#and the pain prevents the divine pain

[gallusrostromegalus]

Happy Bread Jesus Everyone!

I have um. Hurt my back pretty badly, so I do not think I am capable of baking this year but:

1. Please tag me if YOU decide to make a bread Jesus. Or any other bread effigy I love that shit.

2. If I'm still human when I get back from the doctor this evening I will set up a discord channel and do a Live Reading.

3. Post will be at the top of my blog for anyone who wants to read it to their friends, family or religious authorities (highly recommended).

Love you all, thank you so much for all the love, support and joy You've given me over the years, and hopefully I will see you tonight!

[reginrokkr]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲?

» Misunderstood villain.

Prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. You are chronically misunderstood. Whether or not you're actually evil is debatable. You may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself. You're a pretty jaded person. You don't trust or even really like most people. Maybe you did at one point. But that part of you is gone, and you don't go a single day without grieving it. You think a lot about what your life could have been. You're stuck in the past. You're angry and maybe you don't even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. You're open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. You don't like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. You're impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. Maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. Until then, you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway.

Tagged by: @halothes (Thank you ♥︎) Tagging: @jueying @seraphicus @astrxlfinale @moonichor (or whichever muse of your choice!) @lunaetis @caemthe @guhamun @immobiliter @apocryphis @celesticlnstcrs @yunarise @nagareboshiko

[thecupidwitch]

Herb's Properties part 2

Apple: Garden magic, love, healing and wisdom, vanity, marriage and beauty.

Agrimony: Shielding and hex-breaking, aids sleep, brings luck towards you and is powerful in spell reversal.

Allspice: Money, luck, healing, love

Benzoin: Purification, prosperity, helps to soothe tension by dispelling anger and lessening irritability, de stressing, helps with depression, concentration, astral projection

Catnip: love, luck, happiness, beauty.

Cardamom: Lust, love, and fidelity. Sweetens the personality

Cumin: Fidelity, protection, exorcism.

Damiana: Love, lust, lucid dreaming, astral projection

Elder Tree: Sleep, releasing enchantments, protection against negativity, banishing.

Ginseng: Love, beauty, healing and lust.

Hibiscus: Love, lust, dreams, divination.

Hawthorn: Change, rebirth, protection, emotional healing, and happiness in relationships

Lemon Balm: Love, fertility, anti-depressant, and soothing emotional pain

Mandrake: Strengthens spells, protection, fertility, and courage

Nettle: Courage, breaking curses, healing, protection, crossing thresholds, and renewal

Patchouli: Connecting with spirits, attracting money, increasing fertility, love, and seduction

Rue: Protection, health, clarity, and purification

Sage: Longevity, wisdom, protection, dispels negative energy

St. John’s Wort: Preventing colds and fevers, banishing, protecting against hexes, prophetic dreams, and increasing courage

Witch Hazel: Protection, chastity, easing grief over a lost love, and warding off evil[

Yarrow: Healing, divination, love, promotes courage and confidence

Tip jar Herb's Properties Part1

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

had some SAGAU thoughts this merry night

there's an old rumor that floats around the circles of the divine, that the Creator god will eventually and inevitably fall to the whims of the Abyss, consumed by the darkness forevermore. it terrifies the Archons and other divine beings to know that the one they worship and adore so much would have to endure such agony, so as all the devoted do, they try to prevent it. every law and order that is passed prepares only for the Creator's arrival, in hopes that the combined power of Teyvat will be able to keep their god safe and sound, sparing no expense to eradicate the Abyss' presence from the above world.

in their madness, they lay their eyes upon the one they worship and declare them- you- a heretic.

it was like a dream come true when you first woke up in Teyvat, the setting of your favorite game, but the dream quickly twisted into a nightmare as you found yourself hunted by every nation, seemingly every person yelling for your head on a platter. an imposter, they called you- a decoy sent by the Abyss- and for that, you deserved execution and death.

and execute you they did, when they inevitably caught you after weeks of running, your blood running a deep red on the pavement, speckled with nearly invisible stars.

when you wake up again, you first only feel pain, pain everywhere, from your head to the tips of your fingers. you want to cry out, but your throat is bone-dry, only faint, raspy coughs coming out. then suddenly you're surrounded by warmth, a pair of arms grasping your broken body gently with a soothing purr. Childe- Foul Legacy- cradles you lovingly, helping you sit up slightly to sip water before settling you back down with a soft croon, the entire Abyss silent and peaceful in your presence. Legacy traces the scar that runs the entire circumference of your neck with one delicate claw, letting out a quiet hiss at the thought of those foolish gods and mortals who hurt you before holding you closer and giving your head a comforting pat.

you smile, weak and faint, at the action, and Legacy rumbles in delight as the Abyss wraps around you; a dark, starry blanket of warmth and peace.

[ddarker-dreams]

mini love report — chrollo lucilfer

relationship health diagnosis — 70%*

symptom one — perceptive

this man is an information sponge. he notices everything. as a thief, he's accustomed to canvassing his surroundings. he'll have memorized the layout of your home by the second visit. it isn't for any nefarious purpose (probably), he's just always taking in information and cataloging it.

naturally, this sagacity extends to you. the normal cadence of your voice, mannerisms, favored words, and expressions; he'll know if something's bothering you before you realize it yourself. he isn't above using this knowledge of you for his own purposes. he'll gauge your body language and shift his approach to contentious topics. this is a lifelong habit of his that's difficult to break.

chrollo knows what people want to hear and he's used to utilizing that advantage. however, if you point this out, he'll try curbing the behavior. especially if you stress that it's his actual opinion you want to hear, not specially curated platitudes. he finds your desire for a candid approach almost... impressive? you'd rather disagree with his unfiltered thoughts than gloss over anything touchy. it bolsters his respect for you.

symptom two — enigmatic

there's a noticeable difference in what you know about each another. he knows the names of your co-workers, friends, and family members, as well as your hometown, job or school, etc... you can't say the same regarding him. he keeps his origins ambiguous. the way he frames his upbringing makes you feel guilty should you go prying. chrollo will tell you that he's an orphan who had a rough, destitute childhood, but that's about it. he could easily make up a story, but he doesn't like lying to you. he doesn't want the version of him that you love to be a false construct.

yes, there's the technicality of lying by omission. he doesn't get caught up on that detail.

symptom three — a lil lame

interestingly enough, the suave part of his brain starts acting up when he's known you long enough. this isn't to say that he loses his charm, but it stops being his go-to. now he just nerds out (he prefers the term 'discusses') whatever's caught his attention. there's this gleam in his eyes as he tells you about the history of a painting or antique, a childlike awe. he isn't elaborating to impress you with his knowledge, rather, he enjoys sharing his interests. especially since you care, you aren't just humoring him.

chrollo's emotions come out naturally when he's near you. it's subtle — a twitch of his eye if someone cuts you off, a light blush should you murmur his name while asleep. these simple forms of self-expression are foreign to him. he's used to playing roles, not the aftermath once the stage's curtains close. his corporeal form was all the evidence he had that he existed. lacking a sense of self invokes this numb, hollow feeling. you're his new, favorite proof that he's alive. his world's brighter with you in it.

primary area of concern

objectively speaking, chrollo's an ideal lover. he respects, cherishes, and admires you, altercations are rare. should disagreements occur, he never raises his voice or displays aggression. he'll hear you out and apologize should he feel he's in the wrong. he takes you out on dates, stares at you as if you were divinity incarnate whether you're wearing pajamas or a formal outfit. he's whipped and you both know it.

it's his immortality that keeps his score from being higher. he wouldn't ever hurt you, but his compassion for others is nonexistent. this unsightly side of him is hidden from your sight. at the end of the day, he's a murderer who experiences zero remorse for the pain he's inflicted upon others. he leads a double life. you won't ever completely know him.

selfishly, he doesn't want you to.

prognosis

everything hinges on chrollo preventing you from finding out about his illicit activities. luckily for him, subterfuge is his second nature. he rarely stresses about it. he has the manpower and resources necessary to make just about anything happen. if you're a civilian, the chances you'll uncover his identity on your own are next to nonexistent.

your future together is a priority to him — he doesn't take commitment lightly. you're likely the first person he's fallen in love with. if you'd have him, he'd want nothing more than to be your lifelong partner. marriage is a tradition he's never given much credence to. although, after meeting you, he understands the appeal. now it's a matter of finding a ring that matches your radiance...

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-100)

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and in Death Pt. 1

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 1

CW: mentions of murder, blood and corpses

A/N: check the end for a full one

[Part 2] [Part 3]

Death.

Death is when your lungs stop inflating with oxygen, when your heart slowly comes to a stop and when your vision slowly fades to black.

Some people find death scary and a creepy affair. Others welcome death and embrace it, leaving the world with a smile on their face. Some fall in between or have no opinion at all. However, two people have different opinions.

If you ask the fifth daughter of Count Balcom, she'll tell you that it's an annoying event and that she wished it would end. If you ask Lucca Puhlavan, a commoner referred to as the Divine Warrior, he'll tell you that he hates it because it takes his loved ones away.

These two souls have similar perceptions of death. This is a story about a woman who is tired of dying and just wants to live and about a man who has sworn to get revenge on the people who robbed him of a peaceful life with his family.

Let the story begin.

You harshly grip the window sill, turning the tips of your fingers white. You shudder at the scene below you. Corpses line the front lawn and blood flows everywhere. You hear screams, yells and pleas for mercy from the occupants of the once-glamorous mansion outside your room. You shake your head at the sight and turn around.

Determined, you make your way to the drawers against the wall of your moonlit room. You unlock one and grab the blue stone glimmering in the faint light. It's called the Returner's Stone. You hold it up to admire it. It's a pretty gem. Round in shape and sparkles with a beautiful blue light. Once consumed, it allows the consumer to travel back in time. It can only be used once.

Thud, thud. You freeze at the sound of footsteps sounding in front of your room. So he came. You think. You don't turn around. Even when the chilling creek of the door being opened echoes through the room, even when you hear the tip of a sword drag across the wooden floor even when the shadow of a man falls on you, “Are you the fifth daughter of Count Balcom?” he asks.

You know the question is rhetorical yet you still turn around and answer, “No. I think you have the wrong person.”

The man in front of you scoffs and you take the time to look him over. His navy blue clothes are soaked with blood. His sword hangs from his right hand dripping with the crimson liquid. His black cape falls over his shoulders. His silver hair catches the moonlight making it seem to shine. You pore into the depths of his grey eyes. You shiver at his gaze. It's cold yet empty.

You're reminded of the 15-year-old boy your father brought 10 years ago. You were later told that he was killed. Murdered in one of the hunts, your father liked to organize. You're not sure how he's alive right now.

You stop before you can sink more into your thoughts. Stop it! This isn't the time for these thoughts! “Spare me!” You suddenly blurt out.

Lucca (You think that's the name that was mentioned in the newspapers) immediately responds, “No.”

You grimace. There was no hesitation in his voice. You grip the Returner's Stone tighter and ask, “If-if I saved you and prevented that ‘incident’ would you spare me?”

The tall figure in front of you lets his head fall back and laughs, “No. The only way I would spare you is if you drain all of the Balcom blood from your body. Only then would you be spared.”

You flinch at his creepy laugh and cold gaze. Suddenly, Lucca raises his sword, obviously meaning to strike you down. Adrenaline kicks and you shove the sparkling blue Returner's Stone in your mouth and swallow.

You suck in a breath at the sudden pain in your chest. Lucca falters and hesitates. Yet before he could swing his sword and complete his revenge you fall to the floor in agony, clutching your chest. The last thing you remember is the black boots of your would-be murderer filling your fading vision.

A/N: this is heavily (and I mean heavily) inspired by the manhwa Even if the Villain’s Daughter Regresses. It’s a good read but the ml is kind of annoying. When I was writing this it kinda felt awkward to switch from 3rd person to 2nd person. Should I keep it in 2nd person or switch to 3rd? Also, should I keep it as an ‘x reader’ or make an oc? What do you guys think? Let me know by dropping a comment!

[kifkay]

I love when magic has an effect on the body & soul of its caster. like!! you don’t get to be a reality-bending demi-god and walk away with no strings attached. there’s always a price.

Bloom’s dragon fire consumes her from the inside, leaving lightning-like tissues of scars along her limbs - be careful, rumbles the Great Dragon from within, don’t let your emotions consume you. Bloom wails from the pain and clutches whoever is in the vicinity - but cannot fully stop it. just prevent it or treat the aftermath.

Musa gets migraines. Stella becomes ill when she doesn’t get her daily dose of sunshine. Aisha’s senses get muddy sometimes, almost as if she’s submerged underwater. Nabu experiences uncontrollable tremors in his arms, when he creates too many of his phantoms. all of those are - yes, horrible to experience but manageable enough for the school (and the Magic community at large) to tell them to just suck it up and weather through.

once you get your enchantix though, you start developing… unique abilities. almost like, in achieving the final fairy form, you became one with your brand of magic.

Bloom starts producing smoke. Like - she snorts at something funny Riven or Sky say, and literal puffs of smoke emerge from her nose. It’s jarring at first (“Bloom Peters, when did you start smoking? do you know that it kills??”) but quickly becomes endearing once they realise it’s not life-threatening in any way (after speed-running through like fifteen Magix apothecaries). Among her other ‘oddities’: too hot to cuddle with (only Stella can stand the high temperature, since she has a resistance to heat), becomes strangely overprotective and a little possessive, her eyes sometimes become a startling orange hue as if she’s embodied by the great dragon himself (it’s just a party trick).

Stella becomes more ethereal. In certain lights, her skin looks translucent - like a mirage weaved with moonlight. Her hair glints in the sun, almost too bright to like at; her touch feels phantom-like. She becomes even more beautiful, but less - human, earth-bound, Stella-esque. A curse and a blessing, that one.

Musa’s hearing gets really fucking good. She has a steadily growing dossier of blackmail on every student in Alfea - simply because shut doors or longer distances are no longer obstacles for her. It’s annoying too, because she can’t exactly turn it off - and now she gets to hear all the things people say about her, behind her. but here’s a consolation - she can influence other creature’s emotions through the melodies she hums! like how in canon, she pacified the bird Roc and brought mirth to the arguing fairies.

Flora gets much sturdier. Her skin harder than bark; her body able to withstand thirst and hunger for much longer than the rest. It’s honestly so intimidating. Here’s this sweet young woman — known to cry for trampled flowers and cut weeds!! — absolutely bodying a sharp ass ice shard that Icy attacked her with. It just — crumbles upon colliding with Flora’s body. insane and frankly so so hot for others to see.

As per the negatives… I like the idea of Flora being able to connect to the memories of nature around her and literally absorb the pain/fear/anguish of whatever she witnessed.

Aisha and Bloom are similar, in a sense that both of them are vessels to primordial divinities of their universe — Bloom is the holder of the Dragon Flame, and Aisha is the child of the Infinite Ocean. therefore, both experience a more extreme transformation than their girl friends. like, Aisha’s dreams are infiltrated by visions of past and future; memories of those who were lost to the Ocean. she dreams of Politea, of Tritanus, of her mer cousins and ancestors, and even those who were not yet born. if Aisha was not so mentally wilful, she might’ve folded under the weight of those prophesies.

Aisha can also breathe under water and her body gets the musculature it needs to be on par with her mer cousins while swimming, because why the fuck not?

Tecna - I frankly have no ideas for and would love to hear suggestions!

[mayapapaya33]

I just watched episode 107 and it is so fucking funny to me that half of these characters are so up their own asses that they somehow missed that the Archeart is trying to prevent Calamity 2: Electric Boogaloo with his plan, not save the Gods from Ludinus. The Gods apparently already have a Plan for dealing with Ludinus. That plan is to break the Divine Gate (I assume) and smite his ass. But the second they do that, it's game over and mortals are FUUUUUUUUUUCKED.

He basically said "Hey, you saw what we did to Aeor, we are about to do that to Ludinus as well, and there's going to be a LOT of collateral damage. Hurry the fuck up and chase us out of here or come up with a different plan already. Do something before Ludinus does, because we will make the decision for you at that point, and you will NOT like it."

The Archeart is actually much humbler than Bells Hells, this is wild. If I'm reading this situation right, he basically scanned them all up and down and figured them all out instantly; all of their resentment and anger and went, ok I know exactly how to act around these people. Then did what needed to be done to save his children from themselves and their own egos and resentment, because he knew they wouldn't listen otherwise. Amazing. I watched a switch flip in his eyes as he talked to Ashton, and it continued with Dorian.

Dorian in particular is so deep in his grief fueled anger and pain that there's no real way to reach him with logic right now, and I think the Archeart can feel it. So he just goes with it, 'whatever gets you moving in the right direction beautiful, I don't have time to deconstruct your vaguely racist (deist? no, deicist? lol) clumping of all the Gods together under the sins of one of us'.

I watched Calamity, I know what the Gods can do, if they feel like it (Vivid flashbacks of Zerxus getting his face ripped off). Dorian is throwing a temper tantrum because his brother is dead and he's sad and angry. He's feeling reckless and powerful because the Gods need his help, this is his opportunity to be cruel and spiteful and regain some control of his life and make the Gods feel small like he feels small! The Archeart knows that, and simply smiles and calls him beautiful.

With Ashton, the hilarious "Does it make you hard?" turns into a seemingly sincere confession of needing their help. It is true that he needs their help. But the help he needs is on their behalf, to save mortals from a second Calamity and free them from the Gods presence in their lives. The presence that, no matter how far removed or diminished in the world, some people will never stop seeing as a tyranny, truthfully or falsely. He's sacrificing his own pride and dignity to ask mortals to help him help themselves and being insulted for his troubles. And people still wonder whether the Prime Deities care about their children!

[yuesya]

How long has it been?

Far too long, evidently. Imunlaukr stares at the snowy path, barely even recognizable as a proper path up the mountain anymore, with the sheer volume of snow that it is buried beneath. It’s clear that the roads to Sal Vindagnyr are no longer maintained for travel, and that’s… not a good sign.

The deeper into the mountain they go, the more Imunlaukr becomes uneasy. There’s an element of something unnatural to the cold –as if there is some freezing element attempting to dig its way beneath his skin, not just a coldness that exists in their surrounding environment. The people of Sal Vindagnyr are not used to long winters, and Imunlaukr is worried for them. Between the harsh cold and the lack of supplies from any traveling merchants, the survivors of the kingdom would not have had an easy time surviving here while Imunlaukr had been gone, searching for a solution.

… The Divine Nail. Imunlaukr looks towards the center of the mountain, where that gigantic nail had suddenly descended from the heavens, smashing deep into the ground and bringing with it an endless winter upon Sal Vindagnyr.

“The survivors have been living here all this time?” the accompanying knight from Mondstadt murmurs, a faint note of disbelief in those words.

“They have,” Imunlaukr confirms. “The Divine Nail seems to prevent citizens of Sal Vindagnyr from leaving the kingdom, even though things are in this state.”

“So that’s the reason why you, a foreign traveler, were tasked with seeking a way to resolve their predicament,” the knight turns his gaze upon him, silently assessing. “To be entrusted with such a task… they must have great faith in you.”

Something clenches inside Imunlaukr’s chest. They trusted you. What if you’re too late?

“… I can only hope to live up to their faith,” he says eventually.

The knight nods in understanding, and pats Imunlaukr on the shoulder with an armored hand.

“Fear not,” he says. “If you cannot trust in yourself, then trust in the Great Hunter. I do not know how you managed to convince the lord, but if they’ve agreed to lend their strength to you, then there is nothing that you worry about.”

… There is something to be said for the unwavering faith that the people of Mondstadt have in their god. A staunch belief that their god is the greatest of protectors, a bulwark shielding them from the dangers that threatened them.

In the legends, it was said that Lord Decarabian descended from the heavens upon witnessing the pain and suffering that men faced, eking out their survival in a land overrun by countless beasts. The god had been moved by their plight, and henceforth declared that no beast-monster would be permitted to intrude upon their land, granting a safe haven to those who otherwise would’ve been devoured to the bone by bloodthirsty beasts.

Sympathetic towards humanity was a consistent portrayal of the Great Hunter in tales relating to their exploits. It was a deciding factor in Imunlaukr’s decision to travel to Mondstadt and make his plea, although…

I have no reason to leave this land.

…

For a god that was celebrated for their love of humanity, the Great Hunter was… far colder than what Imunlaukr had thought they would be like. Imunlaukr had not seen them interacting closely with their people, not like how the God of Dust smiled and chatted with her people in their bustling marketplaces. If anything, the Great Hunter had appeared to be distant and detached, and was quite difficult to find or even catch a glimpse of.

… But they’d agreed to help. Even though they’d been cold and inexpressive, they were still the only god who agreed to Imunlaukr’s unreasonable request to help the people of Sal Vindagnyr, the kingdom that incurred the ire of Celestia.

I suppose I could make an exception.

Imunlaukr closes his eyes, and for the very first time, inexplicably feels as if he understands the urge to pray.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsterhunt: Savogorg, Demon of Deliciousness

Demons reflect the most destructive impulses of the living and while most default to primal feelings like fear, pain, and despair... the feeling this saccharine salamander embodies could best be described as "the irresistible urge to stick your finger in a freshly frosted cake".

Driven by an indulgent need to taste all the finest things without ever worrying about hunger Savogorg crashes feasts, burgles pantries, and pinches pies from windowsills heedless of the chaos it causes in the process.

It takes an act of supreme immoderation to summon the demon of deliciousness, an inability to be satisfied that goes so far beyond hedonism that it wounds the soul. A ruler who beggars the realm with their elaborate feasts, An epicurean restaurateur who seeks ever more exotic experiences for her exclusive clientele, the taverncook who insists that this time he'll finally be able to make his grandmother's recipe as good as he remembers it. Those that suffer this affliction find themselves beset by bouts of reckless appetite, and with every mouthful the demon's stake upon them grows until it is finally able to manifest in the world.

Adventure Hooks:

Everyone knew it was a bad omen when the earl's secondborn shot the white stag. Legends of earning lordship be damned, it was plain as day the creature was beloved by the forest goddess. Butchery and trophytaking was bad enough, but to serve the flesh to your spoiled friends only to spit it out as "gamey"... now that truelove was worthy of some divine wrath. Now the noble lad wanders the wood in a state of ragged confusion, delirious from hunger and mushrooms and fermented berries, sometimes asking passersby for help, sometimes attempting to bite them. Folk susspect he's become a werewolf, and the earl is offering a rich reward to those who can bring his boy back and break the curse, while his firstborn is willing to pay extra to ensure that doesn't happen. She's become convinced her brother desires her inheritance, and what could it hurt if he stayed mad?

A prestigious culinary competition has been thrown into chaos after a series of disastrous incidents and atleast one contestant going missing. This is an excuse to riff off your favourite baking shows while the party plays detective trying to find who's eating the supplies... and the staff.

There's no such thing as forbidden snacks when you're a hunger demon. Having slithered into an elven temple dedicated to the god of earth and wine, Savogorg has laid it's greedy fingers on a sacred artifact in the form of a heavily laden bunch of grapes each sculpted from a precious gemstone and swallowed it whole. Ignorant of the demon's existnace the elves are incensed at this trespass, and begin hunting and questioning would be thieves. Tracking the demon might be easier than expected, as the holy artifact has given it divine indigestion, and the amphibious fiend keeps burping up minor mirracles as it moves about the city looking for a place to sleep off its tumymache.

Challenges & Complications:

Despite it's bulk, the demon's squishy body allows it to pass through any opening the size of a fist, allowing it to slip into unexpected places through drains, chimneys, and cracked doors, leaving behind only a sugary slime. This also allows it to unexpected escapes should it be cornered by the party. Experementation may reveal that extensive cold damage may cause the demon's body to semi-solidfy, preventing this ability.

As a demon of appetite, Savogorg is sustained by the act of eating, and will freely regain hitpoints anytime it focuses on chowing down rather than fighting the party, or if it's swallowed one of them whole. Poison can be useful here, souring its stomach and preventing it from actively eating anything more.

Artsource

[trashytoastboi]

Seven Days of Sin Event

~Angst Alphabet Shorts part 1~

> Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer

I: Injured: How do they handle themselves when they’re injured?

🎶 He’s more likely to hide the fact that he’s injured. He doesn’t want you all to worry or fuss over him. At most he might trust someone to help him out if he’s not able to hide it completely. He trusts you enough to tell you when he’s injured. Only because you’ll notice and worry if he keeps it from you as he has in the past. Lucifer always believes he has to handle things himself and hide anything he believes to be weakness, including his injuries. 

M: Mistakes: How much do they want to fix the mistakes of their past?

🎶 Lucifer once upon a time tried to go back. That's all he wanted, all he thought about. Going back and fixing everything before it was even done. Why did things turn out the way that they did? He never could bring himself to understand. But now… After finding out the result of their choice, he’s content. Now that they had come to terms with their grief and adjusted to life, then things have happened and they created a new home and memories. Now he doesn’t dwell on the wish to go back as much. 

V: Vent: How do they get rid of feelings they find unnecessary? 

🎶 He buries his feelings, pushes them aside or finds an outlet like working. Lucifer never entrusted anyone with his worries or he felt that it would be an unnecessary burden for people so he bottles it up. Until it explodes into the messiest breakdown that you’d never see, because he holds it together until he’s alone and can just let everything consume him violently. Snot, tears, spit, everything. It’s a mess, he’s a mess. He’d never allow anyone to see him in such a way. 

Q: Qualify: What parts of themselves do they consider dangerous? 

🎶 His determination to protect his family. There’s no depths that he would not stoop to if it’s for their sake. Lucifer may be prideful but he’s willing to cast it aside for the sake of his brothers and let no one stand against him. He’s scared of what he’s capable of doing for them. 

Mammon

A: Accident: Would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?

💰 He would blame himself, saying he should have stopped you. Or at least been there to prevent the situation from happening. He’d question himself, he’d punish himself. Why wasn’t he at your side? What was so important that he left you alone and allowed this to happen. If you were there you’d tell him not to blame himself. It was an accident, something no one foresaw. No one could have predicted it, or stopped it and Mammon tearing himself apart while believing otherwise is a painful sight for everyone to see. 

R: Rock: What weighs them down?

💰 Sometimes he thinks back to the days in the celestial realm. He’s moved on, as best as he can and he’s living his life now. Albeit as a demon, a far cry from the divine being he once was. Sometimes he’ll do something, amplified and compelled by his sin and he’ll catch himself wondering why he’s like this now and why he couldn’t return to the way he was before. 

Y: Yearning: Do old memories make them yearn for your touch 

💰 When you said a tearful farewell to everyone and left the Devildom to return to the human realm. Mammon was LOST. He didn’t know what to do without you there. Every day he got up he’s the first one running to your room to get you, only to knock on a door that no one was going to answer. He’d miss you, and all the affection you’d give him. The hugs when he was sad, holding his hands to stop him from pickpocketing a poor unsuspecting soul, or how you would praise him and touch his head. He misses all of that so much. Why’d you have to leave? 

Z: Zest: Add your own letters (A/N: Treating this like a wildcard and will just put a random headcanon) 

💰 Mammon does not know how to deal with grief. Even hypothetically, you’ve had the conversation with him, the question of what he’d do when you pass. It was inevitable, you’re human, your lifetime is not long enough to match his. You would grow old, eventually passing on and you’d have to part ways permanently. Mammon couldn’t bring himself to answer because he refused to think about it. He can’t imagine it. A world and you’re nowhere in it. 

Leviathan

I: Injured: How do they handle themselves when they’re injured?

🎮 He’s not a baby per se, but he’s not hiding it. Honestly he wants you to dote on him. He’d tell only you and ask you to keep it a secret. He’s good at handling the pain because he’d tell you it’s just a little scratch when in actuality it’s a lot more dire and deep than he led you to believe. He wants to feel that someone cares and so he’d tell you, the person who Levi knows would treat him tenderly and kindly while he’s healing. 

M: Mistakes: How much do they want to fix the mistakes of their past?

🎮 Levi had too many things he wanted to fix. Sometimes anxiety would make even the most mundane mistake one worthy of fixing. If he sits and considers all the things he wanted to fix then the anxiety would swallow him whole. The big, the small, the tragic and the things that brought about real changes in indescribable ways. He wants to go back, he wants that redo button but in the moments when he’s content with life he really thinks about it. Is that what he truly wanted? At the risk of losing what he had now? Sometimes the thought alone eased it. 

R: Rock: What weighs them down?

🎮 The way he is. He says, his self depreciation always leads into dark territory and he can name more flaws than things he likes about himself. He sees himself through the worst lens and believes himself to be useless amongst other names he’d gladly label himself with. He regrets the way he is, it’s a heavy thing. It takes a bit of encouragement, a lot of steady affirmation to convince him of otherwise and he craves validation to convince him. A single bad word can tear down any positive self esteem he builds up. 

Z: Zest: Add your own letters (A/N: Treating this like a wildcard and will just put a random headcanon)

🎮 Genuinely wants to get better at connecting with people. He believes most of his problems would be solved if he could just connect with people. He says the wrong thing and will retreat, punishing himself for it. It was an honest mistake but would they see it that way. Levi goes into things always assuming people hate him and want nothing to do with him. Never do open invitations with him, unless he’s invited specifically he will assume that you don’t want him there. 

Satan

O: Outrage: What makes them angry?

📚 A lot can set him off, he’s volatile. He doesn’t mean to be and he’s trying to work on it but it’s hard when he’s surrounded by people that drive him up the walls. Satan honestly hated the fact that he felt no respect from anyone. There was nothing but fear, and evasiveness. People had no respect for his personal space and it irked him, how they would touch him without his consent when all he wanted was to be left alone. Or when they would come into his room- his ONLY safe space and take away the very thing that made it safe. 

P: Pressure: What stresses them to the breaking point? 

📚 Satan has a lot of triggers and sadly unlike most who can calm down and get back to normality, his emotions stack up. They stack, and stack until they have no more outlet aside from OUT. They explode and so does he. Most of his outbursts aren’t caused by a simple momentary anger, it’s a piling effect of things that were simmering under the surface. The more people are afraid of him, the more he tries to control himself, fails to do so and it makes it worse. He grows fearful of himself and it becomes a vicious cycle. 

T: Time: What if they had a limited time to live?

📚 He wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d leave. He’d go somewhere where he could be alone and spend his time doing things he likes until it was time to say goodbye. He would do so, alone, peacefully and no one would know. That was his initial answer when you asked this question the first time. His relationship with his brothers changed, grew and became something precious. His relationship with you- evolved into something deeper. Had you asked him this question again, he would want to be supported by all of you, and loved until the moment he leaves with you all by his side. 

Y: Yearning: Do old memories make them yearn for your touch? 

📚 Satan tries not to dwell on it too much, he doesn’t want to deal with the extra emotions. The answer however is yes, he’d remember you and your absence grows only more pronounced. He’d think of when he could lay his head in your lap, reading his book while your fingers played with his hair. It was calming, he could fall asleep, feeling safe with you. That was no longer there and you, his safe space, are no longer there. He’d remember your touches as something calming, filled with love and safety. He feels lost without it. He misses it. 

Asmodeus

E: Emotion: What emotions do they tend to push away the most?

💅🏻 Insecurity - Asmodeus never wants to doubt himself. He ignores it, when he looks at himself and doubts his appearance, his existence. Feeling too far removed from what he once was, Asmo needed to embrace this new life. Find security or distraction so his thoughts didn’t discard who he’d become, so his past self couldn’t scorn him and look down on him. Asmo piled on compliment after compliment, found people to cater to his dire need to be praised and validated, to be praised as beautiful. He needed to hear it so much that he himself could believe it. 

G: Great pain: What is the most painful thing they’ve witnessed?

💅🏻 The fall of his brothers and himself. The moment all of those who were once his allies treated them as traitors, the fight was vicious. There was no choice though, this is what they chose. To save their family, and protect Lilith. Asmo would never forget, not really forget. He could get moments of peace when his mind was far too occupied, focused on the moment that he couldn’t think about it. The moment he saw despair and regret, the utter pain that encompassed them all and the forced shame they felt. 

K: Kill: Would they kill for revenge? 

💅🏻 10/10 He absolutely would. Should someone hurt you or his brothers, Asmodeus is vindictive enough to hunt them down and kill them. He wouldn’t grant them the mercy of a quick death either and would get really sadistic about it. He’d forget himself and gladly become the monster when exacting such a brutal revenge. To send a message, to put himself at ease, even when he knows revenge is empty and cold. It wouldn’t bring anyone back or change what had been done. 

R: Rock: What weighs them down?

💅🏻 Self destructive tendencies. Asmo is aware of them and he hides them well. Most people wouldn’t notice his unkind habits because he disguises them so well. Asmo knows what he’s doing, he wants to stop but he finds comfort in them. So he continues to do them every time he feels overwhelmed, he does it to feel a semblance of control. The result is met with him talking himself down, trying to stop doing it but he always falls into familiar habits. 

Beelzebub

S: Sorrow: Would they feel empty after your death?

🍔 He’d be so lost without you. Beel would fall back into the deep pain of grief, a feeling that you helped him heal from and now he’s got to experience it with you. It’s too much, he’d be feeling so much at once that wouldn’t be able to decide what feels worse than the other. The sadness? The disbelief? The anger? Cycling through reasons of things to blame for your passing. Himself? You? Beel prays, something he hadn’t done for a long time. He wants to wake up from the nightmare because this is not reality. Everyone knows it’s hard on Beel when he doesn’t even eat. 

U: Urge: How badly do they get the urge to see you after separating?

🍔 Beel misses you terribly. When you go back to the human world. He’s always messaging, calling, asking when you’re going to be back. When he can see you again and hold you. He’s missing you. He’s asking Lucifer every second day if he could go see you and Lucifer of course says no so Beel resorts to plotting with his brothers to secretly come and visit you. 

L: Loss: What was their greatest loss? 

🍔 Lilith. For all the brothers it was the hardest loss they had to experience, but in particular for Beel and Belphie who held a deep relationship with Lilith; it was the most devastating loss. Beel blames himself for so much, and still believes it was his fault that she died. Gradually, things get better. They do and the feelings that suffocated him became a little lighter, enough to let him breathe. He still shoulders the weight of her absence, and guilt. 

Q: Qualify: What parts of themselves do they consider dangerous?

🍔 His strength when it’s misused, or when he’s hangry. Beel has no control over himself during that time and can only see the destruction he caused after the fact. His insatiable hunger, when left to get out of control, is the most terrifying thing and people have been hurt as a result. His brothers struggle to control him or reign in his strength and can only watch when he's wreaking havoc. 

Belphegor

W: Wild card: A random angst headcanon 

⭐ Started sleeping a lot more not only due to his sin. Belphie used it as a way to escape from everything when he first fell into the Devildom, the loss of Lilith, the loss of their home and their wings, when he and his brothers became demons and were forced into an unfamiliar and hostile place. Sleeping was the only quiet he found, away from his thoughts, his feelings and his reality. Dreams were better. 

C: Crying: Are they much of a crier?

⭐ Secret crier. He hides it well and he won’t make a peep. He’d bury himself under his pillows and sob his eyes out silently just to get all the feelings out. He sobbed himself to sleep every night when they first got to the Devildom. He knew everyone was struggling and couldn’t talk about what he was thinking about or feeling so he opted to cry alone. It was easier that way so he believed. 

H: Humiliation: How could they be humiliated? 

⭐ The early days of settling into Devildom, humiliation became a part of daily life. With the outright hatred and hostility from the demons towards the brothers who had just fallen. They went out of their way to sabotage them, to chase them away and highlight their differences and how they were not welcome anywhere. That separation, distinction and mockery of what they used to be is what caused relentless humiliation everyday for Belphie. 

K: Kill: Would they kill for revenge 

⭐ I mean for the sake of a grudge he held against all humans he nearly killed you- had it not been for Barbatos. It’s very likely for him to kill for revenge. He’d have no qualms about it, he’s got a motive and a means and if that person hurt him, or those close to him. His first solution is homicide. He’s very quick from point A to B with violence.

Taglist: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @roninfromtheops

[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 bruises 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

[trippiwonder]

Plants of Santa Muerte

A

Agave: Self confidence, Love-Magic.

Aloe Vera: Protection(especially for children & pregnant women), self love, inner beauty.

Apple: Knowledge, wisdom, necromancy, healing psychosomatic ailments.

Apricot: Love-Magick (especially for gender-variant people). Wisdom spells (especially focused on one's own self or your masculine side if you're a woman, or feminine side if you're a man.

Avocado: Love and lust spells(attracting men), erotic beauty, increase male virility.

B

Beans: Friendship-Magick.

Belladonna: Lust(enhancing one's seductiveness), protection(cord-cutter), connect to other dimensions and realms of consciousness.

Berry: Raspberries are used in female fertility spells (Raspberries are used to create). Black berries are used in protection and healing psychological trauma (Blackberries are used to destroy).

Burdock: Protection(keeping harm and danger away), attraction (people, places, things).

C

Cactus: Protection(guard against those who wish to do harm), Chastity spells (ward off unwanted sexual advances/aggression).

Cherry: Love-Magick (lust to love).

Chili Peppers: Chastity spells, Protection(cooling/calming).

Chocolate: Luxury, prosperity, erotic love. Dark chocolate is preferred.

Chrysanthemum: Necromancy, communing with the dead.

Cilantro: Self-acceptance, self-love, stopping/preventing bullying(giving victim courage to stop being victimized), Maintain grace during stress.

Cinnamon: Money-Magick(expand prosperity), Lust-Magick(add sensuality to relationship).

Coca Leaves: Offering to spirits, tool of divination, aid to energize mind during meditation.

Coffee Beans: Break addictions, Breaking self illusions.

D

Dandelion: Self-confidence to be stand out of the crowd, Detoxify negative thinking.

H

Honeysuckle: Expedite spell speed.

Hyacinth: Gay male love-magick(help with coming out of the closet or accepting one's own homosexuality).

J

Jasmine: Dream work(prophetic dreams). magnifies emotions in spell work like love or lust.

L

Lemon: Cleansing, Healing-Magick.

Licorice: Hexes , harmful magick, combat addictions, promote longevity.

Lily: Break love spells, ease transitional pain of loss(friends, breakups, divorce, death).

Lime: Cleansing spiritual ailments, love magick(zest/strengthen relationships).

M

Marijuana: Protection(from law and harm), Money-Magick.

N

Nettle: Protection-Magick(to get a handle on what is causing harm). In Healing-Magick(get a hold on ailments(arthritis)).

O

Orange: Cleansing the mind of harmful thoughts and emotions, and countering sorrow and depression in it's physical association.

P

Palo Santo: Healing-Magick(unknown ailment), Protection-Magick(block all harm spiritual/physical/emotional).

Pau d'Arco: Healing-Magick(critical condition), Undo/abort magick spells that gone wrong.

Peach: Gay male love magick.

Peppermint: Memorization (students/lawyers), quell arguments, spats among friends/lovers/coworkers.

Plum: Healing magick(over-come blockages).

Pomegranate: Healing-Magick(blood and feminine ailments), Increase fertility, prosperity, empowers women.

R

Rose: Red(Erotic Love), Pink(romantic love), White(pure platonic love between friends/family/self-love), Yellow(love of life).

T

Tobacco: Communing with the Divine, empowers men.

V

Vanilla: Lust-Magick(foreplay, oral, fetishes).

W

Wine: Divination, development of psychic abilities.

Y

Yerba Mate: Protection-Magick(standing ground), mental clarity, self-confidence.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Could you do the reader being insecure after giving birth (it’s been a few months) and Aemond reassures her before they have sex

thank you for the request, this is such a sweet idea 💛

definitely know Aemond would be the patient and tender type. He won’t rush you but he’ll notice that you haven’t been yourself around him like you used to, and that concerns him. When he gets the truth out of you, he’s hurt but he wants to make sure you know that he doesn’t think any less of you.

hope this is okay x

Divine Beauty

PAIRING: Dad!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,519.

WARNINGS: mentions of childbirth, pregnancy + side effects, body insecurity, body shaming, swearing, fluff.

Childbirth was proof of miracles, an honourable right for most women, and one that you could proudly say you accomplished. It was not easy, to say the least. The labour was long, the pain unbearable and yet all the torment vanquished when you heard the first cries of your newborn daughter, cradling her tiny self in your arms provided a soothing warmth like no other.

And yet, nothing could neither amount to the sentimental sight of your beloved husband meeting and holding his newborn daughter. How tiny and nestled she looked, asleep in his strong arms. Your intuition convinced you, that your little one knew her father's touch instantly, and was comforted of how well protected she would be by his side. An understatement, Aemond was obsessed with her, refusing to let anyone else besides yourself and his mother, Queen Alicent, to hold the child.

From the exact moment he knew of your pregnancy, you could recall it as though it only happened yesterday, he was eagerly committed to the idea of fatherhood. If he was nervous, he showed no ill signs nor flaws, he was determined to be a great father, unlike his own, having only known neglect. Nonetheless, Aemond took measures to ensure your pregnancy was smooth and healthy, regardless of the symptoms, he wanted to minimise the risks as much as he possibly could. He saw to it, that you had your own reliable maester at hand, if necessary, he ensured that you were well rested, and that your maids attended to your every needs, at times he often would attend them himself. He especially grew a love to bathing you himself, watching overtime how your belly swelled with his child, and being so gentle with your changing body. And during this crucial time, you knew it was inevitable that your body would change, motherhood was an honour and you would do it again, however, it did not stop the self-loathing.

Terrible thoughts ruptured your mind, as you took long-hard stares at your bare reflection in the mirror. Examining every inch and crevice of your naked body, certain parts of your lower abdomen and back, now covered in faint pink stripes, the prominent dimples embedded in the skin of your thighs. Where your belly once protruded where the babe had grown, now deflated yet sagged just over your waist line. Now that you were lactating, your breasts had enlarged and felt grossly swollen, you'd never felt so 'big'. You felt ashamed that three months had passed and yet you remained this way.

During your pregnancy, Aemond ensured that you maintained a well-rounded appetite. The maester often reminded you both that you were with child, and it was quite normal to eat a larger quantity than what you were used to prior, since your cravings and appetite were upturned. Aemond was certain for you to remain well-nourished, for the maester often alarmed Aemond with discussions of risks of illnesses and deficits if the mother were to expose herself to malnourishment, for both you and the babe. Aemond wouldn't bear the thought, if he could prevent it, he would see to it himself.

Nonetheless, you felt that his good intentions and harmless actions came back for a nasty bite.

You had been avoiding Aemond's touch and longing stares, refusing to get undressed or naked in his presence, out of "modesty." He found it amusing, how you would shriek away from him, vexing him that you had only just given birth to his babe, let alone have another one anytime soon. He had acknowledged that you were still sensitive and in the process of healing from the gruelling birth. He did not wish to force himself onto you until you were capable of taking him again. The maester recommended at least a month, for you to regain your strength, before trying to conceive. You found yourself, sneaking in baths when he was out training or running errands for the day, and often were in bed before he'd return. He did not think much of it until now. He noticed how little you ate, and how you would layer your clothes even on sweltering, hot summer's day. And the whole ordeal of you not allowing him to touch your body, started to concern him.

It seemed enough was enough, for the one-eyed Prince, for he had returned much earlier than anticipated, as he cancelled his training practice that evening, only to 'ambush' you in the confines of your shared chambers.

"You've been avoiding me, ābrazȳrys [wife]," He exclaimed in a stern tone. He'd just managed to catch you perfectly, moments before you were to undress for a bath the maids had just prepared for you.

"Aemond-"

"Do not toy with me Y/N. I see the way my touch makes you feel, like I frighten you now... Do I?" You could sense the tinge of guilt in his soft voice. He takes slow steps towards you, only to stop himself hesitantly, maintaining a small distance, as though not to scare you away.

You couldn't help but sigh, you'd been so caught up in your own scrambled thoughts that you hadn't realised the effect it was having on Aemond. A half-hearted smile appearing on your face, as you closed the distance with your husband, reaching for his rough hand as you held it tightly in yours.

"Of course not, Aemond. You could never frighten me away. I love you so very much, it-it's just-"

The words struggling to leave your lips, as Aemond watched you carefully, his eye lingering over your mouth as he desperately awaited for your response. He gently squeezes your hand, as encouragement before you shamefully pull away from him, releasing his grip on you.

"I-I'm not the same as I was before, Aemond. I need you to know this. I don't think I can ever be, I mean my body. It's-It's...

"Horrendous."

As you left his side, to seat yourself down over the edge of the bed, you noticed the sting in Aemond's face, as he winced when you said the word. Horrendous. Instinctively, your hands touching your cheeks cautiously as you felt flustered and ashamed, hot tears treacle down before hastily wiping them away. You couldn't even find the courage to look Aemond in the eye, for his reaction would be to unbearable once the realisation hits him of how awful you look now.

Although, your husband wasted no second more, kneeling down below you, as he gently pulls your hands away from your face, his thumb stroking the tear trails remnant behind.

"Y/N, issa jorrāelagon [my love]," He softly whispers, the hurt in his voice evidence, as he looks up at you worryingly.

"Look at me-" He urged you, his tone now deep and commanding, his hand lightly nudging your face forward, as your eyes finally meet.

"You can never think of me to be so vile. I would never nor could I ever think of you in such an ill manner. You have given me the greatest gift a man could ask for. Do you think of me so little?"

His thumb had been stroking your cheeks dry, the seriousness in his face disappearing, as he glimpses a small, relieved smile on your face.

"I-I just hate the way I look now, and I would hate to bring shame to you with how others might think of me-"

A defeated sigh, escapes Aemond's lips, as his long fingers begin to comb through your hair. One hand leaving your face, to hold your shaky grip.

"I need you to listen when I tell you this. I do not give a fuck about anyone else may even dare to think. Only you and the little angel you have given me, that's all that matters. I refuse to let you think I could ever belittle you like that, you are my wife... Issa vys [my world]."

Almost on cue, your little daughter begins to cry in her crib, and just as your maternal instinct had kicked in to race to her side, Aemond denies you the chance.

"Y/N, I need you to understand me on this."

You give Aemond a slow, reassuring nod, squeezing his hands once more, as he plants a soft, moist kiss on your forehead. Your daughter's cries growing louder in the background, Aemond urges you to continue with your bath, as he attends to the unsettled newborn babe in her little crib.

Ever so carefully lifting her up in his arms, the moment she's comfortably nestled in, the cries begin to subside to small, little coos.

"Looks like she just needed her father's magic touch," You chuckle, as you begin to undress yourself slowly. Aemond kept his focus on you, as he made himself comfortable in a chair he pulled for himself, positioning it by the bathtub.

His eyes lingered over your body, and yet not a sight of disgust on his face. Each layer you removed, you felt your confidence grow.

"Hmm-" He lowly growls, an intense lust prominent in his eye.

"Issa gevie ābrazȳrys [My beautiful wife], divine beauty."

[redjademilktea]

I've talked about this before, but with the final episode of Downfall and the Cooldown that followed it I feel the need to write about it again.

The morality of saving the gods of Exandria was never going to be clear cut. Stopping Ludinus, stopping the Ruby Vanguard maybe. But there's an important conversation to be had about the nature of divinity that needs to be had. And Downfall makes this discourse more salient and pressing than it's ever been.

I really liked what Brennan brought up in the Cooldown, about "achieving enlightenment on their terms," or suffer the fate of "not being able to understand." The gods as they exist have protected and will continue to protect the way of being that allows for their continued existence. They dismiss anything that challenges that existence - anything that makes them confront the nature of mortality, as Brennan elegantly phrased it - as something not worth considering. As something that simply doesn't grasp what one needs to grasp to do what must be done.

And if doing what must be done means calling a truce in their great war. If that means collaborating with the very siblings on the opposing side of that conflict, which has led to so much loss of mortal life and desecration of the face of Exandria, then so be it. It has to be done. We are mere children, we wouldn't understand.

I'm reminded of Ann Stoler in her book "Along the Archival Grain," along with Avery Gordon's "Ghostly Matters." Both authors talk about the lengths and extents colonial states go to legitimate and justify their existence through the policing and curation of knowledge. It is in the best interest of the colonial state to produce and maintain knowledge that justifies its being. They are doing what they do because they define it to be right, to be just.

And those contradictions? The holes in colonial logic born out of the anxieties and fears of losing that legitimacy? Those inconsistencies that necessitate their reproduction and continued existence? Poor child, you do not understand. It is the right thing to do. There are things at play that are beyond fathoming for you. It simply must be this way. It is right for it to be this way. Fallicies and contradictions in colonial logic become justified and legitimated via the production of knowledge produced from the colonial archive to reproduce itself.

The knowledge of the divine killing weapon. The people, the complex, ephemeral, fleeting, textured, beautiful, pained, vibrant lives of those that held that knowledge. That knowledge that was spread to touch every soul on that floating city. All of it could not persist. For them to persist would mean the possibility of the way things are, the way things are ought to be from those who know better, could come to an end.

So it must be this way. The city must fall, despite its infinite arcane beauty. Lives must be lost, and so too must their chance for redemption, for a new beginning. All things must come to an end, if that means preserving the infinite. Family must persist. *They* must persist. And so it must be this way.

I say all this to highlight the fact that the morality underlying the theme of this campaign is not clear cut. The nature of it prevents that. The members of Bells Hells are not good or bad because some of them remain ambivalent to the existence of the gods. No single one of them is inherently right or wrong.

But you cannot argue there is a "right" answer when it comes to the gods. They simply are. Much like anything simply is. And what their existence means, especially for what it means to the lives of mortals on Exandria who must suffer the consequences of that divine existence, must be reckoned with.

I really am impressed with the bold scope of thematic ideas that Campaign 3 introduces and continues to grapple with. It is phenomenal story telling, and is strikingly resonant with the enmeshed struggles that permeate the very real world that informs the lives and experiences of its creators. All of them continue to blow me away every Thursday night!

[n0tamused]

Heyyyy so im feeling evil and thinking of some sort of reader x blade x jingyuan where blade and reader like each other but jingyuan likes reader and it's this sad painful dramatic thing where jingyuan has to let reader be happy because happiness for her is with blade not with him

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. A Haunted House‧₊˚𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ

A/n: I hope you like this you... youu!! (pointed finger at you emoji) Tbh I wish I could write concrete chapters for these things, but I don't hav the time.. Maybe one day I'll something long/multi-chapter. I love long angst and build up aaa

Content: Angst, Jing Yuan reminiscing about you, how he watched you and Blade grow closer together, remembering how he could never bring himself to stand between you and the person your heart called out for; unrequited love, no comfort

Words: 1490

Ko-Fi

Ages have come and gone with the turns of every amber era, each one feeling slower than the last and bringing by joys and sorrows uncounted. Jing Yuan had read too many words, tested his tongue with various titles and courtesies, yet the words he was attempting to read now tasted like ashes and looked like broken ripples. He found himself losing focus as of late, much more frequently and he could not blame the habit onto his usual sleepiness or the duty of a General that weighed across his shoulders. The papers before him were the reports of his fellow subordinates, Cloud Knights, about their recent investigation. He had read the same paragraph multiple times and found himself more disappointed than the last when the words did not seem to be written in his language. 

His thoughts were plagued by you. To anyone else in his shoes such a notion would bring shame to the General - this wise and old figure who has blooded his weapon and led his ship to prosperity, but he breaks at the notion of a missing warmth and imagined what-could-have-beens. But that small world of memories and dreams is all that was able to comfort him these days, it helped him wake up in the morning when it stabbed through his chest and prevented him from further sleep, all with a sad smile on his lip. What it could have been, if you had your heart for him and not Blade.

It was the late evening when he left the confines of the Seat of Divine Foresight, fresh air filling his lungs. The new assistant that was hired to tend his office greeted him on his way out and he bid her farewell with a gentle smile, although he could hardly call her new at this point, she had been around for almost a century, yet it made little difference to him. Little things meant little, they made him sad and made him lose sleep. Ever since the stellaron had been sealed away he could not stop thinking about the disaster. His mind’s eye drifted to the image of your face when he told you the news, always preferring to tell you these kinds of things in person. He told you to keep your guard up and remain close to your residence if you had no other pressing matters in terms of your work - but the image that floated forward more often than not was the way you left.

His easy smile traded places on his face for a look much more solemn when the roof of his residence loomed over his head, heavy and cold. 

“Hello, Mimi..” he bent down and extended his hand to the white feline as it came up to him, pushing its head against his hand in a strong greeting before making figure eights around and through his legs. At times like these, Jing Yuan felt as if this little creature alone harbored love towards him or took him into consideration, be it when she licked his face to wake him in the mornings or when she didn’t mind when he scratched her ears when she brought him a dead mouse as a trophy for him. A show off, this little one is. Sighing, he carefully stepped from her and took off his boots, placing them back into place.

Moving further inside he glimpsed the darkening sky outside, for a moment wondering if some of his more sensitive plants could use some more watering. He spots the low hanging leaves of the more dramatic sort of his plants. It was watered more than any other plant in his care, yet it curled its leaves and blooms in on itself, drooping from its clay pot, asking for another gallon of water.  

There are letters on the table, he had received them and read them that same morning. The letters themselves looked like they had gone through the disaster, with crumbled paper and torn edges, but Jing Yuan could recognize your handwriting anywhere, even in its most unshapely of forms. The envelopes are open neatly, yet torn at the edges where he couldn’t keep himself from ripping it open, his patience bending in the way of his gut-wrenching curiosity. Every step he takes towards the low table makes his feet feel heavy as lead, agonizing, slow, too heavy to bear, but the General has been through many trials, and none felt as painfully rewarding as this one.

In the corners of his eye he sees a different image than the dull walls of his empty home, he sees fragmented images of better days.

You’re sitting next to him and there are drinks on the table instead of letters. Blade- no, Yingxing is sitting across from you, lifting his cup of rice wine up into the air and towards yours. Baiheng is there too, exclaiming how they were going on with the toasts without her. There is one other, but Jing Yuan wishes not to remember. All hands join together making the porcelain cups clink and sing. 

Yingxing looked less gloomy, less reserved, he looked a century younger with the smile he wore on his face and the faint flush on his cheeks which he styled to perfection after a few drinks had settled in his gut, his eyes fixed on you. Your hands suddenly slap Jing Yuan on the shoulder, a playful act, it barely hurt but he swayed as if the impact had him reeling - you scolded him for not paying attention to you when you asked him something. What was it that you asked? A blessing? For what? Why his? There is a ring hanging on a necklace around that pretty neck of yours - only it wasn’t something he gifted you. Yingxing ,for once, used his skill for something other than weapons. He remembers your squeals of joy when you came over to show it to him. 

It was fine steel, an elegant band of rippling black across it, a red crystal on the top embraced by thorny ivy. It was a bold ring, a rather big ring, and the work of it showed that its master did not specialize in jewelry making - but that did not make it any less special or any less beautiful.

He remembers your joy more than the ring, your flushed cheeks and how you were nearly out of breath by the end of the conversation. Your face is fading, he realizes.

Yingxing is what he sees next in his mind’s eye in his later years, wrinkles decorating the corners of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, leaving permanent reminders of his joyous life. He asks Jing Yuan to relay something to you, a velvet box with a metal handle to clasp it shut through a loop. He wonders why he can’t give it to you himself, why task him with such a thing? But he doesn’t refuse. The memory doesn’t end there, but Jing Yuan can’t make himself remember more of it. The doubt, the hurt, the betrayal..

The mirage slips by like indents in the sand which the waves lap away. Another memory takes place. It is just you and him. There are words unspoken. You look older with the weariness in your eyes, and lean forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, but you don’t seem to dare to press yourself any closer to him. This one is not a recent memory, and in hindsight Jing  Yuan wonders if you were trying to apologize to him then, in advance. Did you know things would turn out this way? Did you know he’d let you slip from his grasp like nothing ever existed between the two of you? He let you go, knowing you wouldn’t return to him, yet it hurt. You weren’t his. 

He deserved to know you were alright, he deserved to know the truth of it, deserved to be told not to hope - that’s what all those letters told him, what you said in woven careful words, and he can swear there are dried tear stains on the paper. Were those from you or from him?

“Keep her safe”, he whispered, frowning as the house around him grew gray. Lan, keep her safe. Blade - don’t you dare hurt her. It wasn’t a threat, it was a plea. 

He thought of sending you a response back, it was what kept him occupied the entire day besides his ghosts and your fading scent. Perhaps he shouldn’t - the letters would not reach you, and even if they did they would consist of his words telling you how he wished you all the best, wishing you safe travels through the stars - he could never will himself to hurt you, by words or actions. Sorrowful words would do him nothing, and they wouldn’t return you to him either. 

Jing Yuan decides to not write anything back. 

“(Y/n).. Stay safe. Stay happy..”

Dividers at the top: heavenlayt

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.