#jxrmngxndr

[5point1]

✦ fata organa: a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains.

cw: addiction, gambling

There is something inherently beautiful about gaming.

Hear her out - she doesn't mean video games, but just… games. Sharing joy and laughter with others, old and young, bridging gaps between languages or distances through a brief escape from reality. This is what Silver Wolfs loves about games, and sharing games with others: there are challenges to be overcome, but fun to be had, and friends to be made.

As with every escape from reality, sometimes the fictional world becomes all too alluring, blurring the lines between what is real and what is not.

She saw it in her own reflection in the screen of that basement arcade game; the darkness of the stuffy room almost suffocating, the power having gone out for just a moment, but long enough so that her game reset, and she could see into her own eyes. It was like looking into the face of a nameless stranger, those sunken in eyes, one who had simultaneously lost everything and had nothing else left to lose. Just one more level, one more win - one brief glimpse of hope.

It gave her pause. Only for a second. Once the engine whirred back to life, that nameless young loner's fingers resumed moving with practiced muscle memory: left, right, left, left, hold down, right, up, left. Her only friend, the joystick.

Silver Wolf sees this empty stare in the eyes of others at times, in gaming halls when the stakes are higher. If anyone were to point out that stranger that just lost their life savings on picking the wrong card, she might scoff or quip about not putting all of your eggs into one basket.

She knows well she still has a piece of that stranger living within her, deep down. Would she still be stuck in front of that same basement screen had she not been found by that man, woman, metal humanoid and ∎∎∎∎ that day? She does not like to linger on the answer to this question, knowing the answer would likely be "yes."

[trailblczed]

✧ tichloch: the anxiety of never knowing how much time you have left.

@garmgeyr also asked: obscure sorrows drabble prompts ( 1 + 2 ) | Not Currently Accepting.

You ever just sit in your favorite computer chair, or lay down in your comfy bed and think about your existence? You ever wonder why you cannot recall who you are, who you once were, who you are supposed to be? Caelus does. He does it a lot.

But can you blame the boy? His first memory is being woken up by two strangers, and after being probed about who he was or what he was doing, the silver had no idea what the answer to any of those questions were. Sure he gave them a name, but he always wonders if he's lying to himself, that his name is actually something else. Maybe another version of himself.

Ever since the discovery of a Stellaron inside him, Caelus always worries he might randomly go "BOOM!" and take out everyone and everything around him. He is a constant danger to everyone, why do they just let him hang around like nothing is wrong, like he isn't a threat to their lives simply by existing- sure, Welt may have been able to knock him out, or keep the Stellaron in check or whatever magical whimsy the man is capable of doing to prevent the thing from exploding, but that doesn't mean that it was a permanent fix. Even worse, Caelus doesn't want to have to rely on the man- or should a situation arise where they are separated and Caelus isn't in the elder's protective bubble, then there is no way of knowing when or what will make him tiktikboom.

Not that it entirely matters, because it isn't as if Caelus would survive afterwards anyway. He's sure he's only "alive" because it's inside him. So regardless the how, or when, he won't be around..

Who's to say it won't be tomorrow? Maybe the Script says he will live for another 20 years, maybe a few Amber Eras- living well passed the other Express' member's deaths and being on his own to pop in isolation.. maybe that wouldn't be so bad to explode at that point. Would it even be better to go before them? No.. they would likely mourn him.. and Caelus doesn't want to put any of them through that. He'd rather take the burden by himself.. Or, maybe he'd be able to stick with Pom-Pom.. being their companion for as long as the Express is operational. Maybe someday he too will be bound to the train created by Akivili and restored by Himeko.

The only thing that is for certain, is that it is uncertain.

[aevitium]

✧ ˖  @jxrmngxndr asked:

[FIREWORK SHOW]  + [JADE HEARTS] He did not even have to search to find her, it was simply the gravity of them that drew them within each other's proximity, time and again. Kevin had not intentionally saved her for last, had not avoided her anymore than one could avoid the beating of one's heart, no matter how subdued under it all. "Elysia." There was no preamble, no need for any prolonged greeting or explanation, merely fitting himself at her side, tilting his face up to see the shattering of red, of golds and greens and pinks and whites against the night sky already basking in the ambient glow of the lantern light. If he had been a younger man, the naïve boy he had once been, the display might have stirred something profound within him, but after so many years he merely felt... Calm. A furrow formed in his brow, and he angled his head down to look at her for a moment before his hand dug around in his coat pocket, prompting the telltale clatter of so many pieces of stone. He extracted one, one particular one, a smooth, flawless white piece of jade, and proffered it in his upturned palm. "I...picked one for each of us." Who us was, he did not feel the need to elaborate. After a beat, he added, "This one is yours."

"Hi~♪"

As she always has, Ego peers up at Deliverance. Fireworks dapple the pale canvas of his hair, the line of his profile, in myriad colors. He looks serene, as serene as she thinks she has seen him in some thousands of years. As serene as she thinks he can look, what with the permanent frown etched into his features, the hollow way his gaze always seems to look for something that is not there.

She is used to it, when he looks at her and that fact does not change.

Curious, attention flits to follow his hand. Pink brows arch, there's an amusement on her face as though she might be watching a fawn find its legs. A fond, sweet sort of feeling, one such that she always finds herself experiencing at an effort of affection from the coldest man she has ever known.

"Oh?" Elysia looks then to his palm, hovers over it as would a curious bird, with hands clasped behind her back and neck inclined. The surface of the stone is inspected thoroughly, considered from every angle, until finally she reaches to take it.

"The prettiest one, I hope."

Delicately, between her thumb and index fingers, the jade is held to the sky. Light bursts and shimmers behind it, framing pale ivory in brilliant gold and crimson. Elysia smiles, how familiar.

"Hm, on second thought, it certainly is."

[frostgnawd]

✧ énouement: the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, finally learning the answers to how things turned out but being unable to tell your past self.

Obscure Sorrows

There's a child that lingers in the reflection of the ice, too small and too weak and too insignificant to be anything but a shadow. Perhaps that is how he should've stayed, all wide eyes and trembling hands and fear that the world around him would swallow him whole. Sunlight is an indulgence he's rarely partaken in, and now, he cannot escape it. Now, he is center-stage, as if everything in the world depends on his very being.

He decides to try.

Every tentative step he takes is a daring venture. Every sickness he overcomes is in spite of fate reminding him where he should not be, and every challenge he takes on upon a healthier constitution he does so with an earnestness and dedication that hardly suits his sickly disposition.

He still tries. He dedicates himself to trying, guided by the hand of a man that will never be as bitter as his father was, and the smile of a woman who will never be as weary as his mother was, and the cheerful tone of a boy who will never truly understand him.

( The former are perspectives whittled away by death and time, and the latter has always been his fault entirely. )

He keeps trying. His past begins to fade, and the future opens up before him, and he's so close to bridging the difference that it leaves behind. He's so close to grasping the light -- he's so close to becoming something more than shadow.

But the boy raised in shadow does not understand how intense light can be. He's clumsy, and he's careless, a gaze suited for darkness unable to comprehend the dangers hidden in plain sight. He doesn't realize that this light he's trying to grasp has a heart of its own.

The boy in the shadows, the boy that is a shadow, has known fire within caverns, the torches that burn and illuminate the walls; he is familiar with that comfort instead, of places that are hidden but not dark, and he has mistaken that for the light that he glimpsed at the end of the tunnel, at the escape he might've found if only he'd been more conscientious of the manner in which he tread.

There's a boy in the ice, and Kaeya does not see him so often anymore -- but he does see him tonight. An illusion of the sight, of the mind, and yet somehow he hears that hesitant voice call out anyway.

"It works, doesn't it?" He asks, and Kaeya only smiles. He is taller and wiser and far more confident, and yet, he is still a shadow.

He will always be a shadow. If only he'd realized sooner.

"You try." He says, and the ice cracks, shattering into the same nothing it has been from the start. "But it's not enough."

[renascinem]

[VINGT-ET-UN]- Let’s go gambling! The best bar in Fleuve Cendre is holding a Black Jack tournament. It’s time to test your luck and see if you can make it big, or lose it all.

The easiest way to get the cut of a man was to put him in a situation where he could lose everything. Kevin had lost everything, and had pressed forward, had pushed those with him forward, the better that they too and all those around them did not lose everything.

It was not this which had made him suited for this game, but it didn't hurt.

What had made him best suited for this game was patience. And reticence.

He cocked his head, just a fraction, and watched the movements of the man across from him, equal and opposite in all measures as the game had progressed and more players had fallen, to their excitement, to their hubris.

He made no sudden movements, glancing at the cards the single time they were dealt, and keeping them facedown, hand over top of them as though to say that it was finished.

Regardless of what hand either was dealt, it would be the end.

"...Good game," was all he said, in spite of the chill.

Dan Heng's exploration of Fontaine eventually took him into the city's lower section, where a whole new world awaited. It's almost impossible not to draw the parallel between this and Belobog - the living conditions, the ways of life, the norms and traditions. It's a little unusual, though in the end, he pays it little mind.

Just as he didn't fear the Underworld back there, so too does he have no fear of this place, strolling around freely. Fleuve Cendre - that's what he heard it being called in passing - appears to be celebrating in their own ways; a lot more modest, but that doesn't make them uninteresting, and if anything, in some ways, they're much more his style than the glam and pomp on the surface.

In the end, he gets pulled into a card game tournament, and while some others appear to be in on it for the big game (at least, going by some of the cheers and wails nearby), all he wants is a moment to chill out. His opponent appears to be a somewhat enigmatic man; if Dan Heng were to guess by his clothes and general appearance, he did not seem like a local, either. But it is not as though that would ever bother a wanderer who spent years trying to just get away from home, as far as he could.

He looks at his cards one more time, and plays his hand, ending the game to the applause and joy of the onlookers.

"Good game to you, as well," he says with a respectful nod. His opponent was indeed skilled.

[avcnturine]

[MIC CHECK] - It's hard work to make sure all the equipment is good working order! Help the sound team out by singing in a few notes with a partner.

SQKREEEEEEE - !!!

The microphone would not stop screaming at him - no matter the distance of his fingers to its base, it protested shrilly to his presence in a way that had begun to appear most distressing to not merely the sound team, but passers-by.

Kevin grimaced - or rather, his lips ticked slightly downward in contemplation of the predicament. He was not the sort of man to leave a task unfinished, once he had pledged himself to it, but if this was the way that it kept behaving...

Eyes slid to the side, seeking out someone - anyone, in truth, who might have taken to the stage better than he - and finding his mark in a man whose smile seemed to wear him, rather than the other way around.

"...Perhaps you might be better suited to help with this. Would you come, lend your talents?"

Static buzzing, crackling with feedback, Kevin handed the microphone off to the young man, gaze simultaneously curious and pleading.

THE TINNY SCREECH OF MISBEHAVING TECH, the din of a hosted event venue in its preparation stages——sometime in the years since shedding rags and the ubiquitous roughness of sand for his newly-minted image, he'd gotten used to things like this.

aventurine is just passing by when the notes of shrill whining reaches its peak, every head in the room turning to glare at the unfortunate perpetrator. the young man standing on the stage looks no better off for it, nervously cognizant of the unwanted attention yet seemingly at a loss to fix it. where were the sound technicians? he can't imagine they'd left someone who had no idea what he was doing to set up the equipment.

as luck would have it, those nervous eyes scanning the room land on his, and decide to stick there. he sighs ; the meaning's clear enough. who'd he be to let this man stand up there and continue to flounder?

"i'm here today to meet with the producer about details regarding expenditures, not as an extra hand for the sound crew." measured steps bring him up abreast of the other on the stage, dimming the microphone's grating screech with a sharp tip of the instrument down toward the floor. though his words alone seem couched in admonishment——even threat——his tone is gentle and pleasant, lulling between the hypnotic serenade of honeyed tongue and auroral eyes. "i'm just letting you know: the company may end up owing for this."

he's no expert, but enough times on a variety of stage, set, radio, and otherwise, and anyone might pick up a trick or two from watching. the problem has to be with the speaker towers set up not a far distance away. but just as he positions to lift the microphone stand with both hands and move it, the instrument's shrieking suddenly stops completely. caught by surprise, he gingerly releases it. still nothing, even though it hadn't shifted an inch.

"hm. . . " he tilts the microphone back up. "testing, testing." the avgin's velvet caresses the air of the auditorium just fine, so he steps back and gestures for the other to try his luck again——but almost immediately, the stand begins to whine again as though sentient.

mm, i see how this is.

with a chuckle, he returns to his previous place ; the impending screech quiets once more to obedience as he looks to the other with something part apology, part admittance. "looks like something's gotten into this one. i'd be careful about sourcing anything from penacony if you're not accustomed to handling it. best to just find a new mic for now."

[cisoriaseams]

🎲 what's the worst that could happen-

A bloody kiss

I don't think it's that bad but in case anyone gets unsettled or discomforted by mentions of violence, gore, and/or torture. 👍

A new phenomenon, to feel so little in the presence of another. Blades of wind and daggers of ice, static that seeped through veins like the roots of a tree. Such torture bred animalistic urges, thrashing and growling, screeching out each time a blow or stab was delivered.

Hair messily framed ruined features, one eye swollen to the point of not being able to properly close. Busted lips and cuts on her forehead were cauterized in the heat of electrocution, only to be reopened with simple flicks. Each pause would leave the seamstress twitching, gasping and slobbering without control. Breathing made her chest sore. Tears had all but dried up, a sign that despite growing resistance, her body could not stand to her mental fortitude. She was still human.

Such favors seem to have caught up, dragged to some outpost far off in the countryside by some rogues, dawning the Fatui's fits. Any empty threat about what their superiors may do were ignored. Consequences would only find them if Chiori were to escape. Things may not have been so bad if she had not attempted such flight already, now sitting with two blades twisted into each thigh.

Bruises and blows only grew, each member taking their turn in roughing her up. Breaths only grew quicker, drawing as much from the air as her lungs may allow one the prospect of a broken nose presents itself. They realize she can still breathe. Stomach and chest then barraged with heels and fists, her jaw receives so many right hooks one may mistake her for the catch of the day. Blood is spat upon the ground; gasps grow shorter, quicker, trying stay conscious. Eyes begin slipping.

Slipping.

Slipping...

A sudden crash, mere seconds as Deliverance rips through the stone tower. His expression is as cold to gaze upon as he is to touch. Forced awake by the sounds and lack of pain leave her to watch as each member is dispatched with ease. Jerking, arms and legs can't seem to work with each other, wanting to help despite it not being needed. No, she did not want to help. She wanted to break even.

His justice is too quick, too painless.

When he finally comes to her aid, she immediately tries to move forward, rising on her own, only to collapse on the floor. An arm comes forward, so tense that it feels as if the sinews keeping it joined to her are being ripped apart. Even going forward an inch is too much. He makes her feel without weight, hoisting her and carrying her so easily. Her neck craning to keep it upright, eyes cannot focus.

"Kevin. Look at me..." Just shy of hyperventilating, she asks, "Kevin... please..." she asks, reaching up to take haphazardly grab at his collar. "Kevin..." she repeats, until he finally looks down. Lips find his without warning, eyes too swollen to even close. "Thank you," is what she offers when she finally releases him.

[huntersoath]

[FIGHT SCENE] - Fighting can be tough, but faking a fight and making it look real is even more difficult. How about a demonstration for these blossoming actors?

[EXT. - WOODLANDS - DAWN]

[Our duelists find themselves pacing apart in the swirling mist just before sunrise, counting the steps as though counting their heartbeats. They cannot remember what brought them here, but it is their honor at stake - and neither will let the other leave this field alive.]

ANTONY (At the tenth pace, he turns, lifts his sword in a salute) I detest that it has come to this. But needs must.

Kevin takes the final step and turns, as his script bids him, but instead of those final words, he glances across the way and assesses his opponent coolly - just, it seems, as she does he. If this were a real battle, he could not have been less interested in giving a speech, merely driving forward to test the mettle and iron of the person before him.

He nods, once, the flick of the sword light in his hand in salute.

"Come."

For being expected to act out a scene... It seems like they both share the similarity in which they'd rather let their actions do the talking. Clorinde doesn't feel the need to arrive to a battle with flowery words in tow, or any at all; her rapier will express everything necessary within the confines of the Dueling Ring. In this case, it very well may be the best way to get to know the man standing across from her. Tucking one arm behind her in the typical pose she assumes when preparing for a bout, her back remains straight and rigid as she raises her own rapier in a sword salute as means of extending courtesy. From what Clorinde remembered, their characters were meant to be bitter rivals that were once friends before drifting apart-- and part of it strikes a chord in her that she wished it wouldn't. "How polite of you. Very well," She responds in an even tone before her foot shifts ever so slightly, the only indicator of her movement before she dashes forward with lightning speed; the crackle of thunder in her wake is merely an aftereffect of her vision, the purple sparks dancing across the length of her prop sword. She doesn't have the intention of actually using it, of course. As she swings, the sparks quickly die out into nothing as she follows through with her strike-- in the last millisecond before it would connect, she halts completely to avoid making an actual hit. It's close enough to where it could easily seem that she did land the swing, but it also gives him the option to feign an injury or respond in kind with his own onslaught. "Your move, then." The ghost of a smile on her face betrays the amusement with which she treats this situation, barely a hint of enjoyment flashing in her eyes.

@jxrmngxndr

[immovablewill]

The trek to Mount Tianheng proved to be quite… arduous. And yet, tourist guides continued to insist on taking this route for its breathtaking view and the perfect backdrop of Liyue Harbor for their Kamera shots, never mind the fact that both Treasure Hoarders and Hilichurls frequently roamed the area.

Sara, for her part, had only tagged along in her quest to fulfil all the activities listed in a pamphlet handed to her by one of her men. Yet here she was instead, with her bow in hand, wiping away the thin streak of sweat trickling down her chin with the back of her hand. A heavy, unamused sigh escaped her lips as she watched the last of the bandits scramble off the mountain trail, their retreat marked by the sounds of clumsy feet and muffled curses.

“Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath, keeping her bow trained on the empty space where they had stood moments ago. Her eyes swept over the fallen weapons and scattered coins, before shifting towards the only other tourist who had stepped in to lend their aid.

Her lips parted to give him her thanks, but before she could even say a word, a loud clap rang through the mountain, cutting her off.

Startled, Sara’s gaze snapped upward to find the source of the noise. A flamboyant man—yet another one of the visitors—stood at the front of the group, grinning from ear to ear and his hands raised up high in a dramatic applause.

“Incredible. Simply incredible!” His voice boomed, carrying across the mountainside as though they weren’t standing a mere few steps from each other. “Oh, you must be the hired guards I’ve heard about! Yes! Wonderful indeed! I had thought against employing them, but to think that Liyue officials would be thoughtful enough to send a few with us anyway! Marvelous! My clients and I—we will be far safer with you on our side. We simply must talk about the terms of your... services once we've arrived safely at the Harbour. Yes, yes! Let’s get moving, shall we?”

Without waiting for a response, he waved his hand grandly to signal the rest of his entourage, most of whom still seemed to be processing what had just occurred. Some were adjusting their Kamera straps, others muttering amongst themselves about how “thrilling” it had been, treating the earlier fight as if it were a part of some performance.

Sara turned to the man beside her once more. She didn’t need to hear him speak to know he wasn’t particularly thrilled by the idea either. Still…

“We can’t possibly leave them be now.”

waow… thank u 50,000 year old german man online.

⁀➴ with @jxrmngxndr

[trailblczed]

[XINYUE KIOSK] - Back again, Xinyue Kiosk’s keeping up the competition, offering sweet treats, savory dishes, and even refreshing veggies for all those looking to share a snack.

If he was to see the boy again, he could be relieved that it was under kinder circumstances. There were so few kindnesses in the world, and especially in that world where they had found themselves trapped not too terribly long ago, and although Kevin knew that the unkindnesses would continue, at least for the moment they found themselves shielded within the bubble that Liyue had to offer.

Though he had ordered two orders of the soup dumplings, when he handed off one to Caelus he did not immediately lift the chopsticks and spoon to partake, crossing his legs and waiting patiently for the boy to eat.

"...If you would like something else, I can order that instead," he said, after a moment. It didn't matter terribly to him, all rather the same to him for one reason or another, but his eyes searched for cues on Caelus' face.

Lantern Rite Gifts | 4(9)/5 [ CURRENTLY NOT ACCEPTING ANY MORE GIFT PROMPTS. ]

Here he was, back at the place that tried to kick him out not even a few days ago. Caelus is just glad the same worker isn't there to yell at him again ( cae would likely have a hard time not punching the person to be perfectly honest- ). But! He is sat down, his heart full and his stomach empty ( when is it not ) as he spends more time with the Shadow he barely got to know.

It really is nice being able to like... be normal and just have a typical outing that doesn't involve life or death and crazy groups who crave violence and injustice or some other nonsense story-line that Caelus just doesn't understand the appeal of ( not entirely true, Caelus loves a good super hero story- he just doesn't want to be in the story ). So being here with his new brother bud to simply enjoy a meal is a nice breath of fresh air.

Caelus didn't really care what they ordered, as Caelus isn't picky with what he eats ( something he has been lovingly scolded for [definitely not eaten trash before nope nuh-uh no sir-e not him] ) so he ends up just getting the same thing as his companion ( he really should learn this guy's name--) . Though it is rather odd the way the other hands Caelus his portion.. then simply watches him, as if waiting on Caelus for something- at least, that's the impression the boy gets.

Something about how gentle the statement is, how thoughtful the gesture is of the Shadow offering to get him something different, makes him laugh- a quiet huff tinted with amusement and a hint of affection.

❛ You could sit just about anything in front of me and I would eat it- I'm not picky. Though if they have some sort of cold treat, I'd love to try that afterwards. ❜

He gives a slight shake of his head before taking a spoonful of the soup and scarfing it down ( Caelus! Where are your table manners?! ). It is delicious, unsurprisingly so- they are at one of the most popular and well rated food establishments around. He emits a pleased hum, letting the flavor settle in before going for another spoonful.

As he's enjoying his second bite, Caelus notices that there was a side of veggies that was on a small plate to the side- and they each had one. Yet, for some reason, the plate Caelus received ( given by the waitress or from his companion, he isn't sure- he doesn't pay attention a lot ) had a larger variety than what was on the other man's plate. Maybe it was his general soft-hearted nature, or the random reminder that the one sitting near him had some sort of connection to one of his family members ( his father Welt, of course ) causing him to have some sort of.. familial instinct, that makes Caelus take a few of the larger tofu pieces ( as well as a few radish slices ) off his own dish and transfer them over to his companion's plate instead.

The lad thinks nothing else of the gesture, easily returning back to his own meal to chew and hum a made up tune as he soaks in the tender atmosphere and yummy food.

[dream-of-butterflies]

✦ jouska: a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.

A mirror.

A mirror is a reflection of one's self, a reflection of the experiences, the thoughts, the feelings that make up a person in their entirety. It is a rare time one can see such a full reflection of the self, and the ways in which that reflection can change.

Seele stared into that mirror. At first, a neutral expression reflected back at her. It was an expression that didn't seem to convey any distinct meaning, an expression that she wore when she wasn't sure how to feel in the moment.

Next, an expression of her, once a young child, reflected back. In the background of that childish reflection were the streets of Rivet Town, the streets she knew better than any other kid her age could even dream of. The streets that reflected, as if this childish reflection had been staring into a window, rather than a mirror. The childish reflection held a bucket of water in her hand, visibly shaken. As the Seele of the present stared into this reflection of her past, all she could wonder was --

Am I doing the right thing?

The childish reflection of the self dissipated, and once again Seele had been face to face with her present self. This time, a sullen expression seemed to flutter its way back to her, an expression befitting of a guilty memory.

She asks that question out loud. "Am I doing the right thing?"

Seele stares at herself, wondering how this conversation would play out with her friends, her loved ones. Would the others in Belobog tell her she's doing a good job? Would she be reassured by her friends? Is that reassurance something she wishes to hear right now?

"Or...do I just want people to tell me I'm doing a good job...? So any insecurity I hold can scurry away for a little bit longer."

Being a member of Wildfire wasn't easy for her. Being Bronya's bodyguard was even less so. She had the constant worry that she would screw up in several ways, that she would make more work for Natasha and Oleg, or possibly put Bronya's, her friend's, safety in jeopardy.

But even as she has those worries in mind, she doesn't want confirmation or denial of any of them. She's scared that if she gets confirmation that her worries are true, that she'll never recover, and she'll only fall deeper within herself. But if her worries are denied, rejected, then she's worried that she'll grow complacent, that she is only going to falter further.

Seele isn't a perfectionist, no not by any means. But, she is a woman constantly scared of a conversation, one that provides an answer to one, simple question:

Am I doing the right thing?

[originsrebirth]

🎲

just how long had she been fighting ? how many hours had passed ? how many honkai beasts had she slain with this blade ?

one by one , they fell to the herrscher of thunder with ease , yet their numbers were greater then her own , she was one , they were many , she knew she could take them down , this was the mission Kevin gave her , she knew she was capable of such -- she had to be capable of such .

that was her duty , she was a weapon , this was what world serpent demanded of her , this is what she would do -- hours had to have passed by now , her body beginning to betray her , she had the will , she had the drive to continue going -- their numbers started slowing down , finally . . . instead of three coming at her at once , it dwindled down to two , then one at a time , as if trying to buy time . . .

yet , she wasn't so weak as to give up just yet , she had her reasons to fight , she had to keep going .

she had to , for her , for them .

. . . her sword pierced through one of the beasts , sweat rolling down her face , as the beast began to quickly decay and vanish . . . her sword fell in front of her , the sound of the metal rang out as it hit the ground , the woman panting , eyes darting around , making sure there was none others , her movements shaky , the adrenaline having filled her body had finally worn out .

she was still getting used to these powers and it was beginning to show . . . she wasn't a master of it just yet , despite what she'd want to be shown on the surface , as she took a few more heavy breaths . . . the woman collapsed , beginning to crawl towards her blade , gripping the handle momentarily -- but it quickly released .

there were no more for now . . . she could rest , just for a little . . . her eyes shut , vision fading to black . . .

when they reopened ? she saw . . . the sky above , moving . . . she was -- moving ? her eyes looked over to the one who had been responsible -- she saw . . .

" Kevin . . . ? "

she weakly called out , it had felt so embarrassing to be in such a vulnerable state , yet he had likely been watching , choosing to carry her out when she was weakened , when she needed someone , her sheathed blade resting atop her , she couldn't help but laugh .

his embrace was . . . cold , yet , warm at the same time , she felt safe , if only momentarily .

she weakly raised her head , delivering a soft kiss to his cheek . " thank you -- again . " before passing back out , seems she used up the last of her energy .

[imaginarynoumenon]

 [FIREWORK SHOW] - While noisy, fireworks are an incredible display of beauty and color. Make your mark on the new year with a bang!

He had spotted him before he even entered the city, not by sight, but by the familiar trace of his energy signature, that prickling aura that the man gave off ere he went – in the same way, Kevin supposed, that his own presence was difficult to mask, due to age, to power, to intent.

He could not pretend to know what it was that drew Otto Apocalypse to this place at this time, knowing that the start of a new year to someone of his age and experience was a drop in the ocean. However, he could not, likewise, assume that Apocalypse was here to pose a threat.

His approach he saved for when the sun had long set, when the sky was lit by the ambient warmth of the lanterns and the bright pops and scatters of all colors of the rainbow, flashes of dramatic light against the sharp angles of Otto's face, and of his own, silhouettes against the inky black sky.

"A new experience," he said, softly, knowing that his voice would carry in the stillness. "For both of us."

He had been outside of Liyue most of his time throughout this holiday, and using the camouflage of foreigners of this world and the next to serve as a hub for his nightly return. Food, light, and safety are the appeals of civilization and he's not going to neglect that as he matches his way through the people who mill the streets. From where he came he passes the famous kiosks and the most amount of people all the way until the quiet Bubu Pharmacy, where the people are few except the elders, a stray employee, and a few of the militia. He walks past the general area and he goes up the stairs, the nightlife cutoff as only one Mililith stares at them from the large palace on the landing.

In his hand, he keeps his grip on what he had retrieved from the plains beyond the protective walls. While he's quite pleased with his current procurement, he'd be lying to say his tail was a part of those pickups he cared for. From the day he came into this city he did not feel the eyes of scrutiny he had once donned, all faces and eyes coming up with their own first impressions and ideas of his lives story. Some don't even care to make it that far, and he appreciates that.

But not these eyes, not the icy presence of a hailing memory and figure spiritually larger than the city itself. Of all the festival goers, white hair sure is stark to the dark haired gentleman in the dark of the city, the silver-haired lad who totes around a bat, or the short lady who set off fireworks right in his ears and on his toes. A small distraction, they were.

In the dark of the upper terraces, he clutches the item into his palm and it disappears from sight as the street lights kick on. With the yellow light, he feels the eyes again before his voice reaches his ears.

A familiar voice, speaking true yet nonsensical words. Otto Apocalypse can share a smile to it, even if Kevin was one to entertain his whims once. At a deal, yes, but he'd earned that deal. The fireworks go off near the docks as he finally speaks to the man out of his sight, away from the traitorous yellow street lights.

He's as cocky as he ever is, and his voice betrays nothing but his familiar smirk. "A new experience for both of us, I'm sure. How is the new lease on life treating you, after the ads and stalking of a fellow tourist?"

[secondsovereign]

[TEA TASTING] - Third-Round Knockout is once again bringing the new year on with plenty of new tea options for all those caffeinated connoisseurs that want to branch out. Including, for the first time in quite a while, specialty imports all the way from Natlan!

The tea had cooled before it hit the table, much to the chagrin of the proprietor, who had insisted that the spices from that faraway nation were best enjoyed hot. Kevin waved them off with a hand, and a press of coin to the table for the trouble, not taking his eyes from the man before him.

If one didn't know him well, they might have seen caution or even a chilly assessment in his face, but after a moment he sighed, eyes fluttering closed, and he raised the teacup to his lips.

"I suppose," he said, setting it down gently, pouring another, "that there are worse times to...come to terms with one another. Isn't this how it's done? Over a cup of tea, with a close associate?"

It was as close to friends as he could say.

ONCE, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN SHOCKED TO SEE THE MAN BEFORE HIM, and yet now he seemed to be the most at peace with himself that the former herrscher has ever seen him. It is not an opinion to be voiced aloud, of course, and yet he can see that the ghosts of the past do not cling as tightly to his shoulders as they had many a moon ago. Even the threads of the imaginary tree that cling to all who has lurked in the depths of the Sea of Quanta do not seem as volatile around the Sire of World Serpent, a welcome reprieve from the state they once coiled in.

A soft sigh to shrug off the embers of reminiscence, gloved digits curling around the cup and bringing the spiced tea to his lips. Even now, the myriad tastes and senses only seem to fuel that homesickness that lingers in the Elder Nameless' bones, yet he makes no attempt to return home just like the man before him. Perhaps this is what makes them such kindred spirits, the opposite sides of a misshapen coin that linger in distant orbits.

"To the renewal of seasons." A raised cup and a silent prayer even as the question that burns within finally begins to spill forth from his lips. "Judging by your presence, I'm liable to assume that you, too, do not wish to make that long journey home, Old Friend." It's laughable, once he would not dare to speak those words, and yet what better to describe the odd relationship they shared amidst storied pasts.

"To a joyous Lantern Rite."

[colleinanbar]

✦ maru mori: the heartbreaking simplicity of ordinary things.

OBSCURE SORROWS

Bony fingers—tanned by long days in the sun cup the plush in her hands. They trace along the crude stitching before holding up the finished product up to the light in the room.

This is not a product that Collei is particularly proud of, to be honest. Sewing little odds and ends in her spare time is a hobby that has grown to ebb at her heart, feeling so.. So.. meaningless. Not even is it just sewing. In times of deep thought, Collei finds herself pausing her activities, staring blankly at the subject of her action.

Why does she do all this? 

Collei leans over her desk as she places the now repaired Cuilein Anbar down. What is even the point? She’ll never be able to measure up to the fine work of seamstresses, or even just Amber. This.. This is just the work of some random girl. This isn’t anything major, or important, or even magnificent, by any means. It’s simple.

Questions like these always seem to litter Collei’s thoughts, leaving her throat unable to speak and words sparse throughout her mind. She’s struck with the ferocious, animalistic urge to push her desk over.

She can only walk away.

[voidrifter]

OBSCURE SORROWS: @jxrmngxndr asked:

✦ loss of backing: an abrupt collapse of trust in yourself, which makes it that much harder to guarantee that your word is worth anything, even to yourself

— cw for: descriptions of violence, medical imagery, tragic yuri.

In your dream, you can feel the frantic way the girl's throat contracts.

The shallow breath that whistles through it.

The rise and fall of her chest, frantic-- up, down, up, down, up-- as she gasps, over and over, desperation mounting with each one. She's squirming, hands grasping at your wrist, at the collar you have made of your fingers at her throat. Her lips are moving, taking the shape of a name you know but cannot stand to hear.

In your dream she is as beautiful as she was the day you met her, and you cannot look away from her. You wouldn't want to. Why would you want to?

She's crying.

The walls around you are hospital white, the kind that give you a migraine, even though you know the pounding in your head has nothing to do with them. There are no windows, there don't have to be. You know where you are because you can see your hands and where they are balled into fists in your sheets, too weak not to tremble. It takes biting your cheek so hard you taste copper not to rip out your IV, but you do it.

Because she's crying again.

And you can't look at her, because the last time you did you liked it. That fear in her eyes ( not of you-- never of you, always for you ) will make you sick if you have to see it. Sick, as if you aren't already. As if your life hasn't already been assigned a number of minutes, a handful of days, a matter of weeks. How many months? She won't tell you, but you know.

And that's for the better. What good are you, like this?

When you can't even look at her, let alone wipe her eyes, lest your finger slip and find her throat again. When you can't reassure her, because you know you'll be lying. What good can you do the world, if you can't even do this?

Your throat is dry when you swallow, the corners of your lips twitch when you try to raise them, your head aches.

You hope she doesn't notice how, when your eyes raise to the doorway in which she stands, they look past instead of at her. How your voice cracks and crumbles around the single syllable of her name.

How your arms don't tighten when she folds you in hers, how you screw your eyes shut, how your smile strains.

How afraid you are of her, of yourself for what you might do to her.

"It's been..." For her, you'll smile as hard as you can. She shouldn't have to be afraid, you shouldn't be something to fear. "...such a long time, Mei..."

You'll lie.

"Wait," sheepish laughter worms its way into your voice like it belongs there, "no. We actually just met a few days ago."

You're just not sure to who.