#; avaere

[astrxlfinale]

Be strong, Sunday.

The path may be currently laid with uncertainties, yet, a Trailblazing hand will allow you to see the prominence of each and every feather.

Every drop of festive wonder through good drink will be a new form of Trailblaze. Slowly!

"I know the perfect type of armament to wield for such a task. Behold!"

"Luxury will be in your hands!"

@avaere

[resolutepath]

How about "unsent texts" to Serval 😌 in regards to one silly fool 😌

[ TEXT: 💙🌹. ] Family dinners are worse than you think they'd be. Hearing your quips in my ear might be the only thing getting me through the endless drivel. Sometimes I wish you'd crash the party, but that's a little too hopeful. And I suppose it's best you don't tease Geppie too much... TEXT UNSENT.

[ TEXT: 💙🌹. ] So what are we, to you? Because I hate to say it, but I'm getting attached. TEXT UNSENT.

[ TEXT: 💙🌹. ] Stay safe wherever you are. You better come home. TEXT UNSENT.

send 💬 for three texts my muse typed but never sent yours. // @avaere

[immobiliter]

@avaere sent a meme: " i performed a public service. you act like that’s a bad thing. " this was too itto … to pass up on … for poor furina !

       Maybe it was the glare he'd received from inside of the opera house at the scene of his so-called public service, or maybe the heavy silence he'd been greeted with as the pair of them walked out of the Epiclese and began their slow stroll back to the Aquabus... but either way, despite the warm evening sunshine and the dispersal of the excited crowds around them, a storm was brewing, and it seemed Arataki Itto knew exactly what to say in order to whip it up into a frenzy.

       He spoke, and Furina suddenly rounded on him.

       “ But it’s the OPERA, Itto! You can’t just stand up and start whooping and cheering halfway through the performance! That’s not how it’s done! ” Voice raised in the way only an actress could, intended to project across rows of seats filled with expectant audience members, arms waving wildly — unfortunately for Itto, this was turning into a powerhouse of a performance from the prima donna who had once refused to go on stage because the set designers had used flowers that did not complement her outfit. An affront to their Archon, she had said, and arrangements had had to be made for an understudy fifteen minutes before curtain up to ensure that there was still a show. Thinking back, she was certain that her snub had put the entire theatre troupe out of business within a month of that performance. “ Everyone turned around to stare at you and then they stared at me, and the last thing i wanted was to draw attention to myself. I don't sit in the audience with everyone else. I never have. And I didn't want anyone to see me there now— ”

       At once, she broke off. Stopped. Stared at Itto, a little dumbfounded — scared, even, as if realising just how easy it had been in her anger to slip back into the role of a lifetime. A role with no end. A role that had warped her entire being grotesquely out of shape over five hundred years. Where did the performance end, and where did she begin? Furina did not know. But she understood well enough that, no matter how much she had wrestled that ugliness into submission over recent months, it still roiled beneath her skin like a monster banished beneath the bed, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

       She was still angry. At Itto, perhaps, but more so at herself. A pained noise clawed its way out of her throat as she turned from him, wrapping her arms around her torso. One deep breath. Another. You are not that person anymore, Furina. This is not how you make friends.

       Worst of all, she didn't have the courage to turn and face him, to see those eyes of his, always so soft and well-meaning, filled with hurt and confusion. “ I’m sorry. That was unkind of me. ” Furina drew another shaky breath. “ You're not from Fontaine. I didn't explain how these things work here. ” It was all so stupid, an insignificant thing to get angry over. She spared a hesitant, guilty glance over her shoulder, and the apology she wished to repeat over and over died in her throat.

[thessence]

i dare u to count all the years we've known each other hoops, i dare u

@avaere

i was LITERALLY on one of my old blog's archives the other day looking for a headcanon and i saw one of our old ships together and looked at the date and nearly cried

ITS BEEN ABOUT 6 OR 7 YEARS

[iniziare]

🔥 and this one's for your general salt outlet

Prompt: Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion. // Accepting. // @avaere

Bring back diaries. And I genuinely mean this with the best intentions at heart, but it's also something that I'm incredibly salty about: your dashboard is not your emotional outlet. I'm also quite frankly, a little worried about how easily people feel so seemingly at ease and comfortable sharing insanely sensitive information about themselves with absolute, total strangers. And I don't mean to say that people here are bad, not at all, I've met some of my closest friends around these parts many years ago— but just because someone is friendly with you, does not make them your friend. No, those two are not interchangeable. But even if we take away those people one talks to on a semi-consistent basis, then your dashboard still consists of... strangers. And I see people talk about financial burdens, health problems (mental is the one I'll focus on here), and actual trauma in their lives as if it's not inherently personal information. Stop it, have we forgotten why 'distrusting' is a concept in life that we are taught early on in age, and also shouldn't ever lose sight of? Life shouldn't be 'let's trust until we're given reason to distrust', it should be the other way around. Guys, you don't know where your venting will end up, you don't know who could read any of this stuff. There are many things in your life that are yours, and can be shared with friends if you need to vent, but I need people to remember that we don't take a megaphone out into the streets and air all of our problems for a plethora of reasons.

Now the other half of it is also... and I know that this will possibly sound mean, but your problems are yours and not anyone else's. Your struggles in your present, your mistakes in your past, and your 'needs' are your own to bear and tend to, and there are ways for you to find help doing so if you require it, and your friends are even there to support you, but your dashboard of your roleplay blog on Tumblr.com is not the audience where it should go. We used to have diaries for this that we vented in (which then became digital, like Livejournal, or personal blogs), which then also helped us organize our thoughts— and we did this because we didn't want the world to know everything about us (which is a good thing), we sought privacy, but also because announcing all that was 'wrong with us' to the masses never actually helped anyone (and if anything, has only made everyone more insecure than ever before because they unconsciously teach themselves to find their value entirely in strangers). Our problems don't concern the world, and thus the world doesn't need to curate itself to appease us or help us, simply because... that's never where the solution was at any point, nor will it ever be where one can find it. Our problems are our own, and involving people that cannot help us with them is doing a disservice to ourselves (as it simply dissuades us from potentially seeking help in places where we should seek it) and them, simply because they cannot help us with them any way, and so burdening them with them is, quite frankly, entirely unjust and unfair. Diaries, guys, diaries, and reclaim the concept of privacy. And no, no one took it from you, you actually freely gave it away, and it's become the reason why generations are getting more, and more insecure as they come, even if they claim not to be.

[ccaptain]

❀ What has made you completely lose your chill?

bless ur soul for validating the monday salt -- @avaere

Completely lose my cool not in terms of anger, but having it tank my mood something huge: that everpresent segment of time that seems like loss of interest but isn't, but you have no way of knowing it unless you're close with the person, that usually discourages me from forming meaningful bonds with my muse entirely. Mostly because it's a recurring occurrance I can't shake off.

Prefacing this by saying that these feelings usually hit me past 9PM, and that you should never listen to anything negative that you're feeling past that hour, as it'll be greatly exaggerated by the brain really kicking into Depressive Territory after that fucking hour.

Maybe a wrong approach to this from my part to be a tad upset about this when it happens, because the person/people is/are probably relaxed enough and the development of their muses is that they don't feel the urgency to consistently scour my blog to look for opportunities to develope them (sending an ask meme, hitting me up to plot a starter, etc.). A bit hurtful all the same, and I'm not going to pretend that it doesn't make me go ''...oh'' when i notice that this is happening- it sucks.

I've found that the best approach I can have to deal with this is put a certaint distance between me and that bond/ship, and stop sending ask memes about them to the mun, who probably has other things in their mind and may feel swarmed/pressured to focus on what our muses have, and consistently reduce how much I interact with the entire thing. Once the mun approaches me with an idea and/or I'm being sent an ask meme, I will calmly get to it whenever I can, and things will go back to normal. 

You're more than allowed to be upset about things like not being prioritized as a rp partner, or outright skipped when it comes to being sent things for interactions. It's completely normal to feel bad about it- it's how you go about dealing with it that's important.

[daybreakrising]

@avaere: "It's entirely impossible to go underwater and breathe, that goes beyond all logic I have ever been taught throughout my years at the Akademiya," so much for indulging in a debate in regards to swimming, the nature of local water in Fontaine, for where there is a sight of someone willingly plunging themselves into such horrific depths there's an architect more than willing to utter his frustrations to poor Vautrin. So much for showing Kaveh the piers of Court of Fontaine. It has resulted in utter disbelief, a blonde holding his hand out in the direction of people jumping into the water from the edge, eyes torn between his company and the death trap; "Are people of this nation just - willingly sacrificing themselves to crabs? You can't possibly tell me that people are supposed to breathe under water, Vautrin. That is not how it works."

Again, disbelief, and possibly a small concern for was to how much water the people of Fontaine happen to be consuming during their little adventures. Perhaps the crabs enjoyed drowned dinner?

Hand retracts to the bridge of his nose, elbow propped up against an arm that laid around the architect's waist. He cannot help but to sigh at it all. "Water is wet, water is heavy and water will fill up every possibly crevice, therefore lungs - drowning, death -" there's a head lifting itself back up to look at Vautrin.

"How - how - do people breathe under water, Vautrin, explain this - because I don't believe it."

It is safe to say that Vautrin has never met a person so adverse to the water in his entire life - all four-hundred plus years of it. Of course, he has never been outside of Fontaine's borders (primordial sea aside, which he argues is both inside and outside Fontaine, but that is besides the point). It used to be a saying from his own youth that children in Fontaine learned to swim before they learned to walk.

As he watches the incredulous expression intensify on the blond's face, his gesturing becoming more exaggerated with every word that increases in both volume and emphasis, Vautrin's relaxes into something akin to genuine amusement. The normally stiff and awkward captain seems to melt away, revealing a hint of the man that lurks beneath the formalities.

"Well, I know not what your Akademiya taught you, but Fontaine water is... unique. Different. We are the nation of Hydro, after all. Is it truly that much of a surprise?" He decides to overlook the rather redundant statement that water is wet, and instead focuses on the question that lingers on the architect's lips.

It is, he assumes, a common question asked from visitors of other lands. A fair one, too - certainly, he understands the disbelief Kaveh cannot shake. "I can assure you, no one is sacrificing themselves to crabs." Is that, perhaps, a hint of exasperation in the captain's voice? But, honestly... the dramatics of this man seemingly know no bounds.

"And for the average person, the water here is no different to anywhere else. That is, they cannot breathe underwater and must, instead, hold their breath for as long as they are able, or use equipment to aid them. It is still very possible for such people to drown if they are not careful." The briefest of shadows flickers across the swirling colours of Vautrin's primordial gaze - a memory, a pain that forever lingers deep in his heart.

It is gone as soon as it appears. He focuses again on Kaveh, on the swirling green particles that dance about his person with every move he makes - and he nods at the vision hanging at Kaveh's waist. "It is different for people like you. Like us." He is quick to add that last amendment. There may indeed be a vision fastened to the cape at his shoulder, but it is not his vision that grants him air beneath the waves.

But Kaveh doesn't need to know that. No one does.

"Would you like me to demonstrate for you?" He can already predict what the reaction to this offer will be, yet he makes it anyway. "I can sit just there, beneath the surface, for as long as I need to in order to prove you will not drown."

Arms cross over the former captain's chest, brow furrowing ever so slightly. "I may not be overly familiar with Sumeru as a whole, but given its rich forests and jungles, I assume there is ample water to be found. Yet your reaction seems so... extreme. Monsieur Kaveh, you do know how to swim, yes?"

[disturbnot]

S H A N ? BACK FROM THE DEAD ? i cannot believe my eyes , is this what it felt like watching jesus rise -

oh you thought i was kidding when i said ash never dies????????

[intcritus]

and where he falters, she is there to be his strength.

Lumine likes to think that she was angry, hurt even when it came to her and Tartaglia’s fight in the Golden House. And maybe, just for a second, she had been. But that had been so long ago, just when she was getting used to Teyvat. And maybe she had never wanted to run into him again, or she’d toss him over her shoulder and chuck him elsewhere, just away from her.

Now though, she can’t go a day, a week without wanting to see his face, to see that mischievous smile. And if she were being honest, she trusted him implicitly, soundly. He was a constant in her journey that she couldn’t really see herself without. It’s weird to think about, even now. She cares for him, she likes him, she misses him. There’s a foundation there that is building upon itself that further solidified with each meeting, every spar, every single moment they spent together. 

And it’s why, when she sees him hurt, there’s no hesitation to help him, to make sure he’s alright, to have his back against anyone who raised their blade to him. The painful lurch in her heart tells her that her journey wouldn’t be a journey without his impromptu appearances. Maybe that’s the reason why she worries, why she’s quick to guide him, her arm around his waist, her words hurried and tinged with worry and concern.

It’s raining, and it soaks through their clothes, washing away the blood ( his blood ) that coats her fingers. She swallows thickly, not wanting to think about blood loss. Maybe she hurries them along ( only a little further, she tells him quietly, her voice cracking ), until they’re inside and she can finally clean away the blood ( there’s so much. Hasn’t his body been through enough ? ) , and patch him up properly. No, the traveler can’t meet his gaze. What if…what if they’re blank ? What if they’re lifeless ? No, he’s okay, she can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady with her own ears. 

Grabbing a towel, she kneels on the bed by his hip, gently toweling his hair. Once it’s somewhat dry, and messy, Lumine puts a hand over his eyes, pushing him to lay down. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get sick from getting caught in the rain, not on top of being hurt. ❝ ━ You’re exhausted. Rest, don’t talk. ❞

There’s a tired, amused huff from him that soothes her nerves and she stays by his side, even when he shifts to lay his head in her lap. She doesn’t scold him, instead, hand comes down to comb his hair away from his face, a heavy sigh easing from her slowly. What if she’d been too late ? Would he have bled out ? No, Lumine shakes the thought away, hand stilling in Tartaglia’s hair, before resuming with a tired smile. He was alright, battered, exhausted, but alright. That’s what mattered. Lumine could relax with that thought, head resting back against the headboard.

she cares for him. | @avaere

[shrineofprophecy]

"Hmm ... compatibility... I canr say I understand the concept , but ther are some of these I find a little strange ; I cannot speak your body language because it's not a verbal language. Challenging others is something I actively do! I believe we should always push ourselves to be the best possible version of our self." Seth seems awfully content with his marks, all done with utmost thought as Jane asked so nicely.

Then of course, there is the light tail sway (he's content). " I would love to go ice skating! Again! I'm bot that great at it, but I had so much fun the first time!" He's offering such a wide smile to Jane.

"Now, how do you tell that this is compatible with the thing you had in mind?"

While languages didn't necessarily needed to be verbal, Jane couldn't deny that he was awful at reading her body. It was all too common for men and women to drool over her flirtatious remarks and the way she carried herself but it was almost as if Seth was immune to it. For some reason, it made her want to teach him how to read her... A little challenge for herself.

"You filled out most blocks and even got 3 lines. That's not bad at all..." She tapped one spot on the paper, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. "But you haven't been fully honest, have you? Remember your visit last time. You kept going on about my laundry and how I needed to sort it, fold it..."

"But~ Since you forgot to cross your cute reactions, it makes it even."

[astrxlfinale]

@avaere replied to your post “"Oh ... wow, that's something else..." Having...”:

WHIPMOMMY ROBIN? HELLO? THAT WAS ODDLY SPECIFIC JACE, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SEARCHING

​

....

Hey so how's that weather going out there???

[resolutepath]

🍒 + apocryphis , you've probably already gotten ventium but i'm tossing in one either way

@apocryphis - fortunately I had not received ventium yet, but I'm rolling up my sleeves now to talk excitedly about such a cool person. I mean ventium has such a wide range of muses and gives so many good insights into all of them, exploring dyanmics is really a joy. I know this because I can say what if x and y to ventium and 10 minutes later we've probably got the basis of a dynamic 9 times out of 10. It's just such an easy conversation and engaging as I feel like ventium always gives so much to think about and respond to that makes back and forth-ing so easy and engaging. And when I'm thinking about characters, well damn are there a range of excellent portrayals over there . I can hear the character's voices in the replies and enjoy seeing the introspections and little quirks that give them so much more life. All this to say I think Ventium is so very cool and I'm glad we get to interact!!

send  me  🍒  +  a  url  for positivity. // @avaere

[immobiliter]

and while it might be the crack of morning, that has not stopped the oni from gathering outside the window ... or windows ... that are sure to belong to furina. he clears his throat upon reliving himself a tied up box, placing it by his feet before he attempts to find a beat. a few taps and clicks, reminding himself of the pace he wants to perform this masterpiece in; one ... two ... yeah , something along those lines! neat flow!

and now for ... his ... audience .

he has arrived prepared to this GRAND SHOW , pebbles in pocket being hauled out one after the other as itto began to throw them on various windows. one of them were bound to be her, right ?

"EY ! YO ! MISS BOSS !" itto eventually shouted after the pebble. if the rocks weren't enough to catch her attention then surely this would do the the trick, hands shaping a small tunell around his mouth to ensure that he would be HEARD. if not by furina, then surely by the rest of fontaine; " WAKE UP MISS BOSS ! IT'S YOUR BIRTH~D A Y ! AIN'T NO BETTER WAY THAN TO WAKE UP THAN TO A BIRTHDAY SONG ! I ALSO BROUGHT CAKE ... ! "

cake indeed, decorated by no other than himself. while he could've settled for a simple happy birthday in writing, he had attempted (poorly) to draw furina in her massive at with beetles around it. quite the masterpiece, and how he had ... received the permission to do so at the baker would be quite the story to tell (he had been washing tins and shelves all night at said baker). but, to show up with a simple cake was just not enough for him, oh no, for as fontaine began to wake up there would also be a serenade outside her window with a beatboxing oni performing a rap for her;

"ey yo, miss boss, grandest of all, check you out, now the brightest star celebratin' on this beautiful day, even got yourself an oni ready to SAYYYY H - A - P - P - Y BIRTHDAY! i'll light all the candles, just lemme know and then i'll blow'em out all the same wouldn't be gentlebro of me to make you work on a day where you are the L - I - G - H - T ! ey yo , miss boss , hear me out a sec' 'cause i've got the batter, the cream and the cake all prepped up for you to enjoy so get your ass up , IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!"

       The first thing she became aware of, sprawled unladylike across her bed, drifting in and out of the comfortable darkness of sleep, was a slight rattle at her window. The first pebble didn't rouse her, but as the second and third were tossed in a similarly vague direction — one hitting the bottom of her windowsill and the other hitting the brickwork next to the window ( likely a good thing, or else she'd have to inform her landlord that her window had gotten broken not long after she'd already annoyed him with that pesky matter of the apartment flood ), Furina finally opened her eyes to seek out the source of the noise.

       A muffled shout followed, and she was jolted suddenly awake. Was there some kind of disturbance outside? As much as she wanted to leave the matter to the gardes, go back to sleep and read about it in the Steambird the next day, the shouting continued and her curiosity was quick to get the better of her. Turning on her bedside lamp and approaching the window, she finally pulled back the curtain.

       That was when she saw him. Arataki Itto, stood on the pavement below, still yelling — for her attention, she finally realised. Her brow furrowed. Furina knew what day it was, of course, and had secretly hoped that Itto might show up and help celebrate it with her, but... She glanced behind her at the clock on the wall and audibly groaned.

       Furina lifted up the window and stuck her head out, blearily glaring down at him below. “ Don't you know what time it is?!? ” Unlike her early bird of a companion, her response wasn't a yell but instead the despairing hiss of someone who has just been rudely awakened from their sleep and hasn't made the jarring adjustment to the waking world yet. It wasn't even properly light outside yet!

       It wasn't even properly light outside and way too early for noise of any kind and yet here he was, satisfied enough that he'd finally gotten her attention that he... started rapping?

       Fontaine wasn't exactly... known for its beatboxing and rapping scene, but Furina might have still admired the talent and creativity involved in Itto's number had she not instead been slumped against the windowsill, head in her hands, trying to resist the urge to let out a guttural scream and cause even more of a public disturbance than what was already in progress.

       That would definitely bring the gardes down upon her friend. There were laws against unreasonable noise at an unreasonable hour, after all: she had decreed and signed off on enough of them as the specific legalese had morphed and changed over the centuries. The gardes did have grounds to arrest him if any neighbours complained ( such as poor Estelle in the workshop opposite ), and Furina didn't fancy spending her birthday appealing to Neuvillette for clemency or the exploitation of a legal loophole all for the sake of her oni companion.

       She ran her hands through her hair — causing it to stand out on end even more than her sleep had managed, she was sure — before retreating from the window entirely. Without so much as a word to the beatboxing oni below, Furina shut the window and vanished from her bedroom. No makeup, no brushing or styling of her hair, not even so much as a glance in the mirror to see what she looked like this damn early in the morning, Furina grabbed her silk dressing robe to wrap around her night dress, picked up her keys and slammed the apartment door behind her.

       A few moments later, Itto ( and anyone else intrigued by this early morning entertainment at their former archon's address ) would have seen a very plain, unadorned looking Furina emerge from the front door and storm towards him.

       “ Yes, that's a really nice cake, Itto — how about you continue serenading me inside my apartment while I get dressed. ” Speaking as politely as she could muster, through absolute gritted teeth, Furina was already half-pushing Itto back towards the door before she'd finished her sentence.

       The sooner he was inside, the better.

[nvrcmplt]

Perhaps he had come to lose it fully now, the fragments of his mind that still grounded him to reality, the parts of him that still allowed him to take enjoyment in the silliest of flavors in the shape of funny cakes and fruits or perhaps the skeletons in his closet had made it out and found themselves walking freely within the hotel, within the endless sea of dreams.

Perhaps, Sunday, was simply mad.

Madness or false belief, he had come to search through one of many shelves of his room, rummaging through old documents and keepsakes brought to him over the years until he stumbled upon the silly little coin. One of many trinkets, but a unique one, a little sign for either to catch onto in their younger days and they'd find themselves incapable of meeting one another. Letters of silly details, stories and slander, written out in hasty cursive on Sunday's end, always ended with a little phrase and a small drawing of what was meant to imitate a silk moth. It wasn't the best of drawings, but it didn't matter. The contents had always been the best, and when they would see that coin vanish they'd know.

They would know.

So what could possibly have driven Sunday to revisit such childish shenanigans. Fear? Guilt? Longing? A mixture of both that would have him rewrite the little note ten, if not twenty, times. Folded pretty and kept in a small envelop as he had sought to reality, seeking out hallways and paths they had ran through in their younger days, hiding from prying eyes that would question their moves.

Was it so, had it truly been him? Only time could tell, and with a little bit of luck... maybe he'd find answer to his lunacy, the torn mind of a halovian whose hearts had reconciled with lost love in the sight of the back that had faded.

In a small corner where only their eyes would look, or had looked, there'd be a small envelop waiting by a silver coin. Within, beautiful cursive. Honed, practiced, refined by the hand of someone whose signature had become far more powerful over the years; I might have fallen into my madness by now, writing this note. But my eyes swore they saw you among the endless faces of others, swore that there was something familiar in how you walked away. This note does me no good, but... I wanted to see... If I have become as mad as I claim myself to be.

And there, at the end, a silk moth.

Headaches and nosebleeds were a common risk factor, it wasn't so much from his making or adjustments in his time of wanting to be useful for The Family - but when he dreamt those dreams. In the dancing golden streams through soft curtains, the haunting warm laughter of three children, the twirling of dress, cape and head dresses. The soft touches of hands linking at fingers and then the sudden plummeting of a cold, dark room. A throb behind his eyes as he widens them with regret - his companion cube, blinking its blinding light to reveal on one of its sides the messages pushed through.

Unknown Number? No… His Orders were given. As he felt the coldness of his training kicking in, he was up and out of his room after showering fast in cold water and dressing in his personalized uniform. Strapping his weapons to thighs and adjusting his jackets long fabric over each hilt, he took off. Patrolling the Hotel's floors, 5 - 15. A gruelling set of levels, but it was his domain when summoned. He didn't need to be debriefed, they never liked him there since they sent him everything they needed to say in the texts and emails prior to his resting hours. Food could wait, his boots heavy as he took to the long corridors and then - here. Bustling faces of families, friends and loved ones. Features feeling like nothing but blurs in the sea of many colours and wealth worn on their bodies.

It was always something here - be it a reputation he was meant to bow too. A smile to share with a flirtatious Shareholder, a person that had more money and wives they could count on their fingers. Cyan could never understand them really. Reputation was nothing but a disease to the skin, a vile expectation for nothing but strangulation. He was sure, that was what he's heard of Sunday's growth. Through whispers and awe of the Head of the Oak Family… Penacony thrived through Sunday, for Sunday --- and Cyan was no longer apart from that. He didn't know this Sunday - he only knew of the small child, the awkward teen, the panicked young adult.

Ventures in these halls bought back memories, of potted plants moved from one place to the next, he remembers more of them lining the walls rather than the balcony seating. The elevators once had candy machines for children nearby - the long halls used to have a jukebox for classic dancing for two… Ashtrays, balloons, data boards - everything and anything to be more interactive, to welcome their guests into the wonderful home of The Hotel and yet now, as he walked the length of level seven - his gait slowed. Staring upon a small opening, a thin corridor that used to house trolleys for suitcases and even storage for pictures to hang on the walls.

Now it was just a small space, a simple table and a singular plant atop. . . That was all it was. No longer a den for children to hide from parents or expectations, run away from curfew and eat cake slices conveniently left out for them to devour with no manners at a table. Innocence and freedom - a well known hideout for their parents but soon to be forgotten as ages grew. Youth took a lot from them but one thing that kept them going was that. Cyan didn't know what he felt any more these days but that… That - made his features shift with nothing holding it back. A lurch of his body pushed his frame into the tight fit. Just wide enough for his damn shoulders - just enough to allow him to bend, reaching out with gloved digits to snatch up the silver coin… A glistening rarity as the golden coins swarmed the planets' currency. A rare piece - pre-cartoon character, an etching long rubbed from years of wear.

The very lost trinket that made his heart bleed its last touch of hope.

And that letter, reached for with trembling digits now to swipe from the floor as if it was contraband and not something that made his lashes wet. This couldn't be, could it? As he inhaled, he moved back on numb limbs, pulling backwards more and more until he was free. Almost falling over himself really but -- "Battle Angel… Report." Duty… a rare sight of another on his floors but he couldn't let them take this. Not today. So, he held the letter tight, thanking his clothing to allow him to tuck the items away - the burning of the coin in his palm, the itch to return it to his icy neck, to press it close to his chest under his clothing where it should belong. Inhaling the desires, swallowing the hope - he returned to the present, turning with steel gaze and a lowered head.

"No disturbances. Continuing patrol." Of course, they weren't going to question it, they didn't have the balls even though they were happy to stare him down with no trust at all, but in his wake, Cyan heard them scoff and mutter curses at his shadow as he moved on with stronger strides. His heart beating faster - a messaging system he thought would no longer be possible. He bet it smelt faintly like ink, he bet it wasn't the first draft, he bets it was in that perfect ink pen and signed in the way that decorated his wall once. A traced etching of that silk moth. Something he was beaten out of in his bunk.

As time went, his impatience reverted to duty bound intensity. Every level was checked, moving with ease to look for older hiding spaces, expecting more, hunting more but finding nothing else. He held the sadness at bay and gave his report in time with his cube's alert system. Granted access to speak through his earpiece, to report his findings of two hidden boxes but of little significance, lost property bagged and written up on already as he stood in wait for his Boss' order. Being dismissed after three hours of standing around, the travel back to his room was never registered. His rifles were placed onto the table, his coat slung up onto the wall hook and his cube placed upon its charging port and offline… Silence and privacy.

The letter was ripped from his coat, the coin too returned to his palm as he sat upon his bed in its furthest corner - under a head lamp and holding the two items in his lap. Staring in some disbelief because what does this mean… His coin, he thought lost years ago, his last connection to Him. The man he fell for all that time ago and ignored since. He saw him once, only once, since being assigned here and now? Now this came to be? His heart hurt, remembering all the tales of Sunday's madness, greed and more for this place. Robin was nothing more than a scapegoat, a pawn of his plans. Cyan too, a test of his abilities and manipulations and lies.

The coin was placed to his forehead, a fear in his gut churning him dizzy. The cold metal was only so much, but the thinned etching from his thumb rubbing the exact same spot for years proved it even more that this was his coin and his coin alone. Now the letter was here. Off-white, a grey one would say. As if it was too speaking the differences from those two. He never did need their faces to be seen properly - he knew from their clothing, their voices, their actions…

The writing was the same… His index moved with ache in his heart, following each practised loop, the dotted i's, the topped T's. He felt like he was looking into the past with each line. He wanted to laugh and cry, to weep and cheer, to feel and not feel the giddiness in his blood, but his head began to hurt. A stinging jab that made him release the letter and coin to instead hold his cranium in agony. He knew he couldn't talk to them any more, it was solidified many times. Punishments and spat truths about Sunday's manipulations returned to his mind and he knew it to be true. Sunday was just insane… this was how the was meant to be, wasn't it? Was Sunday teasing him now he was on this floor? In the Hotel and not stuck in the dreams?

Was it Sunday's doing that he was signed here? Sunday was the top man now, of course that man had his files, his records, his life in those palms, much like Robin. Pawns. Toys. Things to play with when times are slow. . . Wasn't that right? His pain subsided, his heart cold and his fingers no longer trembling, but he stared upon the items with clear intent. His thumb gentle in stroking over the moth etching, refined and better than times of young, but it was still something he could not reply too.

Yet, he couldn't stop his own pen etching his reply - a note of torn notepad, a truth to his haste, but unlike practised ink-cursive, the reply was thick small capital letters. He had no fountain pen nor charcoal pencil, only a black-out marker. A truth to him as a being. Preparations for old messaging manners were not so sought for in his room thus letter writing was indeed just happening at this moment. . .

A question of his own.

One he knew he would need to come back to read its reply… or maybe something he will run away from forever.

[ Why is it now, in your madness that you look for me? ] [ Your eyes never lie. ] [ I was always here. ]

Hurt - as coin was placed back into the envelope… His footfalls heavy as if pushing through mud and waters instead of crossing carpeted corridors… To return the letter and coin, to reply - but his gaze troubled and mind fizzing. He stared upon his hand where thumb smudged in black ink made him think back upon his signature;

--- a falling meteor and two stars.

[iniziare]

🔥 + shipping in hoyoverse fandoms (;

Prompt: Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion. // Accepting. // @avaere

/grumbles. You know exactly what I'll say here, Aven, you're cheating. But here we go: the double standards of M/M ships versus everything else. The fact that M/M ships come out of the wood works simply when two male characters appear in the same trailer (even if entirely separately from one another), but if I ship a hetero ship (or lesbian, though that falls into a slightly different topic as people's avoidance of those is something else altogether), I need to bend over backwards even if it's canonically substantiated and would have an overwhelming amount of fans if it was an M/M ship. I understand the need for representation and its support, I do, but it's not that clear-cut and simple here. Because here's my thing, it doesn't just end there, and I'll use HSR's Kafblade as an example because I think that one has really gotten a hell of a lot of hatred. I need to sift through horrendous commentary on X that inevitably always pops up even in search results (or worse, in an artist's notes) when I'm simply doing something as mundane as... looking for fan-art. Anything from calling Kafka, a woman (you know, the ones women always preach should receive more support and respect), inherently toxic, to calling the shippers anti-LGBT because apparently Blade and Kafka are 'canonically' a gay man and a lesbian (where?), as if bisexuality still doesn't exist in 2024. And it still doesn't end there, because then I'm told that the people hating on Kafblade get just as much hatred. Okay, even if I accept that to be true for the sake of argumentation, the ones hating on, in this instance, Kafblade belong to the group that ships the overwhelmingly popular M/M ship (we all know I'm talking about Renheng in this instance). The support there is insane, there's a never-ending supply of art, much more than Kafblade— any hatred that it would get, would be drowned out quickly. Now granted, I admit that Kafblade is also not an ideal example, as its shippers have in turn rebelled into presenting a relatively aggressive defense, so I'll use Avenpaz as an example instead who goes against Ratiorine, or Guili in Genshin who goes against Zhongchi. When they're not being hated on (or judged) by the popular M/M ships, people need to apparently run a hundred extra miles as to prove that they have any sort of validity, or to even find shipping partners for them on Tumblr, because who knows who might judge you. Whether it's for liking a ship that isn't the popular ship. or for simply, possibly not shipping the popular M/M ship.

But here's also my issue, and this is likely the really 'unpopular' part of this opinion, but I don't even know if everyone (I know numerous do, don't worry) ships it for anything other than 'it's just two hot guys'. No substance, no rationality, nothing other than 'two men'. And here's my thing, if that's all you're in it for, that's your decision, but don't hide behind the curtain of 'pro-LGBT!!' while judging those who don't ship it, as if you're on some moral high ground. Because if you were situating yourself on a bit of a social political pedestal, you'd be shipping lesbian ships just as easily.

[despairforme]

Setting Nnoitra up on some dates . @avaere ( Nathan ) .

Nnoitra had been the first one to swipe right on this guy. Who the fuck WOULDN'T wanna go out with ( or at least fuck ) a good-looking cowboy? It was the outdoors profile picture that had sold it. Despite living in an apartment in the city, Nnoitra preferred nature. Anything outdoors. The greener the better. The more quiet the better. This was the first time he'd matched with someone who didn't live inside the city ( at least it didn't seem that way from his profile ).

YEAH, he was excited about his cowboy match. Even if he actually hated horses. And sheep.

Matching with someone different for once was inspiring, and Nnoitra was quick to message him.

message; Nathan - 「 yo 」

message; Nathan - 「 gimme that outdoor cowboy date 」

message; Nathan - 「 i hate th city 」

Yeah, maybe he came off as too aggressive sometimes when he texted. He just HATED small-talk and he'd rather just get straight to the point. He fucking hated it when people texted him "how are you" as a greeting. So he never did that himself. He sure would be fucking disappointed if he didn't get a "outdoor cowboy date".