of you in ways he shouldn’t be thinking about when it comes to his students.

archeology teacher!kento whose hunger becomes more and more insatiable the more time he spends with you. his focus failing him every time you look into his eyes while he speaks or when you touch his elbow as you get up from your seat at the end of the studying session.

archeology teacher!kento who closes the door behind the last student after a two-hour long class on a friday evening, leaving you two alone. despite his tired figure, he insists that he can still work on some subjects with you.

archeology teacher!kento whose explanations are unusually incomprehensible and languorous. you ask if you should call it a day but his demanding eyes tell you otherwise.

archeology teacher!kento who leans on his desk, inattentively misplacing his stuff and shifting his weight closer to you, his cologne blesses your nostrils when his neck is to your height, forcing you to look up.

archeology teacher!kento whose heavy breath lends on your forehead when his hands grab the sides of your chair, pulling you closer, his thumb just slightly caresses your thighs sending shivers down your spine.

archeology teacher!kento who gives up any kind of restraint and self-control that inevitably comes with the job when he lifts you up on the desk, placing a ravenous kiss upon your lips, his hands tracing your curves up and down.

archeology teacher!kento who hurries his movements, skillfully undressing you with little to no regard for anyone that might enter and watch him fuck his student.

“n-nanami. is it okay?” you ask against his lips, already melting into his touch. you were certainly more concerned than him for the consequences.

but he had watched you for weeks, rubbing yourself against your chair, nervously biting your lips and nibbling at your pen while he taught the class. he had enough of your subtle grins and teasing smiles.

“i don’t care.”

archeology teacher!kento who gets off on your shy moans that echo through the whole amphitheatre. your hesitant whines are blocked by one of your hands until he grabs your wrist, pulling it down against the desk.

“let me hear you, sweetheart. let the whole school hear you.”

archeology teacher!kento who lowers your pants and underwear before unbuckling his belt and steadying himself right in front of your entrance, a grin on his lips when you ask for him by pulling his tie down.

archeology teacher!kento who mercilessly pounds into you, holding your hands down behind you and bending your body so your back arches against the wooden desk.

you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his weight forward, asking for him deeper, but the sheer size of his member was already enough to completely fill you. whenever he moved, it bruised your tight pussy, completely covering him with your seed.

archeology teacher!kento who places gentle kisses upon your ear and neck despite how greedily he fucks you. your nails dig into the desk to maintain yourself, every time he thrusts in.

archeology teacher!kento who easily but patiently leads you to multiple orgasms, keeping you in his class for more than one hour of overtime.

archeology teacher!kento who lets no part of your body undiscovered, leaving no place for the imagination when you end up completely naked as he eats your pulsating cunt just like you expected he would.

archeology teacher!kento who watches you leave his class for the tenth time, but this time satisfied. you left a delicious imprint on his lips and his hands that he’d think about for the whole weekend. he knew he needed to have you all to himself now and promised he’d ask you out for a proper date next time, hoping you wouldn’t say no to a teacher who had taught you so much already.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[shapelytimber]

Ok hear me out.......... wlw Wilhuff Tarkin and Orson Krennic-

the dynamic very much is unhinged creative vs rigid control freak in a context of evil bureaucracy- and personally the context is why I love to read stories with imperials jdjdkd nothing is more crack cocaine literature for me than to make drama in a space office filled with awful people

More flavor text and me trying to sell you on why this ship of two truly terrible people is great below vvv

For Krennic, lean more into the evil genius artist. She's been up for 46 hours straight drawing schematics, she's rambling about incomprehensible shit, her only meals have been cigarettes and energy drinks, she's so full of herself she might one day think she's god, she's gonna die by 60. She doesn't care much about the politics of the empire, but they don't bother her either. She works for the imperials because they have a lot funds to give to engineers willing to build them a battle station the size of a moon capable of blowing up planets. Before that she worked on a lot a architectures on imperial center/Coruscant.

The imperial uniforms are a bit boring- so I'm taking full advantage of the fact Krennic is more of an engineer/architect to tweak her uniform a bit (and the cape was already not respecting regulations sooooo) For Tarkin I'm keeping it tho, this woman won't be caught dead without it.

For Tarkin, lean less into the whole buff survivalist aspect- she very much was in her youth, but she *is* a 65 year old woman based on *Peter Cushing*, and has been in a very high and prestigious position within the empire for the past 20 years. She still as an extensive knowledge on how to survive in nature, and fight with her bare hands or a knife, but that doesn't come up very often in her line of work anymore. She still killed a space bear unharmed when she was like 17 tho. She hates chaos and developed the main philosophy that drove the empire to this day : to govern with fear and impose order. She is a bloodthirsty woman in her sixties, with a never ending hunger for power, currently cheating on her wife with a coworker she hates.

They both love the death star more than they tolerate each other, but they did end up bonding over plotting the demise of one coworker they couldn't stand and digging out rebel spies. Make no mistake tho, this is very much a love triangle/trouple between two women and a giant battle station.

In the end, Tarkin killed Krennic by shooting her from orbit with the death star, the project was finally finished, she didn't need her anymore and she might have gotten in the way of her control of the station.

Tarkin dies a few days later during the battle of Yavin, along the death star, not willing to back down in her moments of glory.

PS : a lot of this is inspired by the fic "Propagating structure" by oneinspats ! it's what made me like and understand this pairing, and is truly a great work of fiction. I really think this fic is a masterful work when it comes to expending the character of Krennic, and extrapolating on existing things. Exploring his more creative side, his passion for his work, his truly abysmal lifestyle, giving him a hatred of nature and a background as an architect on Coruscant. While also keeping his horrific aspects, like reading his internal (or external) monologues sometimes makes my skin crawl with how disgusting his ideas are and how deep they run, but making him an interesting and compelling protag for the story. While all of it is surrounded by this delicious dramatic irony, because we know that no matter how hard they try to scheme (or fuck), the death star will blow up and it's incredible.

[subzerocatalyst]

i think people aren't talking more about the iterator interior (not the can) aesthetic, it's insane and absurdly lovecraftian in a very interesting way, it's genuinely so good. i wish more games had fucking MASSIVE robots you can climb inside and hear incomprehensible sounds of communication and see blinking lights with random metal components strewn about, and architecture so hostile and irregular yet just navigable enough that you question if you were meant to even be here in the first place, or even if it was meant for some interloper like you to traverse.

iterator cool :3

[shizuturnspages]

concept: yandere genshin chars with reader that travels worlds (kinda similar to traveler in a way??) they end up in teyvat since their goal is to see everything that different worlds have to offer, and they end up making friends n stuff, but once the journey's over and they're content, they're ready to move onto the next world. like, due to being super long-lived and traveling from one place to another, they don't really get attached to ppl so it's easy for them to quickly move on? i'm a huge kaveh fan so maybe this concept with yandere kaveh, and if i can ask for a few more, wanderer and diluc??

btw, i've sent in a few requests before and i really wanted to say that i love the way you write all of this!! esp. how wanderer is written, i love the small ball of abandonment issues sm

The World Ends With You

Synopsis: You are a traveler—not just across lands, but across worlds. Teyvat is merely another stop in your journey, another world to explore and appreciate before leaving it behind. Friendships are made, bonds are formed, but none of them are meant to last. It’s time to move on. But some people don’t understand. Some people refuse to let you go. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Kaveh, Wanderer, Diluc x Traveller Reader

Kaveh – A Home That Waits for You

Kaveh was never meant to be permanent in your life, nor you in his. You were merely passing through Sumeru, delighting in the architecture, the artistry, the people. He, with his passionate speeches and expressive hands that sketched his dreams into reality, was a fascinating person to befriend. You admired his work, listened to his woes, laughed at his dramatic exasperation, and somehow—somewhere along the way—you became a fixture in his world.

He should’ve known it was too good to last.

When you told him of your departure, the words did not register at first. He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as if you’d just uttered something incomprehensible. “You’re leaving?” he echoed, a nervous chuckle escaping. “What, taking a trip somewhere? You know, I can help you plan—”

And then you explained. That Teyvat had been beautiful, wonderful even, but it was time to move on. That your journey wasn’t meant to stop here, that there were countless other worlds to see. That this wasn’t goodbye forever, but a farewell nonetheless.

The light in his eyes dimmed. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his expression froze into something unnervingly blank. “I see,” he murmured. He didn’t argue. He didn’t plead. He simply smiled, but it was strained, forced, something fragile trying desperately not to shatter.

He let you believe that everything was fine. That he accepted it. That he understood.

Until the day of your departure came… and your body refused to move.

The ceiling above you was familiar yet unfamiliar—your room, but not quite right. Your limbs were sluggish, your mind foggy, and as you tried to sit up, a pair of arms gently pushed you back down. Kaveh’s red eyes hovered over you, warm and concerned, yet something lurked beneath their soft glow. Something dark.

“You collapsed,” he said, voice soothing. “You must’ve been overexerting yourself. Honestly, you should be more careful.”

Your tongue felt heavy, the words muddled as you tried to protest. But Kaveh only smiled, brushing your hair back with featherlight fingers.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “Just rest. You don’t have to go anywhere. Not when you have a home here. Not when I’m here.”

And as drowsiness swallowed you whole, his grip tightened.

Wanderer – The One Who Stays

You should have realized how foolish it was to befriend someone like him—someone who had been left behind too many times, someone who clung to anger because it was the only thing that made the emptiness bearable. But you had wanted to believe in him. You had wanted to show him that there was more to the world than the pain of abandonment.

Perhaps, in a cruel twist of irony, you had become his greatest suffering.

When you told him you were leaving, he laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“Oh, that’s funny. That’s real funny.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if you’d just told him the most absurd joke. “So, what, after everything, you’re just going to leave?” His voice was sharp, mocking, but underneath it was something raw. “Figures. That’s what people do, isn’t it?”

You tried to explain, to tell him it wasn’t personal, that this was just how your life worked. That you were meant to keep moving forward. That staying was never an option.

But that only made it worse.

So he was never special? He was just another fleeting stop on your endless journey? The realization made something bitter rise in his throat, made his fingers twitch with the urge to lash out, to break something—anything—that would make you understand what you’ve done to him.

Wanderer’s expression darkened, and before you could react, the wind itself turned against you. The world blurred, weightlessness overtaking you as your body was lifted from the ground. A gasp barely left your lips before you were slammed back down, pinned in place by an unseen force. His violet eyes gleamed, cold and unyielding, as he loomed over you.

“No,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a request. It was a command, absolute and final.

“People leave me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, yet no less dangerous. “They always leave. But you won’t.” His fingers curled around your wrist, his grip tight, unrelenting. “I won’t let you.”

And he meant it. You won’t. Whether it’s by force, manipulation, or something far worse, he will make sure of it.

He was done being abandoned.

Diluc – A Cage of Protection

Diluc had never been good at letting go.

Losing his father had taught him that. Losing everything he had built for himself had reinforced it. And now, standing before you, hearing you speak of leaving as if it were the easiest thing in the world—he felt that same, familiar terror clawing its way into his chest.

“No,” he said, the word escaping before he could stop it.

You gave him a sad smile. “Diluc—”

“I said no.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument. His gloved hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re not leaving.”

You sighed, patient but unwavering. “I have to. This is just who I am. I can’t stay in one place forever.”

But those words only solidified the dread in his heart. Because if you left now, you would never return. And Diluc—Diluc could not bear to lose someone again.

The decision was made before you could even realize it.

The manor was large, secluded, and now, inescapable. The room he prepared for you was comfortable, filled with everything you could possibly need. The windows were reinforced, the doors locked from the outside.

He visited you often, always carrying warmth in his touch, always gentle even as you screamed at him, even as you begged.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, brushing your tears away with a gloved hand. “I can’t let you go. I won’t.”

Because if you left, it would destroy him.

And he would not allow that to happen.

Not again.

Never again.

[spotsupstuff]

The traces of that Void Weaver guy are fucking me up, because...

What do you mean there's apparently gonna be a Void deity-esque creature, that does something Creation/Repair-wise with the Void and it has feathers. Some guy in one youtube section said something about Scavs worshipping a bird and I have literally no idea where they got that from, but all this stuff just sets off monkey recognition.

He???

Really though, what I'm expecting is some kind of Quetzalcoatl creature but instead of a serpent it will be another worm. Videocult likes their worms [Void worms (Rot worm), grapple worms, water glow-worms, sand worms, the leviathans maybe from a certain angle, worm grass, the Void spawns/Ripple amoebas look like worms...] and the Ancients + some of their architecture/art reminds me of the Aztec aesthetic.

I expect the Weaver either won't verbally communicate with us or it will be incomprehensible similarly to Iterators before the mark of communication or something like the vibe of the Void worms. Maybe communication with it will be available upon reaching lvl 10 Ripple, which I'm pretty confident will definitely come by. Lvl 9 is weird.

And the uhhhhh...

So weaving is for making a fabric out of threads, right (fabric of reality ass set up). The general approach is that there are vertical threads that are strung on the loom & horizontal threads, which are the ones that are weaved inbetween the strung ones. The horizontal ones are called weft (or woof ha) and the vertical ones are called *warps*.

The most expectable reasons for the Void Weaver's existence is that it will stitch up the tears that the Watcher and Spinning Top made and that it's somehow responsible for the strand form of reality.

My takes are that 1.) the strands exist outside of it and it only utilizes them to create the fabric reality and the tears we create give us the chance to get a peek at it from behind the metaphorical curtain- aligns with the idea that it will stitch up our peeping holes or 2.) the tears/*warps* we create is what gives this thing the tools/space to start weaving *something*. Maybe a new direction? That new cycle Moon mentions? (actually upon checking, that's Downpour dialogue. that most likely doesn't apply here.)

That second one is definitely the more off the rocker idea, but hey. Versatility in thinking is hardly a bad thing.

[forcedagere]

Based on @/spitdrunken’s reincarnation post! If you haven’t/don’t want to read it, it’s about Bill having known befriended when he was a child, killed you in the disaster. Now you have reincarnated as a human, with some vague memories of your past.

Content: Age regression, obsessive behaviour, implied mental manipulation

Bill tries to avoid thinking about it, but he’s already seen the light leave your eyes once before. (And it had been his fault! You had been so excited, and then—) But dwelling on the past is for suckers. And Bill is no sucker, he has reality in the palm of his hand! Either way, you’re here now, you’re together again! He has the chance to make it all better, to make it all right.

He hasn’t cared about anyone’s opinion of him in a trillion years. You, however, such a clear reminder of his past, of the child he was, he almost wants to crystallize. You still believe that Bill is your imaginary childhood friend somehow given physical form. You don’t need to know everything else he has been up to! It’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s better for you, this way. And if you’re the most at peace with having your brain slowed down a little, having you all regressed all the time, it only makes the most sense to walk that path.

The Fearamid is a maze of twisting hallways, dead-end corridors and hidden passages. Among the incomprehensible architecture, there is a big, padded room with a locked room where you’re allowed to stay. Whenever Bill isn’t around, you doze off into the dream of a special world created from your own imagination, where all of your favourite things in the world come together! In there, you’re a little kid, having one adventure after another. Bill had spent most of his time around you when younger and grows almost nostalgic thinking about how wonder-eyed you’d been all the way back then.

Your room is full of pillows and stuffed toys and other decorations, all plucked straight from your brain. If there’s anything that’s true, it’s that Bill will always know you better than anyone else. When he’s around you, the noise in his brain seems too quiet down, just a little. He’s not the best caretaker. What he wants more than anything is for you to like him, to love him! So your diet is horribly imbalanced (it’s mostly candy), and instead of cleaning any of your clothes, for example, he’ll just make the old ones disappear and make new ones. He likes to play luck-based (board) games with you, because then it’s not entirely certain he’ll win! It seems there nothing he can’t do— Because that’s the truth! He can make all of your dreams come true, if you just stay right here.

Sometimes, he’ll try to recreate some small scenes of what he remembers. It isn’t much. After a trillion years, most of his recollections have faded away. But he has painted the ceiling of your room to reflect the starry night sky, and he likes to play hide and seek with you. He’ll toss you in the air and catch you again. For some reason, he can even enjoy listening to you babble endlessly about meaningless things.

He tries not to be overjoyed when you cling to him, when you ask him not to leave, when you need him. He likes you the most when you’re being clingy. It’s how you convince him to do the silliest things. He’ll shrink himself down so you can hug him to your chest, or swaddle himself in blankets so his ‘pointy edges’ can’t poke you in your sides while you cuddle.

You see a side of Bill that no one else ever will, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are entirely selfless. Whether this is a form of penance for having snuffed out your life, the desire for someone’s undivided, uncomplicated almost-worshipping attention, or a need to be loved and wanted… Even Bill doesn’t know. He convinces himself there’s some kind of long-con here, but there’s not. Perhaps it’s a little bit of all three.

[dandelionjack]

i love you time loops i love shifting architecture i love you haunted castles i love you brooding i love you stories as a life raft parables as a means of survival i love you incomprehensibly inconcievably long temporal intervals i love you determination i love you devotion i love you minotaur in the labyrinth love you trying again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again. dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and still nothing feels worse than having lost your best friend but you can't give up, not now, not ever, how can you? the narrative in the shape of a girl declares that you're going to win. you could never do anything else. i love you gothic medieval architecture i love you cogs and gears and rusted machinery i love you RELIGIOUS IMAGERY i love you however long it takes however dark however deep however alone i love you

i love you METAPHORS FOR GRIEF!! the pain of losing someone you cared for feels like it lasts an eternity and it is an eternity. it feels as if you're a broken record, spinning round and round (like a circle in a spiral like a wheel within a wheel) but however many seconds in that eternity, however many years it takes to move on, to seek a future beyond the prison of your mind – it feels like billions for each and every one of us, as ghost clara says: "you're not the first person to ever have lost someone".

every grieving person is stuck in their own confession dial. an endless fruitless unceasing loop of guilt. what could i have done? what could i have done? what could i have done?

but however long it takes, it is not forever. nothing can possibly remain the same forever. simple physics. entropy. everything decays, even grief. piece by piece, word by word, bird by bird. this hole you dig is not your grave. get up. pull yourself out of the pit. even diamond is subject to erosion.

[mscherub]

Self Care is Important, Spudling (Vil Schoenheit x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as Y/N, Prefect, Potato, or Spudling (a lot with Vil, lol)

Warnings!:

Stressed Reader

Passing out

Lack of self care; Reader

Small mental breakdown; Reader

Word Count:

Approximately 2.58k

Of course- of course Crowley had to assign you maintenance work on campus...again. I mean was this guy serious? Fixing up some architecture, whether that be painting or patching up small holes, then you had to fix up the flower beds, make them look presentable and pretty! Better points for the college, Crowley says. Sadly, however, you’re not done yet, because you have to go help out with a few clubs and observe them since you haven’t, and well, kind of can’t join one yourself, this again was to earn your keep as a student, Crowley says. Then of course, there’s the never ending supply of homework from Professor Trein and Crewel, which you have still yet to do since you’ve been so choked up with everything else Crowley dumps onto you on a daily basis. All for you to earn your keep in Ramshackle, all for you to earn your keep of you and Grim being considered students. And all for you to earn your keep of just barely even living!

It’s tiring, a cumbersome array of tasks on your list that only seems to get longer and longer each day. You get to bed late, and then you have to get up at 6, get yourself ready, get Grim ready, make breakfast, take the hike up to school, and the cycle repeats. You’re tired. You’re oh so tired…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sit in class, your head bobbing slightly as you try and force your eyes open. You shake your head and rub your eyes, an action that has become the norm for you the past few days. You fight back multiple yawns as Trein finds it to be a disrespectful act in his classroom for some odd reason, though it’s his fault his lessons are so boring. You sigh and you look down at your paper, the words jumbled up to your mind and incomprehensible. Grim scribbles away at his assignment and he does a double take as he looks at you, tapping your forehead with his paw and gets you to look at him.

“Ya look like you’re dying.” He whispers as he crosses his paws, his face graced with an apprehensive look. He lets out a small puff of air and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Feels like it.” You take the time to rub your temples this time and stretch something out, anything to keep you awake at this point.

Luckily for you, the bell tolls and everyone shoots up from their seats, taking their books and papers and getting the hell out of the classroom to escape from the quiet lul of that annoying monotone voice of Trein. You stand up yourself, groggy and a little disheveled as you finally yawn and walk out with Grim.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Coach Vargas has you all doing a whole bunch of workouts. First it was sit ups, then push ups, step ups on the bleachers, lunges, and now you have to run figure eights out on the field. Grim cheats and floats as usual (wtf man…) and you run alongside the other students, already out of breath.

Of course your mind wanders off to the assignments, reviewing over the items at hand. Trein’s history essay is due tomorrow in class and you haven’t started it yet, so there’s that. You also have to do a write up on the one lab in alchemy for Crewel— woah…

Your vision goes a bit blurry, you stumble a bit as you slow down, your body suddenly giving up on itself and practically going slack. Then you fall face first into the ground, passing out, and going limp, resembling closely to a sack of potatoes.

Students suddenly stop and look at you as you lay upon the ground. Coach Vargas yells for them to get back to work until he also takes sight of you. Well shit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your head pounds and throbs as you finally come back to your senses, you flutter your eyes open slowly but the bright cool white color of the fluorescent lights prohibits you from opening your eyes anymore than just a squint. You try to sit up but your body feels it’s being weighed down by tons and tons of lead.

Grim pops up and he seems to be saying something but the words just sound like a cacophony of vowels as you slowly come back to the state of consciousness.

“Henchhuman! Henchhuman! What happened? You like…died! Don’t do that again!” He pouts at you, clearly worried as he gently paws at your arm. A nurse walks in and assesses you, giving you some sort of potion that tastes like strong rosemary and a hint of garlic, then sends you on your way.

“You were out for like an hour and a half, and everyone in class saw ya just fall right over! Ace created a big scene! And, not just that, Vargas princess carried you out! Bridal style or whatever they call it. It’s gonna be the talk of the school soon, no doubt.” Grim huffs and puffs, shaking his head and heavily gesticulating to further prove his point of concern.

“I’m just tired, Grim. Severely tired, stressed, all of the above.” You sigh, shaking your head. You rub your temples and continue to walk forwards.

“Clearly. I gotta tell Crowley off or something! He’s slowly burning you out...only I can do that since you're my henchman…” He murmurs “You need to take a break. A nice break.” He looks at you and smirks.

“Grim, what are you implying?” You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms, halting.

“You’ll see, Hemchuman!” He chortles.

“Grimmy, I-“

He zooms past you and makes his way to the mirror chamber within the school. Your head still hurts but you can let him go off and cause trouble on his own, which he will do!

By the time you get to the mirror chamber, praying that Grim didn’t head to a dorm where even breathing wrong could be destructive, you can see the mirror to Pomefiore still rippling. You pause and your eye twitches, fucking hell, he did not.

You head through. What happened to him saying you needed a break?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you get through the mirror, Grim is still nowhere in sight, which only means he’s inside of the building. Great! One thing after another it seems.

You head into the castle-like place and walk through the ornate and sparkly hallways, passing by students who pause and go quiet at your appearance, which is tired, hungry, and pissed the fuck off due to the shenanigans Grim is pulling currently at the moment.

As you finally push into the lounge, Grim is yapping to Vil, Grims eyes contorted into a look of worry and his face holding a small amount of smugness to it. Vil does a double take when looking at you, and as soon as you lock eyes with him, he looks you up and down, his eyes going a little wide as if he had just seen his makeup pallet get destroyed. A prominent frown envelopes his features, replacing his once stoic and demure demeanor.

“Spudling…” is all he sighs out. The disappointment in his voice is enough alone to make you hold back any complaints you had to tell to Grim.

You’re irked, and your shoulders tense as you look away bashfully. You look at Grim who floats next to Vil, his chin held high as he smiles like he’s won all the tuna he could ever ask for.

“Eyes on me.” His stern voice reaches your ears and you look back at him, your lips pursed and your hands now behind your back, standing at attention.

“Look at you…” he sighs again as he walks over to you, his eyes narrowed and unwavering as he inspects you carefully, most likely pinpointing everything wrong with you.

“Rook relayed the information to me as to what happened during PE. I would have found you myself if not for Grim leading you here. At least he’s useful for that.” He clicks his tongue, a regular action for him to make while disapproving of something.

“Truly, what makes you think what you’ve been doing is any good?” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg as he waits for a response.

“I. Well. You just- I don’t think you’d really understand, Vil, if I can be honest.” You shake your head. “I have to do it. To stay here, you know? So, it’s whatever. I’m fine, I promise. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and that’s it-“

“Don’t play coy. Anyone can see that you’ve been disregarding your own body’s needs for more than just a night, and sleep is not the only thing you seem to be lacking.”

His words cause you to bristle up, your muscles close to cramping at how tense you’ve become. He looks at you still with a frown and the unamused tone in his voice is…unnerving.

“Ok, well, it’s things I need to get done-“

“I won’t sit here and listen to your feigning utterance.” Vil sighs, yet again, uncrossing his arms and moving to place a hand on your shoulder. In contrast to his demeanor, his touch is soft yet grounding. You visibly relax and you sigh out a soft breath.

“I’ll have Rook see Grim to Heartslabyul, you’re not leaving until I deem you fit to go on your way.” He hums as his hand slides to your upper back, silently and slowly ushering you to follow behind him. His heels click on the ground as you're already halfway down the hall, just now realizing what his words imply for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s true Vil took a liking to you, but he’d never admit that, his ego could be damaged, and he prefers to show that he cares through actions, anyhow, being a strong believer in that they speak louder than words.

As soon as you both reach Vil’s dorm room, he has you sit down at his vanity, gently spinning the seat so you’re face-to-face with yourself in the mirror.

“Your eyebags are so dark, and your eyes are sunken in, as well. Your hair also happens to be dry in appearance and texture. Are you eating? I’d hope so, because there is no way to take care of your body by skipping meals.” He rants on as his hands gently work to slip off your blazer, slipping it off of you and draping it over the chair.

“I forgot to eat.” You lie. A white lie. You weren’t that far off from the truth, skipping meals was necessary in your case, money was low and Grim needed to eat more than you, a sacrifice you were willing to make.

Vil pauses, his hands resting on the back of the chair as he looks at you through the mirror. If he kept frowning at you like that he’d get wrinkles, then blame you.

“Pitiful excuse, potato.” He clicks his tongue. “I hope you realize that you don’t have to lie to me.” He shakes his head.

“Wait, Vil, how the hell did you even…I’m not gonna ask.” You cross your arms.

“You’re easy to read, Prefect. You’re not as imperceptible as you may make yourself out to be” He huffs out.

“Lay it on me. It’s good to vent, Potato. It’s quite beneficial, especially to those who have a lot on their mind. It provides an escape.” His voice dips a little lower, becoming softer. You look at him through the mirror again and you see his facial features severely lacking that contemptuous look he always has, and instead it’s replaced with a soft, almost empathetic look.

“I…” is what you can manage to croak out for a second before you clear your throat and look down at your hands in your lap, leaning back in the chair.

“I guess, well. Crowley, you know him. I just have been busy with the work he’s given me, and also the assignments I have to do. Money is tight as always…I have to be careful with what I or Grim buys, so…” you slowly stammer out, the frustration and tiredness in your voice evident.

“I’m just stressed out. Tired, which I guess that’s clear to anyone, though.” Your voice quivers slightly, and before you even know it tears fall down your face, a sentiment to your situation.

You don’t hear any reprimanding from Vil, no sighs or clicks of tongues as you keep your head down, no, none of that. Vil gently moves off to the side of the chair and turns you to face him, gently dabbing at the tears that cascade down your cheeks with a tissue.

“I’m sorry…” you manage to mutter out weakly.

“Nonsense. It’s normal, sweet potato.” He gently murmurs back, his voice mellifluous and calming, anchoring you back to the moment. You take the tissue from his hand and you turn your head away.

“If it makes you feel better, I too, cry. There’s a science behind it in which it releases chemicals to promote a sense of well being.” He hums. “As well as eases pain.”

“I would have never guessed.” You sigh out, albeit sarcastically, now dabbing at your nose.

“Sarcasm? I see you're slowly reviving.” A small smirk forms on his face as he shakes his head.

“I think we have a self care night set in place for us, what do you say?” He inquires.

You hesitate for a moment but you meet his questions with a small nod, earning a genuine and gentle smile from Vil.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You are pampered, of course. It’s only natural. Vil goes to any extent for the people he holds dear, and you were in need of a night of relaxation. You are fed well with a nutrient dense meal to hopefully make up for your lack of care for your eating habits, and now there’s more in store…

After a few strenuous minutes of following his lengthy skincare routine, you both sit clad in silk robes that are probably worth more money than you could ever make in your life, but the moment is still peaceful. And even more to your surprise, you sit with Vil in his raw form. No makeup, no demeanor that yells “I’m the Vil Schoenheit,” no, just Vil.

He hums quietly as he deliberately shapes your nails, not sparing you a glance as he’s too focused at the task at hand. The calmness of the atmosphere is doing no help in keeping you awake and alert and you soon find your eyes start to grow heavy.

Vil quietly excuses himself to head over to grab a bottle of clear coat for your nails, but before you know it, you fall back onto the comfy bed sheets of his bed, perfume and other scents sending you into a deep sleep before you could even stop yourself from doing so.

“Y/N, would you like color or just the clear coat-“ He looks at you, shutting up immediately as his arms fall to his side. His footsteps are light as he shuffles over to the side of his bed, looking down at you. He sighs and shakes his head.

he moves the comforter over your body, bringing it up to your shoulders. He leans down slowly and places a tentative and soft kiss to your temple before leaning back up.

“This is why self care is important, spudling. I’ll let this slide…just once.”

I don’t know what I was on when I wrote this, but yep, that’s it. Thanks for reading lovelies!

Master list

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[nomsfaultau]

The Blood God and His Fledgling

Part 1: The Window

The permanent stain upon the earth called himself The Blood God, but he had collected many names in the thousands of years he’d haunted humanity. He supposed these days he would be considered an elder vampire, though in truth ‘these days’ spanned centuries, and as of late he had rather lost track of it all. He’d been called a monster, a demon, a nightmare. In the ancient days when he’d still cared, he had forced the humans to call him a god. And before then, when he had still been human…

The last time that name had ever been spoken, it was in a hero’s dying screams. The Blood God’s humanity died with him.

The Blood God was left in his place. A menacing brute, more predator than man, his tusks long stained with the blood he drank. But where once mortals feared his presence prowling in the night, now he was nothing more than the fading memory of a nightmare. The mankind he’d haunted had lost even the whispers of stories about him, an old myth, forgotten myth, a dusty artifact abandoned and to lay where it was discarded. But The Blood God preferred to be undisturbed, anyway.

At most The Blood God moved only to feed, and even then it was delayed as long as possible until the maddening blood thirst at last overwhelmed the listless immortality it sustained. It irked him to have to move at all, that the instincts to survive plagued him still. How inconvenient he must persist, but persist he did for an immortal is good for nothing else. The Blood God fed upon the strain of wolves he’d personally domesticated, less for any concern of mortal life, and more so of convenience and a simmering misanthropic temperament born of apathy.

He didn’t concern himself much with humanity, withdrawn from a world speeding past at incomprehensible speed. Below the window he always sat at, the city grew ravenously, architecture transforming with incomprehensible materials, the world unfamiliar and lonely. But the humans rushing past were all the same, swarming ants. The faces he’d seen over the centuries had become little more than an indistinguishable blur, repetitious, dull. The predator’s eyes lazily traced the movement of his prey, but they held no interest, truly. It was only the instincts of a wretched beast, building pressure in the back of his skull telling him it had been too long since he last fed. But perhaps he could postpone another fortnight.

And then in the midst of the miasma of humanity, a beacon. A flash of familiar gold working through the crowd. Vampires healed too quickly for it to matter, but The Blood God still hadn’t lost the impulse to prod at a throbbing wound despite knowing it would still hurt. And so he carefully watched the young human with hair like a gleaming summer harvest, anticipating the second he turned and grief speared through The Blood God once more. Perhaps he could have spared The Blood God by passing out of view, but he lingered at a strange bench. Back to the window, swinging his legs a little as he waited. A type of cruelty, in its own right, to deny The Blood God a swift blow. But he was already waiting till the cessation of eternity with no relief. This throb of his long dead heart made little difference.

As if likewise impatient, the boy’s head twisted, searching. A glance at something small in his hands, a bouncing leg, and he rose. Looking around, and The Blood God braced as he turned into view. But the expected pain never came.

Because this time, it really was Theseus.

The same dancing cobalt eyes and cheekbones and jawline and eyebrows and nose and him, it was him, it was his friend.

With a rattling, choking gasp, The Blood God remembered how to breathe again. It hollowed him out like a gale, almost scorchingly invasive. His chest heaved with it, then stilled, the repetitive instinct long, long dead. His claws twitched, then pressed to his maw in wonder. Thousands of years had passed since those lips drew their last breath. The Blood God had been so worried over it at first, how he could just forget to breathe. Theseus had just teased him over it, subtly assuring him it didn’t matter. And the hero had been right, of course. So wearisome a habit, frequent and mundane, too fast to keep up with for an ancient immortal.

Mortal. Startling, The Blood God lurched to his feet, hooves splintering the floorboards. He needed to act now, before the mortal slipped through his claws. A life so fleeting- no, he could blink and Theseus would be gone again. Cobwebs lacing him to the chair snapped, dust billowing from the dragging of his wings as The Blood God lunged for the window.

The mortal was fully facing him now, talking to seemingly thin air with a familiar exacerbated ribbing that ached to not be directed to him. The vampire pressed to the shaded glass, enraptured with the vision before him. He soaked up every last detail, basking in the mortal’s image. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. That was Theseus. His friend. The other half of his soul.

A fractured soul could not endure eternity, not alone. And now, he didn't have to be alone. This time, The Blood God wasn’t going to accept no for an answer.

Next>

[my-my-my]

Hello! Do u still accept requests? If yes , then just imagine Aizen and s/o taking bath together... I wanna read it from you, since you are my favorite author. I hope ur doing well! (Ps. can we have Aizen in Hueco Mundo) I hope u will accept my request

I'm sorry for the late reply, but yes I'm still taking requests! Thank you for your incredibly kind words, I'm touched! I hope this is to your liking. Thank you for your patience, always. I received a similar ask, so I'll be combining these two requests.

TW: NSFW, hand job, fingering, and... gentle dom!Aizen

Read on AO3.

Las Noches would forever leave you in awe. Its stark white architecture, grandiose ceilings in contrast to the ever chaotic and brutal landscape of Hueco Mundo, was a sight to behold. On one hand, you were amazed Lord Aizen could have designed such an intricate, yet heavily fortified palace, but on the other… the man’s intellect was incomprehensible – a palace such as this was to be expected from him. He knew what he wanted; he had expectations set for everything and everyone in his vicinity.

Even you.

At first it frightened you, how high his expectations were for everything and everyone, even himself. Yet as time went on, he was a man on a mission, a goal pushed forward by an idea… and he could not afford mistakes.

Even someone like you, a soul swept up in Lord Aizen’s machinations, had a role to play in his grand scheme. You never asked Lord Aizen what this arrangement you two had, one that started in Soul Society. You weren’t strictly a bed fellow for him, as he often wanted your company for his morning tea, or evening walks. The relationship you two had was for you, undefined, but also clear that you were the only person providing him of some type of companionship, not only physically, but possibly mentally.

Tonight wasn’t a night for an evening stroll though. You had grown accustomed to Lord Aizen’s schedule, his underlying quirks and preferences. A part of you knew that tonight, for some reason, he wanted a nice, relaxing bath.

You had requested Tosen-san for permission to enter the World of the Living to procure the necessary items for tonight. Almond oil and rose water shower items that you knew would suit Lord Aizen’s whims and ideally, help him relax.

His personal bathroom was also a wonder in its own right. Similar to the rest of Las Noches, it was minimal in design, but surprisingly not grand. The bath itself was designed for two people to move around freely, with black trimmings and faucets to accompany it. There was an accompanying shower close by, with similar features. You began the preparations for his bath – turning on the faucet for warm water to flow, occasionally swirling it with your hand to check the temperature. You were clad in a simple, silk robe gifted to you by Lord Aizen, only to be worn in his quarters (well, your quarters that the two of you shared).

A small part of you doubted yourself though, maybe you did not know him as well as you thought? Maybe he wouldn’t have a bath today. Maybe he took one as you were roaming the Las Noches garden (that he designed for you). You were never sure of where you stood with him, a lover? A friend? A stranger he humoured?

“Thank you for preparing the bath tonight.” Lord Aizen said as he entered the room. His voice startled you, your early doubts fading away. Another thing you were certain of Lord Aizen was his awareness of your attention. If you weren’t focused on the here, the now and him, well… your bottom ached at the last time you were unfocused in his presence.

“It’s my pleasure, Aizen-sama. I had a feeling you wanted one tonight. How was your day?” You asked, as you proceeded to help him take off his clothes.

It didn’t matter how many times you saw him like this, you couldn’t help but have a faint blush in his state of undress. As you undid his magenta sash, he leaned forward to leave a faint kiss on your forehead. A silent thank you. He proceeded to undo your robe, leaving you completely bare to him.

He kissed and nipped along your neck as you continued with his robe. His deep voice rumbling through your body as he continued to speak, “it went well. Preparations are set for when the humans arrive.” You hummed as he continued through his day.

Once he was fully nude, you led him to the shower. He leaned down as you massaged his scalp, his thick brown hair lathered with shampoo. His hair was incredibly soft, and this was one of the few times where you could freely touch him. Once his hair was clean, you gently began to lather his body, softly massaging his back along the way.

“Sir…” you murmured, continuing to clean him, “you’re particularly tense today. Is everything alright?”

Aizen tensed some more, saying your name, “everything is fine.” His back, tensing up in response. You knew that tone, it was a tone where no further questions were to be asked, so you kissed his shoulder blade as an apology.

“Then let me help you relax, Lord Aizen.” You said, reaching your arms to his front. Your fingers ghosted over the expanse of his chest, trailing further down towards his cock. It was soft in your hands, but twitched ever so slightly as your breasts were pushed up against him.

You hummed a small song as you moved your hand up and down his cock. You smiled to yourself as you heard Lord Aizen’s breath hitch.

Calling your name, Lord Aizen pulled your hands away from him and stopped the shower. He pulled you to the bath, forcing you into his lap. His face was slightly flushed from the heat of the shower, is this what “dripping with good looks” meant?

You pushed towards him for a kiss, moaning as he pinched and rolled your nipples between his fingers,

That’s not fair you thought, pulling away from him with a pout. Lord Aizen smirked, as if he knew what you were thinking. You yelped in his lap as he nipped your breasts. He lapped at your sensitive buds, while holding you firmly in place.

With a “pop”, he freed your nipple from his ministrations and trailed kisses back up your neck. You huffed in response and pushed him down, your hands finding his slowly-growing, erect cock. You gave him a glare as you wrapped your hand around it, pumping him slowly.

But Lord Aizen was unfazed and continued to stare you down as you quickened your pace. You kissed his lips, then across his chest; quick pecks to show him your unwavering affection for him.

You felt his hand lay gently on your head as he pet you. You looked up at him, eyes wide and filled with joy as he called you his good girl.

You smiled as he closed his eyes. You knew he was close when his shoulders dropped and he leaned forward for another kiss. His breaths became pants as you squeezed his cock gently and with a groan, his cum spilled into the water.

“I think we need to take another shower, Lord Aizen.” You cheekily said, with a grin adorning your face. Bits of his cum laying on his chest and your body. Lord Aizen nuzzled your cheek, “and it’s time for my queen to receive her reward.”

Queen?! You thought, shock written all over your face. But before you could ask, Aizen pulled you out of the water and pushed you against the wall. Cupping your chin, he left you a deep kiss, as his fingers glided over your wet pussy. Another moan escaped into the kiss as you felt him push two fingers in, with a third following.

You felt the familiar waves of an orgasm approaching, as his thumb flicked your clit with every pump of his fingers. His other hand was wrapped securely around your throat, not enough pressure to choke you, but enough that you couldn’t move your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Please sir,” you begged, your orgasm approaching, “I need to cum!” You pleaded, tears pricking your eyes.

You couldn’t read his expression, but you knew he was satisfied with your response as he pulled his fingers out of you. Your legs felt weak until he propped you against him, and with one swift motion, pushed his cock through your sopping wet pussy.

You threw your head back in a loud groan as he began to bounce you on his cock. You knew he wouldn’t last quickly from his own orgasm moments ago, so you squeezed around him. Lord Aizen narrowed his eyes and quickened his pace, your back began to hurt from his unrelenting pace.

“Does my queen still want to cum?” Lord Aizen asked, as one hand left your hip to your clit. You nodded your head, moans and babbles of “yes, please sir”. Lord Aizen kissed your check and rubbed your clit as his pace turned sloppy. Your orgasm hit you with such intensity, you thought you saw stars, as Aizen pumped his cum deep inside you.

The room was quiet save for the panting from the two of you. Lord Aizen gently lowered your legs back to the floor, a satisfied grin gracing his face as he watched his cum drip down your thighs.

The two of you steadied your breathing, as your body began to ache from all of Lord Aizen’s prior ministrations. Cupping your face into his large, warm hand, Lord Aizen towered over you. His voice was clear throughout the room, “you promised me another shower, did you not my queen?”

Thank you for reading!!

Here are the songs I was listening to set the vibe lol:

Saint Seduce & L2 - Sedna

박혜진 Park Hye Jin - Like This

Classixx - A Stranger Love (RAC Remix)

[marzipanandminutiae]

Maybe I’m wildly misunderstanding what people who like the dark academia aesthetic are going for but I always thought the aesthetic was specifically about romanticizing those universities in England (or Europe in general) that were founded in like 1736 and the main building was originally a castle that belonged to the family that founded it or something like that. Obviously that’s a very niche university environment but I never thought that fans of the aesthetic thought that every single university looks like that. My university was built in the 70s and looks like a small town’s airport so I understand the appeal of escapism in pretending that you go to university in a marble building that has a secret library or something. I’m not criticizing your post btw I agree with you i guess I understood the purpose of the aesthetic wrong. I thought they just liked the old money aesthetic of those schools, not that they believed you’re not truly academic if your school doesn’t look like an ancient university in Prague.

So, yes, that is where the term came from

my issue with it is that they don't seem to know any other term for aesthetics they happen to have seen in a fancy university, anymore and totally unrelated things get slapped with the "dark academia" label

Oxford doesn't look like that because that's an ~academia aesthetic~. it looks like that because those were popular architectural styles of whenever X building was constructed. you are going to see those styles in other places! that doesn't make like...an 18th century commercial building "dark academia!"

like I've seen the term applied in completely random and incomprehensible ways. a marble bust is Dark Academia? HOW? is it in a university? or is it in an art museum where people are there to look at it, not to study it? is it in Mr. Darcy's house, where that classification makes even less sense? why is it somehow Academia when no Academia is in evidence?

an Art Deco theatre lobby. no joke. saw that tagged "dark academia." it could not have been more clearly a theatre lobby. I asked OP why they called it that, and they said it was just "the vibe." academia is not a vibe!!!! the word has a definition and the definition has nothing to do with aesthetics!!!!

my favorite movie, Crimson Peak, gets slapped with the DA label a lot. because...I don't know; there are ghosts and books in the same building? the heroine is a writer, sure, but absolutely none of it takes place in an institution of public scholarship or higher learning. there's a publisher's office, a doctor's office, and a private library in a house (that doesn't even get used for its intended purpose beyond a single scene). that's it. it's a pretty standard Victwardian Gothic.

the term DOES have function as a fictional genre; it describes a story pretty well. what happens? Dark Stuff. where? Academia. okay, I'm intrigued. but for aesthetics? no meaning or use at all, IMO

so I know they're not saying that ALL universities look like that. they're somehow saying that EVERYTHING that looks like that is University. which annoys me

(I also think "old money aesthetic" is more TikTok brainrot. I work a lot of museum benefits with old money people. they dress in many different ways, very few of them like a Kennedy vacationing on the Cape in 1965. just say "preppy" if that's what you mean!)

(and as with Dark Academia, it leads to a lot of things that have nothing whatsoever to do with the oldness of one's money getting labeled that way. which is annoying.)