#It’s so twisted the brainrot is eternal

[drabdoodler]

wow! More ISAT! Who could’ve guessed!

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

The ending to 7x9 made me squawk indignantly. Like, that was so rude /lh. The framing device, both literally and symbolically, of the window just hit so perfectly. Man. They're separated, there's a distance between them, but they're both making the effort to look across that distance and see each other anyway. MY HEART. Juliet is literally twisted around, facing backwards. SHE CARES GODSDAMNIT. She cares more than she wants to, more than she reasonably should, and she says all that and more through the damn BLOCKING. This show is the love of my life.

[cynthiav06]

I have been living with this headcanon/brainrot about Athena (both from Epic the Musical and pjo) for a long while and a warning for the faint of heart, you know what read it anyway cause it haunts me , so everyone else has to be haunted by it too, cause I am petty like that.

Most people might be aware of the myth that Athena sprung from Zeus's head fully formed and in battle armor, but a few might not know the preceding myth, so here's a quick recap:

Zeus married the titaness Metis, who was the titaness of wise counsel, wisdom, and planning. She was also Athena's mother. Metis was his advisor, both an indispensable aid and threat to him, given her power and cunning. But it's no Greek mythology without a son overthrowing the father archetype haunting the narrative. There was a similar prophecy about Metis's second child being so powerful that he would overthrow Zeus. Mind you Metis was pregnant with Athena when the following events transpire:

Zeus being Zeus, paranoid and power hungry, the King of the Gods and the God of "Justice" manipulates Metis into playing a shape-shifting game and when Metis turned into a fly , he swallowed her whole. [I know Greek patriarchs have a thing for eating their children or spouses pregnant with said children. Runs in the family, apparently]

Mind you in Greek myths, swallowed children, or in this case, swallowed wife pregnant with said child stay alive for a good amount of time even inside someone else's organs. So Metis gives birth to Athena inside Zeus's head and raises her there. She teaches her warfare and strategy until Metis herself eventually dies, i.e., her essence fades. Knowing what she must do to not meet the same fate, Athena hammers on Zeus's skull from the inside to escape. Everyone knows the rest of the myth.

But imagine Athena's first lesson being that the man she calls her father is the one who killed her mother and almost killed Athena herself by swallowing Metis so she must do everything in her power to survive and avoid that fate by staying on his good side. To try and fit in this twisted family of immortals, half of who hate her existence and half who are indifferent to him. So she does exactly that.

Think of Athena asking to be a Virgin Goddess from learning of what comes of marriage with gods.

Now, the continuation of Athena's myth is that she goes to Atlantis to train with the sea nymphs. There she makes her first ever friend and someone she comes to dearly love, Pallas. Greek myths being allergic to happy endings, one day when Pallas and Athena are sparring as they do a bit more seriously this time; Zeus being a nosy bastard decides to spy in just when Pallas is about to land a finishing blow on Athena. Thinking she might kill his daughter, he kills Pallas by blasting her with his lightning. Athena, being heartbroken , Zeus gave her Aegis as an apology. The continuation of this is that Athena adopts the namesake Pallas Athena and even carves a statue in likeness of her friend called Palladium and then more.

But think of Athena heartbroken and bitter as the Goddess of Wisdom learns her second lesson, then she must abandon all personal relations and sentiment before her father ends it for her in one way or another. For Pallas was the first true relation in her life after her mother.

Keep in mind that Pallas is Poseidon's granddaughter through his firstborn son and heir Triton. This is the point that sparks eternal enmity between Athena and Poseidon, and all those who come after will suffer in the wake of this tragedy.

So Athena chooses to remain alone and without a friend to avoid such a situation. Imagine Athena being hurt, especially brutally, when Odysseus says: "Since you claim you are so much wiser, why's your life spent all alone? You're alone!"

Because that's exactly it. Athena is wise. She knows the consequence of endearing herself to someone again so she stays alone to avoid such a thing and yet coming from someone who is so close to being her first friend in a long time, hurt and enraged she leaves.

Now, when finally Athena comes to terms with her friendship with Odysseus she finds yet again that her father Zeus struck him and his crew in a similar fashion to Pallas , yet again ripping her only friend away from her .

He is not dead yet, and Athena isn't about to let that happen. This time, she fights against Zeus, risks her life and position of being the favorite, and her survival method all because she can't bear to see Odysseus die.

Think of the agonizing fate of Athena, repeatedly being traumatized by her father yet having to do his bidding and stay on his good side to survive and live not for herself for she lives in misery but for the people who suffered for died for their association with her. In her eyes, she must suffer tenfold for letting this happen thrice, for all eternity under the man who so wretchedly ruined her life.

[seelestia]

we missed you, welcome back!

i had a thought for a few days now and then i saw that you were back and i just had to share this

so imagine that you wake up in teyvat one day and you speak a different language bc they probably don’t speak english in teyvat, and no one understands you, but then there’s the smart haravatat ppl like alhaitham and faruzan (idk if there is anyone else) who use their smart language brains to figure out how to talk to you, i think that would be super cute

.💭

BRAINROT ANON— my comrade on tumblr, i missed you too!! i'm so honored that you thought of me aww :') you knew i'd be glad to brainrot with you anytime!! /gen. i focused less on how they communicate with you, but rather more on the events surrounding this concept. hope ya don't mind! so good to see you again <3

extra note: this was written from a platonic pov! yk those movies where a protagonist helps out their 'otherworldly' companion to go back to their home world? yeah, that's what i'm going for here. movies like 'home' and 'cj7' came to mind immediately. that's us and faruzan!! oh, and alhaitham is here too, i guess. /j

-

imagine waking up one day to find yourself transported to the middle of the hypostyle desert. the sun burns, scorching hot on your skin then suddenly, it's gone? oh no, some strange turquoise lady is peering at your face with disapproval. you suspect she thinks you're a reckless traveler who forgot to bring ample supplies to a place like this. “███ ███ ████ ███?” she says and you realize you don't understand a word.

[translation: did your water storage run out?]

imagine the confusion on faruzan's face when you mumble a few sentences? noises? grumbles? she specializes in semiotics (and ruins), not speech pathology so how is she supposed to know? anyway, she graciously takes you in! and brings you back to her residence. yes, yes, how generous, applaud her later but she cannot hand you over to the akademiya just yet. (who knows what they'll do with you? you're obviously not of this world.)

imagine trying to communicate with faruzan using other means besides language. one of them includes pointing at the fresh apple slices on her kitchen counter. she gives them to you and notes how you say 'tenk yu' (?) which she takes as a sign of gratitude. of course, she also jots it down in her notes alongside her observations. how interesting.

and she manages the grand feat of roping alhaitham in, somehow someway. he's a youngster (everyone is a youngster if you're one hundred years old at this point) far too solitary for her liking — plus, notoriously hard to convince but that helps: he's someone who won't tattle! that's her logic here. she even had to invite him over for dinner and introduce him to you herself! ugh, she really had no more funds left to spare... so this better works.

it did, oddly. alhaitham's first instinct is to question and his deductions conclude that you are far too genuine (for lack of a better word) for all of this to be a ruse. the way you pointed at his fit and gave him a thumbs-up he assumed that you meant to say you thought it's “cool”.

alhaitham observes you; when you speak, none of the words sound familiar to his experienced ears and trust him, his quota of languages exceed many. he is not here to brag, so don't twist it. nor do you seem to understand anything whenever he or faruzan speaks. you don't even react in the slightest when he mentions or addresses you directly, only a tap on the shoulder works. it's safe to assume you do not know teyvatian language.

the guy in gray green turns to madam faru with a hum. she taught you to refer to her that way. it took hard work and lots of apple slices. “██... ██ ███ ████ █ ████?” he asks.

[translation: so... do you have a plan?]

“██ ███ █████!” she puffs out her chest in determination.

[translation: in due time!]

he sighs.

you blink, eternally confused.

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Phantom Pain ଓ♱˚⋆

When I wrote the first fic of my Yandere Church AU, I never expected it to expand into a whole series. Now it’s time for Cartaphilus! Dainsleif x Yandere! Demon! Reader………and yes, Dain is the darling in this fic ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

I hope y’all enjoy their twisted story and the cameos to my previous fics!! Special thanks to my beta-reader @diodellet, @brynn-lear who helped me with Dain’s characterization, and all of my mutuals who listened to my brainrot~

Tw:: YANDERE, psychological trauma, blood, graphic violence, death, stalking, dubcon, noncon, mention of nsfw, MDNI, please take note of all of these warnings

Notes:: Female reader, FICTIONAL depictions of religion, inspired by Cartaphilus from The Ancient Magus’ Bride, I’m sorry Dain (*´꒳`*)

♡ 7.3k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns.

♡ After the Cataclysm, the survivors scattered across Teyvat. Many established secret communities to preserve their culture and find solace in companionship. Others settled in foreign nations, periodically assuming new identities to evade suspicion. And a few became travelers, moving from place to place with no home to call their own.

♡ One such traveler is Dainsleif. After failing to prevent the destruction of his nation, he began an endless journey around Teyvat. His initial goal was to protect his fellow survivors and seek a cure for their curse. But as Khaenri’ah faded from memory, so did its people. Many succumbed to pain, madness, violence—and despite his best efforts, Dainsleif was unable to save any of them. In the perpetual meantime of a cruel eternity, all he could do was travel onwards, clinging to a thread of hope.

♡ That all changes when he wanders into the ruins of an ancient temple, 300 years after the Cataclysm. Had he known it was a place of worship, Dainsleif would have camped outside. But the structure is abandoned, inconspicuous, a perfect shelter against the ongoing storm. So he goes inside, lighting the way with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. And only when he meets you does he realize he’d set foot in unholy ground.

♡ A pattern glows on the floor—a summoning circle he’d unknowingly stepped into, concealed with splatters of dried blood. From it, a winged figure emerges in a burst of light and slams him against the cracked tiles. Dizzily, he registers a strong hand pressing down on his neck, an aura of overwhelming divinity, a brilliant glare that strikes fear into his very soul.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Ah, let’s see. Just when I thought this place had succumbed to the elements, who has the insolence to summon me?”

In your divine presence, Dainsleif can only look up and take in your inhuman features. Sharp talons. Four wings with silvery black-and-gray feathers, resembling an eagle’s plumage. A single horn jutting from the left side of your head. Eyes as bright as miniature suns.

A demon. How in the world did he summon a demon?

He glances at the sigil etched on the floor. From what he knows of these rituals, they are only successful if specific instructions are followed and the demon’s true name is uttered. Was it because he used Khaenri’ahn sorcery within the summoning circle?

He meets your gaze. “I never intended—”

Your eyes widen. “Oh?”

Still gripping his neck, you lift him up and brush the loose strands of hair away from his face. The action uncovers his eyes, bright blue with pupils shaped like four-pointed stars.

“A Khaenri’ahn?”

At this point, Dainsleif doesn’t know what to do. He struggles in your grasp, only to stop when your talons dig into his skin. Your gaze remains locked onto his.

Slowly, your lips curve into a fanged smile.

“And such a pretty one at that.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Somehow, Dainsleif’s curse has saved him from your wrath. Still, he remains vigilant as you put him down and demand to hear his life story—why, when you have already glimpsed his soul? Reluctantly, he tells you everything from his previous life to the circumstances that brought him to your temple. Once he is finished, you allow him to stay in your temple until the storm ends.

♡ As you move, he notices a trio of jagged scars on your body—one on each shoulder, another one between your first pair of wings. He makes no mention of it, however, and instead asks for your identity. In response to that, you give him an enigmatic smile, whisper your true name, and promptly disappear. The only proof of your encounter is the dark bruise around Dainsleif’s neck.

♡ He doesn’t sleep well. At the crack of dawn, he gets up and does a quick exploration of the temple ruins. From the looks of it, it could be thousands of years old. There are sculpted images of suns, beasts, and paradises. The bloodstained floor implies a violent end for the previous intruders—or was it from your official summoning rituals? At any rate, one thing is clear: You are a powerful demon, one who was previously worshiped as a false god.

♡ He leaves after sunrise, relieved to have survived the ordeal…only for your paths to cross a few days later. And the week after that. Again and again. Most of the time, you appear out of nowhere, invisible to everyone except for Dainsleif. Other times, your presence manifests in a stray feather, inhuman shadows, the persistent feeling that he is being watched.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Oh, hello, Dain. Did you enjoy your drink?”

“...What have you done?”

In the dark alley, your bloody visage is a terrifying sight. A human is passed out at your feet, their arm covered in deep scratches and blackened veins.

Dainsleif takes a step back. That person…isn’t that the drunkard who tried to start a fight with him at the tavern?

A sinister smile appears on your face. “Don’t worry, I just cast a little curse on them.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ He doesn’t know what to make of his situation. In Khaenri’ah, demons were perceived as wicked creatures that lead humanity down the path of sin. You have yet to harm him, unless your plan is to lull him into a false sense of security first. It would certainly explain your frequent visits, your honeyed words, your cheerful demeanor around him.

♡ During your encounters, he asks you questions. As it turns out, it is difficult to find information on you. Humans usually refer to a specific demon by their title, so your true name is only useful when he is addressing you. You don’t reveal much about yourself, apart from the fact that your current role in Hell is torturing the souls of deceased sinners.

♡ The answer is found in the Sumeru Akademiya. The House of Daena has a forbidden archive that includes grimoires, research on spiritual beings, as well as related literature. It doesn’t take long for him to find the hidden room. As he examines the bookshelves, he notices a few written records of Khaenri’ah, all of which depict his people in a negative light.

♡ He begins with a book about the celestial hierarchy. According to the writer, there are nine ranks of angels and only the Second Order, the Cherubim, have two pairs of eagle wings. They also have four heads—human, lion, ox, eagle…and in the accompanying illustration, the animal heads are located in the exact same place as your scars.

♡ Next is the grimoire of Il Dottore. He flips through the section dedicated to demons, skimming the notes and sigils. There is the Puppeteer, the Fair Lady, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge whom Dottore formed a pact with, and so on. Finally, he comes across a familiar sigil.

The Beheaded Cherub

-True name: ______

-Created in the ███ Era, fell from grace in the ██████ Era

-Basic status: 1 head (human), 1 set of fangs (lion), 1 horn (ox), 2 pairs of wings and 10 talons (harpy eagle)

-One of the most powerful demons in Hell by virtue of her previous rank and her prominence in human cognizance. She was once venerated as a false god by the Temple of Light.

-Prior to her descent, she was called “the Beast of Beatitude.” █████ says her divine punishment was the loss of her animal heads and the development of her beastly traits.

-A unique specimen. It is a pity that I could not obtain a sample of her. If we meet again, more insight can be gained into the mental faculties of a fallen Cherub.

♡ The next page has an illustration drawn from memory. It’s you. An ornate choker protects your neck, and your expression is one of wrath. There is also a report of Dottore’s encounter with you: He’d trapped the Puppeteer via exorcism and obtained one of his wings. Before he could do worse, you suddenly appeared and rescued Scaramouche. Dottore theorized that you left without attacking him because you saw the Cherub’s skeleton in his laboratory.

♡ That book leads Dainsleif down a rabbit hole of texts. Historical records of the Temple of Light. Literary depictions of “the Beheaded Cherub.” The sketchbook of an artist whose muses were demons. Reports of mysterious curses that manifested in pain and disfigurement. All of those sources point to you.

♡ Well, one thing is clear: He is doomed. It’s bad enough that he is dealing with a spiritual being, what more a powerful one. It is at this moment that he senses your presence behind him.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Hello, Dain. I see you���ve figured out who I am.”

This time, he doesn’t look at you. “You never told me of your appetite for humans. Just how many were sacrificed for the Temple of Light’s offerings?”

Silence. Dainsleif continues to face the desk, closing the book in his hands.

Finally, you answer him. “That was not my command. The Temple of Light was founded by one of my earliest humans. Most of their beliefs and rituals were his own ideas, believe it or not.”

“And where is he now? Is he one of those sinners that you are so fond of torturing?”

He can imagine the sight behind him: You, in all of your demonic glory, casting large shadows against the walls. It is easy to reconcile your image with your sinister depictions.

“No,” you reply. “Once a human dies, all of their pacts are broken. As such, I have no reason to maintain ties with my former humans, especially the one who gave me such a wretched title. I let my coworkers handle their punishments.”

“And do you intend to make a deal with me as well?”

It is the only rational explanation he can think of.

“Wrong again. As a matter of fact, demons cannot form pacts with Khaenri’ahns, hence our indifference to your kind. What use is there for a soul that will never enter Hell?”

Dainsleif glances at the Lesser Key of Deshret. According to that source, most humans sought you out for the purpose of cursing their enemies.

He turns around. “Let me ask you this. Why are you following me?”

In the candlelight, your gaze has never looked more intense. “Is it not enough to say that I am mesmerized by you?”

The look he gives you is one of pure doubt.

You stand in front of him, touching his half-mask.

“I saw it all, Dainsleif,” you tell him, “when I looked into your soul. Your righteousness as the Twilight Sword, your perseverance after the Cataclysm, the hope you’ve clung to for all these centuries…I find it all so fascinating.”

He pulls away, glaring. “Is that all? A mere sense of curiosity?”

You smile at him. “Well, there is also your beauty. When I look at you, I can almost understand why humanity is the only creation which God deemed perfect.”

“Your flattery is as banal as it is unwarranted,” he scoffs. Stepping aside, he tidies up the desk and returns the books to their shelves. “I have never received the favor of God in the past. I don't see any reason I would need yours now or in the future, either.”

That is when you burst into laughter.

“Are you sure about that? Believe me, Dain, I have a lot to offer.”

As you push him against the wall, your expression becomes deathly serious.

“Two centuries ago,” you whisper, “a Khaenri’ahn was burned at the stake in Fontaine. She survived, of course, but was left with scars that will never heal. Another one encountered the wrong group of heretics and, to this day, his body is being used for their rituals.”

“I…” Dread pools up in his stomach. Does he know those individuals?

“And just last year, I heard the Church of Snezhnaya discovered a community of Khaenri’ahns and buried everyone alive. They’re all trapped underground, barely conscious. But even if they are freed, I doubt their bodies could still function after being deprived of nutrients for so long.”

Snezhnaya…are you talking about the one led by Pierro?

“Oh, and how could I forget?” You lean closer, your eyes reflecting Dainsleif’s agonized face. “Long before the Cataclysm, the Tree of Life disappeared from the human realm. Nobody, not even the angels, knows if it still exists. What more for the Khaenri’ahns who dedicated their eternity to searching for it?”

No.

If the Tree of Life is gone…

Does that mean there is truly no way to break the curse?

At this point, Dainsleif is trembling. “______, please tell me you are—mph!”

There is nothing gentle about your kiss. The back of his head hits the wall, and his mask falls to the floor. When he tries to resist, you capture his wrists in an iron grip.

It’s too much. Panicking, he resorts to his Khaenri’ahn sorcery but the galaxy-like aura is easily extinguished by your radiant light. You spread your wings, caging him in silvery feathers. Sharp fangs graze his bottom lip. He can’t do anything. He has to call for help—

Footsteps echo outside the room.

Just as quickly as the idea comes to mind, Dainsleif falls silent. What is he thinking? What if the scholar sees his cursed marks and realizes he is a Khaenri’ahn?

He stays still, praying the door remains locked. When the footsteps recede, he slumps against the wall.

His relief isn’t lost on you. Pulling away, you trace the blue veins and black marks on his face. A sinful smile plays on your lips.

“Do you understand, darling? No one, not even God, will save you.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ After that revelation, Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat. But he does so aimlessly, in your company. There are attempts to ward you off—religious objects, carefully-worded negotiations, a few hours spent inside a church—but all end in your amused reactions. It becomes routine for you to meet him every few days, providing Mora for his expenses and information on the places he visits.

♡ Your threats are no laughing matter. Thankfully, your violence never exceeds the severity of your first meeting. A strong grip on his hand. Talons playfully tracing his cursed marks. There is that time you swooped in, picked him up, and threatened to drop him off a cliff for trying to hide from you…then you later brushed it off as an empty threat.

♡ You’re also very affectionate, if such a word can be used to describe a demon. At one point, you begin leaving gifts for him—a new cloak, bejeweled hairpins, gems in the same shade of blue as his eyes. He tries to decline your gifts on the basis of practicality but you’re difficult to persuade. Moreover, he keeps finding your stray feathers on his clothes.

♡ Then there is the matter of your physical intimacy. By now, Dainsleif is used to your kisses and cuddles. The worst part is when your hands wander, when you defile his body after sundown, when his resistance crumbles into moans and tears. Those nights always end in his skin tainted with love bites, teeth marks, light scratches. Thankfully, you are unable to brand him with your sigil though that doesn’t stop you from longingly biting the back of his neck.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“______, that’s enough.”

“Hmm?” You press another kiss to his shoulder. “What did you say?”

He gives you a tired look. “I need to sleep.”

Just how unending is a demon’s stamina? It’s past midnight, and he doubts he will be able to leave the bed later. Perhaps he can ask the innkeeper for an extension.

“All right.” You pull the blankets over the two of you. Then you wrap your arms around him, keeping him close. “I’ll give you enough Mora for a week’s stay.”

He lies on his side, staring at the wall. “You don’t have to.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. In a few minutes, your grip loosens and all Dainsleif can hear is his own breathing. Carefully, he turns over to face you.

…He never knows how to deal with you after your depravity has been exhausted. You’re always gentle as you clean him up and cuddle him in bed. When you sleep, you are no different from a corpse. No sounds, no movements, a neutral expression on your face.

Sighing, he shifts to a more comfortable position and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up, you are gone. Your side of the bed is still warm.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ A few years later, you decide to accompany Dainsleif in a different form. It all starts when he meets a fellow traveler in Mondstadt. They’d camped in the same forest and it was hard to ignore them, especially when they asked for his help. In the end, Dainsleif relented and they explored the forest together. He thought it would be safe since you never visit him on Sundays.

♡ He leaves the forest the next morning, after agreeing to lunch at a nearby tavern. But when he arrives, he finds his acquaintance being restrained and dragged into a medical vehicle. They are absolutely feral, but most alarming are the wounds on their face. Before they pass out, Dainsleif makes eye contact with them and notices an indigo glint in their eyes.

♡ A waiter fills him in on what happened: His acquaintance suddenly went mad, made a mess in the tavern, and ran straight into a mirror. When Dainsleif visits them at the clinic, they are visibly disoriented, claiming they didn’t know what came over them. They are escorted home a few days later, their face covered in scars, and Dainsleif never sees them again.

♡ The next day, he is strolling around Mondstadt City when a familiar pair of arms wraps around him. He muffles a gasp and turns around to give you a subtle glare—have you forgotten that he is in public?—only to stop when he sees you. Your demonic features are gone, and you are wearing traveler’s attire. Moreover, the surrounding humans can also see you.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“So, darling, do you like my human guise?”

The smile hasn’t left your face. It’s natural, considering the fact that Dainsleif is the one holding your hand and leading you to a secluded spot.

He lets go of you. “What are you planning now?”

You frown, placing the same hand over your chest. “I just wanted to spend more time with you. It’s no fun when you ignore me in the presence of humans.”

“______.” Your name leaves his lips in an exasperated voice. “How can I be sure that you won’t draw more attention to me?”

“Hey, have more faith in me,” you pout. In this form, you look significantly less imposing. “I’ve used this guise many times in the past. And isn’t it easier for you to interact with me this way, rather than pretend I’m not right in front of you?”

It’s not like any amount of persuasion would work on you.

He sighs. “Well, that’s as good a reason as any. Follow me, then.”

With that, the two of you return to the Market District. Dainsleif orders two chicken-mushroom skewers, not missing the way your eyes sparkle when he asks you if you want anything else.

A few feet away, a Mondstadter casts a flirtatious glance at him. But before they can approach him, you wrap your arm around his waist and scare them off with a fervent glare.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Your human guise brings about more changes in Dainsleif’s journey, from couple promos to less strangers bothering him. At times, you break away from him to pet wild animals or purchase items for yourself. In those moments, he can’t help but watch you from a distance. Your face is capable of many expressions, he observes, some of which are actually quite nice to look at.

♡ You also continue to share valuable information with him. Once, Dainsleif picks up a book entitled Molten Moment. In the foreword, the author claimed that it was based on the life of a demon they’d formed a pact with. Not only did you confirm the truth to their story, you also stop at a certain chapter. In it, the protagonist spoke to a Power whose true name was of Khaenri’ahn origin.

♡ That is how Dainsleif learns there are angels who look like Khaenri’ahns. They have the same starry eyes and facial features as his people, though God stopped creating them a long time ago. Many of them became demons for opposing the Cataclysm out of personal attachment to Khaenri’ah. And those who remained as angels rarely use their human guise in the present.

♡ And when Dainsleif asks about the Power featured in the book, you give him a sad smile. Then you say something about a fight you lost, sparring sessions, and regular conversations. In the present, however, your encounters with Il Capitano are only a painful reminder that you are “no longer at full strength.”

♡ You also explain that unlike angels, demons typically aren’t close with one another. Though you do mention a pair of younger demons that you took in after their descent. There is a soft look in your eyes every time you talk about Scaramouche and Pantalone, and you like to buy souvenirs for them. In times like this, Dainsleif is reminded of the family he lost, the home he can never return to.

˖⋆‧˚✦

Bright. It’s too bright.

Dainsleif looks up. The sky is crimson, reflecting the sea of flames consuming his homeland.

Beneath him, the ground shatters into fragments. Screams of terror echo in the distance. All around him, he is greeted with chaos and destruction.

Where is Halfdan? What happened to the Royal Guards? How many more people are going to meet their end?

Suddenly, a ray of light shines upon his nation, so bright that it hurts his eyes. What are those particles raining down from the sky?

It burns.

He falls to his knees, coughing. Something is wrong. His body…he raises his right hand and watches in horror as the skin becomes corrupted.

Amidst his pain, all he can think of are the people he failed to protect.

-

“Dain? Dain, wake up!”

The holy light disappears.

Blearily, Dainsleif opens his eyes to darkness. A hand is on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“What…?”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Your face comes into view. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position and rub soothing circles on his back. “It was just a dream.”

Another nightmare.

He glances at the window. The night sky is cloudy.

“Take deep breaths,” you continue. Your eyes, shining with a soft radiance, are the only source of light in the room. The tip of your wing brushes against his cheek—was he crying in his sleep?

For once, Dainsleif doesn’t back away from your touch. He leans against you, trying to steady himself, his gaze still fixed on the starless sky.

Hesitantly, you ask, “It was about the Cataclysm, wasn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?”

“...There is no need,” he mumbles. “My dreams are a rarity. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He draws back, taking note of your worried expression. “Did I startle you?”

“Ah, not really,” you reply. Strands of hair are tangled around your horn, and you comb them out with your fingers. “....Though if I’m going to be honest, a part of me was curious.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your wings twitch. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…I’ve always wondered what a nightmare feels like, since I am incapable of dreaming.”

“I see…is that a common trait amongst demons?”

You shake your head. “No. In fact, it’s one of the first abilities a demon gains after their descent. But in the millennia since I’ve been cast out of Heaven, I haven’t had a single dream.”

His gaze drifts to your scars. “Does it have something to do with your divine punishment?”

As soon as you look away, he realizes it was a correct guess.

“Say, darling,” you mutter. “Can you stand the sight of your cursed marks?”

He looks at his right hand. “At one point, I stopped dwelling on it.”

“Well, at least those marks are easy to cover up.”

This time, Dainsleif is the one staring at you.

This isn’t his first time seeing cracks in your demeanor. He has noticed many over the years, from the occasional headache to your wistful gaze directed at eagles flying overhead. Once, you suddenly flinched and touched one of your scars, only to brush it off when he asked about it.

Even if you take pride in your demonic visage, it doesn’t erase the scars of your past.

“Do you believe your god to have punished you fairly?”

You meet his gaze, frowning. “What did you say?”

“Forgive me for being direct,” he tells you. “You do not pry into my secrets, so I never pried into yours…but if you would like to tell me, I will listen.”

For a few seconds, you just stare back at him. Are you glimpsing his soul again? From his end, all he can see is your gaze turning dim.

“My answer is no.”

Your expression turns bitter. Dainsleif lets you elaborate.

“When I was an angel,” you whisper, “I used all four of my heads. Seeing the world from every angle, speaking in different sounds, expressing multiple emotions at once…those abilities are what set the Cherubim apart from the rest of God’s creations.”

Your jewelry glitters on the nightstand. Earlier today, you’d worn an esclavage necklace with three cameo pendants. Each pendant bears the image of an animal—a lion, an ox, an eagle.

“So you can imagine how difficult it was to lose them,” you continue. You grip your upper arms, talons digging into your skin. “My beastly heads, all reduced to dust before my remaining eyes. And even then, our creator did not spare what was left of my body.”

A mirror hangs on the wall. It perfectly reflects Dainsleif’s cursed marks and your sorrowful countenance.

“This face was perfectly human until I grew fangs. My talons will always be in my line of sight. And don’t even get me started on the differences between halos and horns. It’s not…!”

Your voice cracks. At the same time, Dainsleif scoots closer to you.

In the dark, your expression looks tired. Resigned.

“So who cares if I looked down on humanity?” you mumble. “Why couldn’t I be forgiven? By now, I’ve lived over half of my life as a demon and yet…it still hurts.”

That ends your confession. You stare at your lap, wings lowered.

What is he supposed to say in this scenario?

From the beginning, Dainsleif knew it would be meaningless to believe in baseless depictions of demons. Still, it’s perplexing to see this side of you, to feel sympathy for the present source of his vexation and anxiety.

Yet in this moment, he finds himself reaching out to you. He copies your soothing gesture from earlier, placing his hand on the area between your wings.

You allow it, resting your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, you break the silence.

“You know, darling, I’ve always wondered…why do you remain unchanged? Why do you still choose to live righteously when you will never be rewarded with a place in Heaven?”

He looks you in the eye. “That was never my goal. All I’ve ever dreamed of was peace. So even if there is no more hope for me…there must be for my fellow humans.”

At that, you hold his cursed hand and give him a pitying look.

“But darling…at this point, can you even call yourself human?”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Decades pass. Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat, with you as his sole companion. By now, he has long grown tolerant of your presence…and he has even begun to crave it on the days when you are busy in Hell. But he keeps it a secret, along with the sparks of attraction that he is beginning to feel towards you. Instead, he chalks it up to loneliness. That must be it.

♡ Despite that, his affection reveals itself in subtle gestures. Mint brew for your headaches. Practical gifts such as gloves and weapons. Once, the two of you were exploring Dragonspine when he noticed that your scarf had loosened. He adjusted it for you, careful not to touch your scars; and after your initial shock, you stared ahead and quietly thanked him.

♡ These days, he can’t find any Khaenri’ahns apart from a few descendants. In those cases, he has a short conversation with them then leaves without divulging their ancestry. It’s enough to know that those individuals are spared from the curse and able to live ordinary lives, though he wonders if their ancestors are doing well. He can’t make any new friends, either, due to your possessive nature though he does get acquainted with your “family.”

♡ One day, he wanders Liyue on his own and encounters a bespectacled local. He introduces himself as Pantalone and commissions Dainsleif to collect Noctilucous Jade for him. With nothing else to do, Dainsleif accepts the job but is later paid a much higher price than the 500 Mora he’d charged. But when he objects, Pantalone gives him a saccharine smile and tells him that he is “merely showing generosity towards his Jiejie’s pet.” Then he disappears.

♡ A year after that encounter, you attend the concert of a Snezhnayan singer. The Balladeer has an emotional voice, but Dainsleif is distracted by a familiar glint in their eyes. After the performance, you bring him to the dressing room. The Balladeer is slumped over a chair, their eyes branded with a sigil, and an indigo-eyed demon looms over them. As you congratulate Scaramouche on “another excellent possession,” Dainsleif dreadfully recalls the traveler he met in Mondstadt.

♡ He confronts you about it in your hotel room. A part of him did suspect your involvement in his acquaintance’s disfigurement, but it’s different when you are guiltlessly confirming it. After a fiery argument, Dainsleif goes to sleep and coldly ignores you for the remainder of his stay in Snezhnaya. It was foolish of him to forget about your sinister nature.

♡ Not long after, he realizes that he hasn’t seen you in days. That is odd—usually, you inform him in advance if you have to stay in Hell for an extended period. Or did his outrage finally have its desired effect on you? He continues his journey, nonetheless, but it feels…different. Since meeting you, he had the assurance that his solitariness is only short-lived, that you’d always come back to bother him. But now? He isn’t so sure.

♡ He stops finding molted feathers on his clothes. When he looks in the mirror, he notices that your love bites have all but faded completely from his body. At the sight of his cursed marks, he recalls the nights you’d spend lovingly tracing the corrupted skin. You once told him that the luminous veins compliment his blue eyes, and his response had been a withering look.

♡ He goes to Sumeru. The House of Daena has undergone multiple renovations, and the secret archive has been moved to a new room. He rereads the texts about you and Khaenri’ah, taking note of each inaccuracy. How many years ago was his last visit? Has it really been 200 years since the day he crossed paths with you? So much has changed since then.

♡ Afterwards, Dainsleif finds himself wandering the area near Khaenri’ah. He hasn’t set foot in his homeland ever since the Cataclysm, but memory is a dangerous temptation. Just as he is about to walk away, he hears a loud sob and runs into the ruins.

♡  He finds a young person kneeling in a patch of Inteyvat flowers, hands clasped in prayer. When he calls out to them, they lift their head to reveal tears and star-shaped pupils in their eyes. Their face, however, is pristine. Are their cursed marks concealed with makeup? Or are they just a descendant of Khaenri’ah? Dainsleif crouches in front of them, offering his help…and that is when the person’s destitute expression twists into an eerie grin.

♡ Suddenly, the Inteyvat wrap around his limbs, restraining him. A heavy weight strikes the back of his head—the blunt side of a sword? Through his blurry vision, he watches as a celestial halo and a pair of glittery wings emerge from the body of the “Khaenri’ahn.” Two similar silhouettes appear near them, one in bronze armor and the other adorned with flowers. Everything goes dark.

♡ When he wakes up, he is in what seems to be a church. His body is chained to the altar and he feels dizzy, fading in and out of consciousness. From the looks of the stained-glass windows, it is already night. Beside him is a wounded figure, also restrained, more skeleton than flesh. They blankly stare ahead, unresponsive to his questions, and…is that Halfdan?

♡ The horrifying revelation is worsened by the presence of his attackers. From what Dainsleif can recall of the books he’d read, they are angels from the Second Sphere. The Dominion’s starry gaze is full of hatred as they narrate his comrade’s life after the Cataclysm. Halfdan had stayed behind to search for survivors, up until the angels took over their home. And in the decades since, he had been starved, tortured, kept alive only by the curse.

♡ By the end of their speech, all hope has left Dainsleif. Already, he is on the brink of passing out again and the chains have neutralized his Khaen’riahn sorcery. How can fate be so cruel to him? As the Dominion flies over to him, their multiple eyes blazing with cruelty, he whispers an apology to Halfdan and braces himself for a new world of suffering.

♡ Except they never lay a hand on him. In a burst of light, a taloned hand grabs the Dominion by the halo and slams them against the marble tiles. The other angels scream and cower in fear, a familiar name leaving their lips. Halfdan remains catatonic. As for Dainsleif, all he feels is pure relief at the sight of his savior.

♡ At this moment, you have never looked scarier. Your face is twisted in an expression of animalistic rage, and your glare could outshine the sun. You curse the Dominion this time, followed by the Virtue and the Power, before flying over to Dainsleif and breaking his chains. Before he faints again, he manages to point at Halfdan and beg you to help him as well.

♡ How long was he asleep? When he wakes up, the stained-glass windows are all shattered to reveal a sky the color of twilight. He and Halfdan have been moved to a corner of the church, kept warm by a blanket. And when he looks around the holy sanctuary, all he can see is carnage.

♡ Pieces of armor and flesh are scattered across the floor—the Power, brutally dismembered. Slumped against the double doors is the body of the Virtue, flowers and wings ripped off their cursed body. A rhythmic pattern of thuds directs his attention to the altar, where you are torturing the Dominion.

♡ They’re still alive, but barely. The eyes on their wings have been gouged out, and their halo has been reduced to fragments. You are bashing their face against the altar repeatedly—for how long? They have been disfigured beyond recognition. You ignore their desperate cries for forgiveness, only stopping when Dainsleif calls out to you.

♡ And just like that, your demeanor shifts from ferocity to concern. A loud crack echoes in the church as you finish off the Dominion and leave their corpse on the altar. Then you go over to Dainsleif, reassuring him that he is safe. But in the warmth of your embrace, he can only look at Halfdan.

♡ It’s too late for him. Irreparable damage has already been done to his body, what more for his psyche. Still, Dainsleif finds himself speaking to Halfdan, staring into his blank eyes, asking you if anything can be done to alleviate his pain. And when you ask him how badly he wants to put his comrade out of his misery…he understands the implication. And he tells you to do it.

♡ He doesn’t know if Halfdan can hear him. Nonetheless, Dainsleif forces a smile on his face, thanks him for faithfully doing his duty, and lies about the fate of Khaenri’ah. Then he moves aside, allowing him to crouch in front of Halfdan. Gently, you touch his face and whisper something to him. Then you spread your wings, blocking Dainsleif’s view.

♡ There is another crack. When you fold your wings, Halfdan’s head has been crushed and you are staring into his blank eyes. Glimpsing his soul, you confirm his comatose state and comfort Dainsleif. The rest of the day is spent preparing a makeshift grave and burying Halfdan in it. When you finally leave Khaenri’ah, Dainsleif turns back to face the ruins of his homeland. He hopes that his comrade is having a nice dream.

 ˖⋆‧˚✦

“I can do this by myself, you know.”

“I know. Now stay still, won’t you?”

“Right now, your health is more important.”

“And who are you to decide that?”

“______.” He gives you an exasperated look in the mirror and takes the comb out of your hands. “I am perfectly capable of brushing my own hair.”

The mirror reflects your stubborn expression. “But Dain—”

“I insist.” His gaze drifts to your bandaged shoulder, followed by the bruise near your neck. “Get some rest.”

“Oh, fine.” Shaking your head, you walk away from the vanity table.

Dainsleif faces his reflection. Aside from a bruise on the back of his head, his body is unharmed by the angel attack. To think it has only been a few hours since he left Khaenri’ah and returned to Shapur Hotel with you. He doesn’t know how he managed to get through dinner in his grief-stricken state.

At least his physical pain has subsided. And he feels better after taking a bath, though you were insistent on joining him. You wouldn’t even let him hold the hairdryer.

“Where on earth are my feathers?”

The facade of normalcy is broken by your sudden outburst. When Dainsleif turns to you, he sees you sifting through the clothes he’d just worn.

You give him an indignant look. “No wonder those angels didn’t know—What were you even doing in Khaenri’ah? Couldn’t you have at least waited for me to accompany you?!”

“...I kept them in my bag,” he answers. He walks over to the desk, where he’d placed his mask and the satchel you’d gifted him ten years ago. “I never knew there was a rational purpose to your feathers. I thought it was merely a sign of ownership.”

“Huh? Were you blind to the feathers on my brothers’ clothes?”

“That, I believed to be your equivalent of a family symbol.”

“In the past two centuries, did you even think of asking me about it?!”

He did try, at the start of your companionship, and you only said that he’d regret wasting your feathers. But Dainsleif knows better than to say that right now.

So instead, he yields to your embrace. This close, he can feel your body shaking.

“Do you know how frightened I was when I realized what happened to you?” you whisper.

“Now I do,” he mumbles. He hugs you back, positioning his hands below your lower wings. “Thank you for saving me.”

After a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence.

“Where were you these past weeks? I wondered if we’d ever meet again.”

“Oh, that? I just had a lot on my plate. Another headache, a new batch of sinners…and I figured you’d want some time to yourself. Ah, and I almost forgot!”

This time, you pick up your bloodstained clothes and take something out of your pocket.

“Here.” Facing him, you open the velvet box in your hands.

His eyes widen. “Oh, that’s…”

A ring. This isn’t the first one he has received from you, but it looks special. The gold band is engraved with intricate stars. The stone in the center is smooth, lustrous, with a radiant glow.

“What mineral is this?” he asks.

You tilt your head, and that is when he notices your horn. It looks normal at first glance, but it is shorter by a single inch.

“I commissioned one of the best craftsmen in Hell,” you explain. “How’s this? It should be easier to wear than my feathers, don’t you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he admits, but his gaze hasn’t left your horn. “Was it—”

“It’s fine.” It sounds like the reassurance isn’t only for him. But he can tell that your smile is genuine. “It’ll grow back.”

“All right, then.” He allows you to lift his cursed hand and slip the ring onto his finger. “…Thank you for the gift.”

“Now, why don’t we get some sleep? It’s been a long day.”

With that, Dainsleif follows you to the bed. As always, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your torso against his back. Your wings also hug him, caging him in silvery feathers.

You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

He stares ahead. “If you insist.”

The window showcases the second twilight of the day. You continue speaking.

“Tomorrow, do you want to have dinner at Lambad’s Tavern? It’s been a while since we enjoyed a drink together.”

“Sure,” he says. Already, he can feel the temptation of sleep. “And afterwards?”

A taloned fingertip traces the blue veins on his palm. “We can go wherever you want. There are a lot of new places to visit in Sumeru. I’ve heard of a new resort that opened in Inazuma. Oh, and if we leave for Liyue next week, we can get there in time for the Lantern Rite Festival.”

He intertwines your fingers. “I see. That sounds nice.”

He turns his head, facing you. Your eyes are bright, reflecting the stars in his own gaze.

“We can make our decision tomorrow.” With that, you give him a soft smile and close your eyes. “Sweet dreams, Dain.”

“Good night.”

He remains awake, however, long after the sky has turned dark. His hand is still in yours, his new ring glowing brighter than his cursed marks.

…He doesn’t know what to do, honestly. In two days, he has experienced so much, felt so many emotions, and he has yet to process it all. And there is still the winding road of eternity ahead of him, a future that promises anything but salvation. But tonight…

Tonight, he shall close his eyes and accept his fate.

Perhaps he will even dream of you.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

At long last…..Dain’s fic has been written. This has been in my drafts since April, and I’m really happy with how it turned out!! Also, if the first few bullet points look very familiar, that’s because Pierro’s fic also begins with my worldbuilding for Church AU! Khaenri’ah~

Aahhh I had a lot of fun with Darling! Dainsleif and his demon wife. I rlly enjoyed writing their dynamic, so this definitely isn’t the last time I write for them. Who knows?? Maybe I’ll spare Dain and give him less suffering (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Tag a Dainsleif enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @naraven @pranabefall @navxry @teabutmakeitazure @mochinon-yah @harmonysanreads @stickyspeckledlight

[saudariel]

a haladriel brainrot playlist for all your haladriel brainrot needs. i swear there is a narrative thread going on here if you squint. legend has it that if you listen to this playlist in order then you too will be plagued by the Visions that haunt me 👁

alt/metal. 2hrs 40mins right now (to be continued). starts out chill and then gets heavier. there's screaming but nothing too wild. propaganda (lyrics that make me go absolutely apeshit) below the cut. not for every song because the playlist is too long, but there is still a lot so brace yourself lmao

listen on Spotify here ♥️

chokehold // sleep token

When we were made, it was no accident We were tangled up like branches in a flood I come as a blade, a sacred guardian So you keep me sharp and test my worth in blood You've got me in a chokehold

alkaline // sleep token

Every once in a while something changes And she's changing me It's too late for me now, I am altered There is something beneath She's not acid nor alkaline Caught between black and white Not quite either day or night She's perfectly misaligned I'm caught up in her design And how it connects to mine I see in a different light The objects of my desire

sun killer // spiritbox

I was born to break, shallow paradise Consumed, I ignore meteoric rise If the blade is dull, there is consequence You displace the host, there is no defense Tell me the waves won't rise And monsters will fade with time To temper the blaze with the twist of a knife A sun killer lullaby

mine // sleep token

We balance fire in the earth we walk Will never stop me reaching forth To see you again With colors over all the wasted years Eternity will bring you near I know you can see I know you can see That you will be mine

abysm // unprocessed

You showed me the world, our planet You talked to me when I was fragile You gave me back my will to focus I don't know anything, but to be with you Until we're gone to waste, I'll be there Dive into the world that we share When I hear your voice, I still know Everything is well until you're gone

everything starts and ends with you // in this moment

Nothing, nowhere, no one ever measures up No sun, no moon, no sky blinds me like you do No place, no storm, no oceans in between us Could keep me away from you Everything starts and ends with you The earth stood still, we burst alive The universe and stars align, as we collide

and the snakes start to sing // bring me the horizon

Don't say I'm better off dead 'Cause heaven's full and hell won't have me Won't you make some room in your bed Well, you could lock me up in your heart And throw away the key Won't you take me out of my head?

abandon // andromida feat. daedric

I conjure the phantom of another hollow you Then drag it to the bottom Pretending in a cycle I find sacred But I mean nothing to you Just a piece of the pattern in your ruse I spiral into chaos riptides

sanctify me // in this moment

Feel the wrath, your doom, these flames I know why you feel so empty like me Feel the force, the chaos, engage Don't you forget we are the same Go ahead, set me free Wash away this dirt in me I wanna feel more holy Take away this hurt in me Show me who I am inside your light Give me just what I need Baptize and sanctify me

antimatter // silent planet

We are broken bodies bound for each other In the impact we become antimatter The dust hasn't settled but we feel the decay Torn limb from limb I am swearing your name Our hands collide, we brace together In the impact we become antimatter

parasite // red handed denial

I know your name, so show me your face And I won't give in to your malevolence When the parasite inside my mind remains alive Left paralyzed and victimized, frozen in time Because I'm not your puppet, not your prey You won't take control of me again The parasite I'll exorcise This body's mine Cast it out, watch it die

collider // silent planet

Does it kill you to see me Under the same unfolding sky? Believe me, I have tried to search the stars for compromise But none of us are innocent, my scars are witnesses So feast your eyes and spring the trap I can still feel the daggers staring into my back Break me down to entropy Till you find the lie inside belief

hurt you // spiritbox

We are failing in crisis mode Mutually assured destruction Love the proxy and burn the bones So I smile in the snare of devotion I hope you find what you're fighting for I am happier when I hurt you Your medicine is the coldest war I am happier when I hurt you

blood // in this moment

apparition // sleep token

I hate you for the sacrifices you made for me I hate you for every time you ever bled for me I hate you for the way you smile when you look at me I hate you for never taking control of me I hate you for always saving me from myself I hate you for always choosing me and not someone else I hate you for always pulling me back from the edge I hate you for every kind word you ever said

So let's make trouble in the dream world Hijack heaven with another memory now I make the most of the turning tide It just split what's left of the burning silence Don't wait, 'cause this could be the last time You turn up in the reveries of my mind I wake up to a suicide frenzy Loaded dreams still leave me empty

coldharbour // daedric

Keep my soul in your possession I'm afraid to lose my faith If I hold on till the morning Would you claim it for me? If you kill my flesh tomorrow Then I’ll take my final breath It'll turn into a last laugh And I'll lay in a silent death

vore // sleep token

You have become the voice in my head Only recourse we're left after death Your viscera welcome me in, welcome me in My life is torn, my bones, they bleed My metaphors fall short in the end Your flesh and bone welcome me in, welcome me in Are you in pain like I am? Will we remain stuck in the throat of gods? Will the pain stop if we go deeper?

[harmonysanreads]

Went back to re-read your Vampire!Alhaitham and Darling stuff. I shouldn't have done that because now I can't sleep until this brainrot is out. I hope you enjoy some of the 2am ramblings.

So what stuck in my head as I was reading through the Vampire!Alhaitham AU stuff was a darling who got turned against their will, when they otherwise should've died.

-----

Imagine, after a long and arduous fight with some bandits, Darling ends up collapsing on the floor. Their strength fades, and they can barely keep their eyes open. Before the darkness takes them, they quietly mutter a single word, "Alhaitham."

Imagine Darling's shock when she finds herself in a bed, looking back up at a familiar ceiling. Alhaitham's ceiling. The wooden beams above are the ones she's always stared at, the ones who sometimes took the brunt of it when she rebelled against Alhaitham.

As she's taking in her surroundings, Darling cautiously pats herself over, wanting to confirm if she is indeed alive after her fight with the bandits. Her skin is unblemished, but she notices that her skin is lighter than before, and that her skin is much colder than it was before. Darling makes the mistake of running her tongue over her teeth, and feels the large fangs on the side of her mouth.

But of course, Darling can't linger on that thought for long, as twilight approaches. Darling ends up crumpling to the floor as pain wracks her body. She digs her nails into her palms, to try and take her mind of the pain shooting through her body. While her body is cold, her blood burns. She twists and writhes as she tries to keep herself in check.

Her vision is starting to blur, her ears start picking up the faintest of noises, and her nose can smell it. Iron. Her mind is fighting against the urge to submit to the basest of instincts - to satiate her hunger with fresh blood. Unbeknownst to her, she had been struggling against herself so much, that her nails were starting to draw blood from her palms.

Darling can feel the pull of her fangs, and her instinct to bite down on the nearest warm blooded thing. In a blind panic, she quickly grabs a piece of clothing, shoves it in her mouth and bites down on it.

There are tears streaming down her face as she grapples with the newfound realization that she wants blood now. She doesn't want to believe it. Heck, she'd rather not. But the pain and the carnal urge in her stomach says otherwise.

No, Darling doesn't want to give in. She can't, as a matter of principle. She's not like him. She's not like the cold blooded Alhaitham. She's not like that! She's not!

She closes her eyes and curls in on herself, hoping to ride out the pain and the cravings, with the clothing in her mouth to muffle her cries.

If Darling has her way, she'd lock herself in her room for eternity than take a life, or take blood. Alhaitham is the very last person she wants to see right now.

But as the days go on the pain and cravings gets worse and it's harder to fight them. As her body gets weaker due to a lack of blood, it's getting harder for her to ignore the assault on her senses. Her ears constantly hear blood flowing, her nose is sensitive enough that even the smallest paper cut will make her crave blood, her mouth is parched and dry from how she's been trying to control her biting instincts, and her skin prickles as her blood seems to sting her, with a pain similar to frostbite.

But worst of all is the craving in the pit of her stomach, that seems to grow with each passing day. Regular food won't do it anymore. She knows that.

But giving into the alternative would be worse.

Giving into him, would be worse. No matter how kind he may have been, no matter how he thought he was saving her, her view hadn't changed. She doesn't want this. Eternal life is a punishment, one that she never wanted inflicted on her.

anon dear, you dropped this 👑

All Alhaitham wanted to do as the muffled sounds of your anguish resonated throughout the shadows of his house, was to cradle you tightly and whisper promises of an eternity of happiness until his windpipes cracked. He'd long predicted the aftermath of his decision, what he hadn't thought of was how much pain it'd cause him, too. He restraints against his instincts though, this is only a small punishment for your recklessness. As much as he wants you to come running to him for comfort, he knows you're too stubborn for your own good. Mistake not, he will go to you himself and present his own blood. With the state you're in, he's certain you've already broken so there wouldn't be much resistance. Just a little longer. In the meantime, he'll preoccupy (distract) his mind with plans for your evermore.

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Xavier would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too! 1,029 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Zayne ・ Rafayel ・ Sylus

He would never admit it, but you saved Xavier on that fateful first mission. Not from the wanderers though- He would’ve been able to defeat them all on his own, he’s lost track of how many stronger enemies he's dealt with over the years. What you saved him from was himself.

Life had become dull and monotonous for him- barely floating by and existing for the last eternity of loneliness after losing you the last time. Doing nothing more than throwing away his life against wanderers just to have some sort of purpose. You brought light back into his life once more, Just having you in his life again was more than enough. He didnt even dare to wish for more and let himself get too greedy out of fear of losing you far too soon.

But every day he got to see you for even a moment was everything he wanted and needed, it was a wonderful twist of fate that the two of you ended up being neighbors. He never went out of his way to see you, but you always happened to run into him time and time again whenever he wished to see you the most. Like fate was bringing you together

Between casual hangouts and missions together, you guys clicked hard and fast. You'd think you’ve known this man your whole life instead of just meeting earlier this year with how comfortable and natural everything is between the two of you. When did it become the norm to see him sitting on your couch reading almost every day? You can hardly remember what your life was like before he entered it.

One day the two of you are assigned a mission far away, and despite having separate hotel rooms you found yourself in his bed talking strategy and everything else late into the night. You don’t know at what point you had dozed off, but you found yourself opening your eyes early in the morning due to the sunrise pouring in. There was a sleeping figure next to you as well, with one arm gently draped over your abdomen. He looked absolutely stunning being illuminated from behind, you are almost unable to stop from gazing at his sleeping face.

You carefully reach out a hand to brush some hair out of his eyes to get a better view and he starts to stir a little, pulling you close to him while muttering that it’s too early to get up. Your heart is racing at the closeness. You could spend the rest of your life right there in his arms, it just felt it was where you belonged. Wrapping your arms around him in return, you press a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

Xavier doesn’t talk about himself all that much, greatly preferring to listen to anything and everything you have to say. You always found that odd, you loved to yap on about everything you like after all but you can’t seem to think of anything in particular he does that same for.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, snapping you out of your thoughts “Oh Sorry, I was just thinking that I don’t know much about you….” “You don’t?” He tilts his head as he thinks “Hmm well just ask me what you want to know. I’ll glady tell you anything” “Then let’s start with an easy one, what’s your favorite movie?” “I don’t remember the name, but I’ll have to say the one you showed me last week” “That's my favorite movie Xavier, you always just agree with the things I like.. I want to know what you like” “But you were the one who showed me it, so of course I’m gonna like it.” he leans in close and gently places a hand on top of yours “And I like anything to do with you” Your face starts to flush bright red, and the only thing you can think of as a response is to nod and clasp your hand around his.

It was like Pandora's box was opened- neither of you could deny your feelings for the other any longer, and it was impossible to tell who was the more clingy about it. Sneakily holding hands at HQ when nobody was looking, spending entire days in his arms as he reads aloud the latest book he got, and not to mention the fact you'd often spend more time at his apartment than your own.

 He's a strong and capable hunter, and while you know this you cant help but worry about him on missions. He's of course the exact same to you, neither of you want to lose the other. When you are paired on missions together its like an internal battle to protect the other the most, sure its not the standard way to deal with wanders but you both have the lowest record of injuries as of late because of it.

But every day was nothing but pure bliss with him by your side, you guys were in perfect sync. He always knew exactly what you wanted- sometimes before you even realized it yourself. It was almost like he could read your mind, he just knows you so well. If he could spend the rest of his long life taking care of your every need he would.

Perhaps if he ever told you the whole history behind your shared fate, you could realize just how much love he has for you. How absolutely broken and alone he was before you appeared in front of him again. How willingly he would die for you or destroy the world just to keep you by his side for a moment longer.

You trust him with your life, and let him lead your relationship into each next step without a second thought. From a surprise first kiss one morning before he left on a mission, to everything beyond that. Nothing felt rushed or like you weren't ready for it. The absolute perfect relationship with the perfect man of your dreams.

He is everything you didn't even know you wanted and more. You guys made each other complete

[yuri-is-online]

Hi! I know it's a bit weird of me to put another thing in your periphery so soon after my last check-in. But I'm currently caught up in Princess Peach: Showtime! brainrot and I thought you'd like to hear it!

So in one of your earlier posts you came up with the idea of Yuu having a modern Alice in Wonderland-esque overblot with Grim as their phantom. But, having spent the better part of a week trying to hundred percent this game (why am I like this?) gave me another worm. And it goes something like this:

What if Grim isn't the only one gaining something from those blot crystals?

Because in the game, Peach changes "form" so to speak, after taking in a bunch of Sparkle. So who's to say Yuu isn't unknowingly absorbing runoff blot from those crystals? Then who's to say that Yuu doesn't have similar "forms" to the Overblot boys? Snapshots immortalized in ink and imbeded in a human who is slowly but surely losing it. And, going along with your idea of a Yuu overblot, what would it be like for the boys to have to effectively face themselves should that happen? Now it's not just Grim they have to face but a reflection of them at their lowest and the one victim who has been dragged to it every single time. The pain, the fear, the regret! Ah! I didn't know I could think of something so angsty! (And that's not even talking about Peach's last form and the Yuu equivalent!)

Anyway, make of that what you will. I just wanted to get that out there. Hope you're doing well and staying healthy! Looking forward to the next thing you make!

Sincerely,

The anon who loves Riddle & Azul

I really do love the way you format your asks dear friend, it is rather like receiving a letter. It is splendid to hear from you again so soon.

I had a brain rot myself a bit a while ago thinking about how it would be interesting for Yuu and Grim to channel the overblot forms similar to Eden's Promise: Eternity in FFXIV:

In my mind I was thinking how I would design a boss fight where Grim has three forms and Yuu has three forms, and then they merge to channel the Thorn Fairy since she's too powerful for just the one of them... but meh that's neither here nor there. The idea of Yuu with forms that reflect the various phantoms and physical attacks that reflect the overblot boys is so delicious, but realistically I think the concept you are describing where the boys are being forced to face themselves is the point of the various chapters we are going through in Book 7 right now. Grim and Yuu twisted into an overblotted abomination... you could argue that facing them would be the equivalent of what is happening with the ob boys right now in his book. It would be easy for him to blame the other dorm leaders and act like if they didn't overblot then he wouldn't be forced to hurt his first friend... but then that would be a disservice to you. He very much had his part to play, the largest one perhaps. In you now is a twisted reflection of everything he hated about himself: his power and his inability to save those he loved with it. You don't need any form other than your own to taunt him with that.

I do think you are onto something about the crystals not just affecting Grim. If we think about the relationship between Grim and Yuu, I think it makes the most sense to say that what Yuu gains from the blot crystals is their premonitions of overblot? Memories sealed in crystal are a fairly common trope... so if the memories of the respective phantom is trapped inside of that crystal then Yuu's visions could be the crystals calling out to them. I am less solid on the "why" but when I think about it this way, something about Grim and Yuu's connection allows Yuu to "hear" the crystals forming, which is why we don't get visions of every bad thing that happens (Rollo and Fellow for example) because there is no "Flower of Evil" about to bloom. Perhaps the Great 7's crystals "belong" to Grim/the Chimera in some way so that's why they are calling to Yuu? I need to think a bit more, but oh I am so glad you sent this ask. It gave me so much to think about...

[yuyuonabeat]

A dream in a dream? It’s giving Deja Vu.

My Yunho brainrot is so strong I just had a dream about him and it was rather interesting.

Like we were a couple and the dream started with us in a car crash. I looked to my left and he was unconscious and with a big wound on his forehead from the crash.

He was bleeding all over. He was dead.

Then suddenly we were at his funeral (I fucking hate when I do time skips in my dreams).

Grief consumed me completely. And I had thought of two options in order to be with my love again.

Either commit suicide or find a spiritual way I could contact Yunho since he was now in the spirit world.

I knew he could hear me, I know he could see me. I knew he was as sad as I was.

In the dream, Yunho appeared as a blue faint fog. Like a spirit. He was standing beside his tombstone. Crying and shaking.

He couldn’t believe he was gone. And that he had lost me. I had lost him. But not entirely, because I could feel his presence, his aura. I knew he was around.

So I started calling out to him. I needed his opinion. I needed to see him. I needed him. At least one more time before he walked into the light and disappeared forever.

I moved closer to his tombstone where I could sense his presence strong and potent.

“Yunho? L-love?” I called to him.

Which was answered by a chill running through my hand left wrist and up my arm. Was he…. perhaps touching me? He was here indeed. And that triggered me to start crying.

I then felt the same chilly cold touch on my cheeks, as if he was wiping my tears away (I also hate how a lot of the stuff in my dreams I can actually feel while I’m dreaming, like remembering it I can feel his touch).

I tried to contain myself. I cleared my throat. Then I spoke up.

“Yunho, im so sorry….. you didn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. But….. I need to know.”

I took a deep breath and looked up as if trying to imagine I’m looking into his eyes.

“I want to be with you again. But I don’t know how. Is death, suicide the only way?”

I then felt the chilly cold touch on my shoulder.

How was he going to answer me? I needed to ask yes or no questions and ask him to throw something like a rock if the answer was yes.

I proceeded to ask so and he didn’t throw the rock. Which meant no? I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted to be with him so badly. He was my world. My life was so numb and colorless without him.

I would succumb to the claws of death itself if it meant I could be with my love.

I told him what I wanted. I felt him shake me by my shoulders.

Perhaps he didn’t want me to sacrifice myself for our love. For our reunion. But I had nothing to loose.

Life was sad and lonely anyways, I thought.

We ended up agreeing to it somehow. A lot of begging on my part. We thought of ways to end my life without making it so painful. Another car crash? We didn’t have another car. Perhaps jumping off a building, it needed to be super high. A lot of people that jumped only ended severely injured. So we scratched that.

Then we thought about the method most victims use. Self harm. Perhaps a slash wound to my neck, the jugular vein? A big slash on my thigh? The veins there are sensitive and you loose a lot of blood rapidly.

Or simply just twisting my own neck and falling unconscious to the ground. That was fast, not painful at all. A quick blow and I was gone.

So we agreed on the ladder.

And then everything went black, until lights started to cloud my vision. I could see again. Then two feet before me, long legs, that beautiful slender form. Then those beautiful brown eyes that always made me weak. Yunho.

We hugged and kissed. It felt so good, lively. Even if we were dead now. We were now with each other again. For eternity.

Ehhhhhh. Yeah I tried my best to remember the dream. Most of it feels like a fog. I woke up crying, is all I will say.

Anyways. I thought maybe, if somebody could write a story of this, please do. I woke up from that dream so empty and sad. Like a piece of me was missing.

And I guess I just want the emotion to be put into words.

A lot of my dreams are of similar topics and emotions. They all feel lively, like I’m actually there. But this one took a part of me. This one left me feeling numb.

Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I’m quite tired and not in the mood for proof reading.

[rimzieiei]

I HEARD FATUI KAVEH AU AND PLS TELL ME EVERYTHING I KNOW NOTHING. GIMME ALL THE DETAILS PLS

HI OKAY I DIDNT EXPECT TO ACTUALLY GET ASKS BUT ILL DO MY BEST TO EXPLAIN MY AWFUL BRAINROT :3

(im so sorry any die hard kaveh fans because this au fucks him up beyond comprehension this is NOT your babygirl anymore)

(also, ive made up a LOT of characters and lore for this au so bear with me while i explain it all)

brighella, the beast (4th of the 11 fatui harbingers)

he is in charge of the realms investigation division, aka fucking around with the abyss/the elements/celestial stuff and finding out

kaveh was recruited to the fatui right after his mom moved away to fontaine. the fatui had an interest in studying his unique constitution. during this time, he worked closely under the innamorati (the previous 4th harbingers). going so far as to become a right hand man.

after a tragic incident where one half of the innamorati attacked and killed their partner (before being taken out by kaveh), he was promoted and took over his old boss's position.

kaveh stays in sumeru (instead of working from snezhnaya) because its the easiest place to access irminsul, and (before the sumeru archon quest) it was a hot spot for abyssal activity.

also, with how awful the fatuis reputation is, id make a bet that most nations try to keep as many of them out as possible. but they cant really get rid of someone that was born there and has citizenship. dottore probably got his citizenship axed after his crimes against humanity or revoked it himself because he could just live in snezhnaya. tldr kavehs the only harbinger that can waltz in and out of sumeru without any problems which gives him an intensive to stay and manage the fatuus stationed there.

id say kaveh has a generally good relationship with the rest of the harbingers. he gets along well with sandrone. he often exchanges information with signora and dottore (plus they both attended the akademiya) so theyre friendly. with pulcinella and tartaglia, they just exists together. generally positive i guess!

the closest harbinger to a friend is definitely columbina! (columbinas role in the fatui is a historical archivist because i believe the theory that shes a seele so shes old as hell) most of the motivation for kaveh ending up as a harbinger had to do with understanding the fuckfest that is his family history so columbina would have been a big help to him! which would then lead to them becoming friends not friends (also i think them talking shit about the other harbingers together is such a fun concept) (you CANNOT tell me columbina isnt a mean girl LOOK at her)

and because capitano and columbina are basically mother and son (this originated from a theory video about natlan lore all in all i think theyd be pretty close due to their lore intertwining) kaveh and capitano are friendly.

anyways! onto the harbingers hes not on good terms with...

pantalone would dislike kavehs because the abyss is dangerous and verrry expensive to deal with safely (paying out the families of fallen agents...). he didnt have this problem with the innamorati. kaveh would despise pantalone for making it incredibly difficult to get funds.

scaramouche hated everyone.

and ohhhh boy arlecchino... these two have the craziest beef with each other. if they werent both harbingers, the other would be dead. ill probably make a separate post at some point that describes their eternal feud. but in simple terms: theyre like each others twisted mirror version.

i dont really know what else to add to this??? but i will definitely be posting more about it :3

[persephoneggsy]

I'm too excited about The Veilguard so I wrote a little fic trying to figure out my prospective Rook, Phryne. Tried to keep stuff re: the Mourn Watch vague since I'm sure we'll learn more about them in the game proper. This is mainly just me succumbing to the brainrot lolol

***

People often said that the dead looked like they were sleeping. All the tension and worries of the corporeal had vanished, leaving only an expression of peaceful repose.

Phryne had seen her fair share of dead faces – she’d been a mercenary for several years, and besides, she was Nevarran. Death was seeped into their very marrow.

Sometimes, it was true. Other times, she’d look down at see a face twisted with pain, shock, sometimes even sadness. She just never thought it mattered. Who cared what someone’s final expression was? Dead was dead; the mortal soul was gone, and if they found their bodies possessed, then the most expressive the corpse would be was dependent entirely on the spirit doing the possessing.

Now, though. Phryne looked down at her son and wished he looked like he was sleeping.

Rothe’s expression was much like it had been in life; hard and stern, his jaw stubbornly set and eyebrows furrowed as if he were in the middle of an inspection. Even in death, her eldest child was not able to relax, it seemed. She used to tease him for that, wondering how he and his sister had turned out so uptight. He’d always answer, “It’s obvious, Mother: we had to make up for your carefree nature.”

Even when his tone was light, his mouth would twitch into a short approximation of a smile before resuming its usual stoic state. And now, that was the face he would carry into eternity.

Phryne tore her eyes away from her son’s face – his too young face, he was barely thirty, why had she outlived her son – and focused on the rest of him. The Mortalitasi in charge of preparing his body had done a fine job of repairing… the damage. She’d been told his cause of death was a blade to his heart. It would have been quick, or at least quicker than bleeding out or starving or drowning. Small mercies, she supposed.

He was wearing his finest suit, the same he’d worn at his wedding, but with an added red-orange sash and emblem pin denoting the symbol of the Inquisition. His arms were crossed over his stomach, hands resting on the hilt of his trusted blade – it was broken in two when his body arrived from the Arbor Wilds, but Phryne had found a reliable craftsman able to repair it. One could hardly tell it was broken, now.

Rothe had left instructions for the sword. When he was old enough, and if he wanted it, it would go to his son, Quirin. It would be some time before that happened, thought Phryne. Quirin was barely five years old.

Maker. Phryne closed her eyes. Poor Quirin. Still a child, and both his parents gone. His mother was lost to fever just two short years ago, and now his father, lost to a cause halfway around the world. Her daughter, Elke, was going to take him in, raise him alongside her own son, Halig. She’d given Phryne a pointed look when she made that declaration, as if expecting her to argue. Of course, Phryne did not; Elke was a good mother.

Better than Phryne thought she had been, anyway.

A polite cough drew Phryne’s attention away from Rothe’s body. A man around her age was standing in the doorway of the funeral hall. Judging by the staff in his hands, topped with a skull, he was a mage, and he seemed vaguely familiar to her. Perhaps she’d crossed paths with him in the Watch.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t realize there were still mourners here.”

Phryne glanced at the candles illuminating Rothe’s still form. They’d nearly burnt to their ends. Had she been there that long? It seemed that just minutes ago, the hall was filled with mourners, Rothe’s friends and acquaintances. Elke and the children had been among the last to leave, but now, it seemed she’d been alone with her thoughts for some time.

“It’s… fine,” Phryne managed to say. She smoothed down her mourning dress and turned away from the corpse. “Are you here to administer his final rites?”

“Yes, but if you need more time…”

“No, thank you.” Phryne managed a weak smile, which the necromancer returned, though his was much more sincere. He was quite handsome, she noted distantly, and if the body on the altar had been anyone’s other than Rothe, she might have said so out loud. As it was, she merely gave her son one last look over her shoulder. “He’s as ready as he’s going to be. Me too, I think.”

The necromancer chuckled kindly. “A relative?”

“My son.”

“Ah. My condolences.”

He stepped forward, joining Phryne at the altar. Shrewd eyes scanned over Rothe’s body. Phryne found herself watching the mage. She was a part of the Mourn Watch, and she suspected he was as well – last rites were typically conducted by Watchers, especially in cases where it was another Watcher’s relatives that had died – though she never saw much of the mages that made up the bulk of the order. Most tended to stay in their studies, talking to skeletons and doing research long into the night.

“Inquisition, hm?” he murmured. “They’ve been doing good work. You must have been proud.”

“I suppose I was.”

“It’s in question?”

“I am proud. But no mother wants to outlive her children.”

He gave a sympathetic nod at that. “True enough. But it’s clear that you loved him. I’m sure his spirit sits well at the Maker’s side.”

“I hope so.”

They then lapsed into a contemplative silence, which Phryne took as her cue.

“I’ll leave you to your work, sir,” she said, straightening her back as if she were in uniform. To her surprise, he waved a hand at her.

“Oh, no, please not ‘sir’. Emmrich is just fine.”

She spared him another smile; this one smaller, still tinged with grief, but genuine nonetheless.

“Emmrich, then. Thank you.”

Emmrich inclined his head towards her, watching as she turned and left the funeral hall. Once she was out of the darkened room, she let out a long breath. Emmrich. The name was familiar, too. Perhaps he was one of the more famous Watchers… which meant, hopefully, that Rothe was in good hands.

Her heart already feeling lighter than it had been for weeks, Phryne started making her way home.

[melancholitas]

The prompts for the (sadly) last day of @heart-pirates-week fed right into my Tengu-verse brainrotting. So have a peak at my ideas for Law in that scenario, tattoos and fantasy included!

Burning hearts

Being a Kitsune is dangerous. Not only is their fox fire some mighty, sought after weapon, no. A rumor started coursing about their hearts being mythical remedies, going as far as claiming it to grant eternal life. If one manages to not burn themselves while trying to obtain it, that is. Figuratively and literally. While a fox spirit may not hurt itself with their powers, their marks are able to wreck havoc when they are sparking up in flames. The mightier the spirit, the more lines are adorning their skin, akin to delicate tattoos.

Law spent his whole life on the run from people and youkai trying to use him as an asset. He blames it on him being a four-tailed beast, effectively twisting the devine lineage into a curse. Labeling him the fox of death.

But after years of suffering and being shackled by the evil clutches of a gone-mad Tengu, he found his solace. Ironically thanks to another Tengu, who also seems to be a danger magnet. Especially to himself.

Now, he gets to enjoy his life at the temple. Their territory being a safe haven for all kinds of creatures, land and sea alike. For someone not being fond of water, his closest pals consisting mostly of water beasts makes up for very peculiar situations. But he wouldn't trade his new life for the world. So while he may have a literal burning heart, it now burns figuratively again to his own disposure.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9

Afterword: This week went by in a flash, but I'm so glad to have managed to participate. It's been a blast, seeing all those different approaches and lovely works. The collective adoration for this crew highlighted every single day and I'm grateful for this experience!

[blithe-spirit]

Can’t sleep and had RE:8 brainrot, this is too short for ao3 so here you go.

Donna Benevieto has always been alone.

Wooden fingers entwined with her own, a halfhearted smile in a cracked mirror, a note of rare praise from those deigned her family - none of it can change the accepted fact that she has always, always been alone.

Not always, says that voice in her head, a warm echo that gently caresses the back of her skull. As if a hand was resting there, protectively, smoothing over hair. Not always, cara mia.

Donna does not listen. She never does.

She has always been alone, and will remain so until her flesh rots and her tendons give way and she collapses, inanimate, to the ground. Her precious flowers will find purchase for their roots in her body, will grow and stretch towards the sunlight by grace of her flesh. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she will remain this marionette of her Mother’s for eternity, skin replaced by pale and cool porcelain and joints of wood. Perhaps the thing that lives inside the meat of her body will extend its tendrils throughout, claiming every nerve, and she will belong to nothing and no one except to that which they all serve.

She is particularly morose today.

On days like these Donna retreats to her workshop, studying her plans and carefully carving the most delicate of features from blocks of dull wood. She imagines she is unearthing each creature, freeing them almost, as a proud straight nose emerges here, a frightened brow there. Donna’s concentration is hard to break during these moments, channeling her thoughts of twisted roots and rotten things that wait in the dark, on the edges of dreams, into the very dolls she creates. She half expects them to crumble on her worktable before her with the weight of her fears. Surely they could not last long in this world after soaking in her wretched misery. Her loneliness.

She will talk to them sometimes, either in hushed tones or more privately in her head. Donna will tell them what the rushing waterfall sings to her as she designs, hands on the chisel or carefully holding minuscule screws. How her flowers chatter as they bend and snake around one another, reveling in a green embrace. How some days the house is so quietly loud with the sound of her own wants that it is impossible to bear.

On other days, Donna’s creations are impossibly light, kinetic, looking at their new world with bright and fresh faces painstakingly painted on. She will hum a tune as she outfits them, a tune that was once hummed to her, long ago, in what seems to have been a dream.

It must have been, for Donna Benevieto has always been alone.

[brambletakato]

Des(cole And/Or mond)

uhh,, ruh oh (prequel spoilers)

To be honest like 50% of my brainrot comes from both my campaign Des and the backstory for such which is VERY far removed from canon, but that doesn't mean I'm NOT insane about this man looking at him from the canon PL angle. Like I don't really know where to start?? Uhh

I think he's literally the perfect guy to analyze psychologically. Leon is a fucking nightmare to try and figure out, meanwhile Des has so many interesting twists and turns and themes to interpret (even if his character slightly gets a bit off-balanced in Eternal Diva)

Descole presents himself as calculative, cunning, smug, mysterious, and strong-willed. Within a presence, he keeps up his persona with an honestly charming dramatic flair that nobody asked for, which is already on the chart for what makes a character a viable blorbo for me

But when you take a look of who he was, who wanted to be, and who he could be, he quickly becomes such a morally complicated character.

Like really quickly I'm going to get this out of the way; I have a MASSIVE pet peeve to those that say Descole did nothing wrong. He did do a lot of fucked up shit, and I'm not excusing any of that. Removing the responsibility of his consequences would make his character bland imo. He's not morally purely black or white, but he's in a dark gray zone where, while he had a strict no-kill rule, he still inflicted harm on the people in his way and the homes they resided in. He isn't afraid to dabble into even human experimentation if it means to get to his goals, even if he has the greater good in interest.

So about the lighter morals of him, he still has a string of humanity in him. He isn't completely lost to corruption unlike Leon, but he isn't completely recovered like Layton. He still sets off on a self-destructive path to revenge, but he only allows himself to get set ablaze (in his pov, not in the outsider's perspective).

A friend said that he's still the little boy that ultimately wants his family back, whether that's his parents or his wife and daughter, and that AAAUGHHRHRA OUUUUGH :((( RGRR :CCCCCC

Speaking of, Desmond. Desmond was never meant to exist.

In his eyes, it would only be Hershel Bronev that died, and whatever comes later would be the host of his vengeance. But Desmond was soon given a meaning, a light elsewhere, tender hands and a fond gaze that said that they loved him. Suddenly he was somebody else. He was somebody else that started putting down books, that started to wish for something other than revenge.

And the fact that, even if once, he was a man that has felt what hope is like fucking KILLS ME... Sometimes I wonder if he even felt fearful of the thought when he realized he was starting to focus less on revenge. Suddenly, there was somebody that he was starting to care about, somebody that was there for him emotionally and physically, somebody that he so dearly wanted to lean on their shoulder and ask if everything will be okay. And the only time he felt that was with his previous family. The ones that were taken away.

He's almost shy to feel that sense of longing again, like a neglected dog feeling a gentle hand brush their head for the first time. It's intoxicating. It's fearful. It's so, so comforting. He wants more. But he is scared of being hurt again. Scared of losing somebody again. He's scared. Scared, fearful. It's all that controlled him. Fear and hate.

But he still tries, despite everything he sees, there's a part of him that still wanted to live, to experience, to love. There's a part of him that wants to break out of such a wretched life and to start anew, to finally lay rest of his woes. And he does, for a little while.

And the worst part was that he was right in the end. They too would be ripped away. And there was no more hope, no more Sycamore.

I'm an extreme advocate that Descole has existed for longer, not right after the death of his wife and daughter. He existed ever since his parents were kidnapped, ever since he lost Theodore. Descole never had a name, but he was there in concept. He was only put at the full front in full blast when he had truly lost everything.

This also means he can never be fully Desmond again by the end of Azran Legacy, if at all. He can never fully be Descole either, because there's nothing he can fuel on. He's just nothing. He's an empty husk. He says that a new adventure awaits, but what is there really? There is no point, no promise. He is aimless from then on. Perhaps his adventure is to find a purpose once more.

This is also why I REALLY want him to return in NWOS one day. Maybe his search for a purpose leads him right back to the person that was there when his life crumbled for the first time; Layton. Maybe despite his fear of loss, he still internally wants something to cling onto, because an aimless life would probably drive him to insanity or extreme biting mental torment. Or maybe he feels indebted to Layton in some way? Perhaps for his betrayal, perhaps for hiding their relation, perhaps for everything he has done.

He still did terrible things. Would Layton even accept him back into his life, especially after all of that? He is deserving to nobody. Eventually the consequences of what he has done will catch up in a terrible mental form. I really think that his self-esteem has been low, but it would ESPECIALLY plummet after everything.

(ahem uhh. side note if flora comes back in nwos, the two should come as a package deal and des should be the cool uncle that unofficially adopted her from layton, i think these two would benefit each-other in both a character and a psychological way COUGH COUGH also we need flora fencing COUGH COUGH)

I can ramble so much about the other little things like his thoughts about his parents (especially his mother), raymond, the brief and scary visit of familiar warmth when he was getting comfortable with the bostonius gang, etc etc but this post would be so god damn long

anyway so he's more-so a special interest than a hyperfixa--//dragged away

[twistedtummies2]

"So I will fly into tomorrow! Delighting in their sorrow! As a better day begins...this time, nobody's gonna stop me! No evil's gonna top me! For Wicked Always Wins! A happy ending will be mine, for Wicked Always Wins!"

-Rebecca Mader, "Wicked Always Wins" from "Once Upon a Time"

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I've mentioned my OC Theodore Hamilton, a.k.a. "Theo" for short, several times in the past. However, I've never had any art of him aside from a concept sketch made by my friend @belliesandburps. Well, now I can finally offer a reference image of sorts for him, courtesy of another dear friend, @twisted-brainrot. Theodore is based on the Wicked Witch of the West from "The Wizard of Oz," taking particular inspiration from the version in the film "Oz the Great and Powerful." (Largely because that version is a Disney property.) At first encounter, Theodore definitely seems to live up to his inspiration's nasty reputation: he is standoffish and curt at his best moments, and really, REALLY mean-spirited at his worst. He's very prickly, vindictive, and his moods range from skulking and sneering to maniacally cackling like a madman as he watches others struggle. He legitimately seems to enjoy watching people feel miserable, and he's very, VERY spiteful, sometimes to a petty degree: do anything to upset him, and you may have trouble on the horizon. In typical fashion, however, Theodore isn't all bad: the truth is that he's just a very lonely, cynical, pessimistic sort who feels wronged by the world around him, so he lashes out against what he perceives as an unfair universe. He thinks of himself as someone inferior in a lot of ways, but he doesn't want others to see him as such, so he does his best to be as "wicked" as possible as a sort of defense mechanism. Part of his eternal disappointment is that, unlike most of the other students at Night Raven College, Theo actually is NOT proud to be a member of NRC, and only attends the school because he effectively feels he has no other choice. He's quick to anger and tries to avoid getting attached to people as a result. Think of him as sort of a much more evil version of Jack: a tsundere with a sadistic streak. Once you get past his vicious side, his vulnerabilities become more apparent. Theodore's most noteworthy skill in magic is his talent on flying broomsticks. He's a flying ace; an exceptionally skilled broom rider who prides himself on his speed and versatility in the air. He is at his most genuinely happy when he's on a broom, racing through the wind. His Unique Magic is called "Fly, My Pretties!" which summons a number of shadowy creatures that resemble Flying Monkeys. These Shadow Monkeys serve as his minions, working under his will, but he can only summon them a certain number of times within a certain time limit before he expends too much magical energy. One last thing about Theo: while not necessarily a predatory sort, he DOES have a massive sweet tooth. It's actually a fact he's embarrassed by: he eats candies and pastries very frequently. Yet despite all that sugar, he never seems to gain much weight. Go figure. This is one of two images meant as part of a long-delayed trade between myself and TB. You can find my part of the trade here. If you're reading this, thank you so, So, SO much, TB! This was beyond worth the wait! <3