@tartabinger said: Tartaglia stands atop a hill overlooking the city of water, arms folded across his chest with his banner swaying softly in the wind. While he had to hand it to the Traveler - even he didn't think they would be able to have him acquitted - he despises his robbed opportunity for a no holds barred battle against Fontaine's top duelist. He's mad he couldn't get a good fight. It is mad they were separated for so long. "There's no going back after this, you know?" he says as he turns his head left to look at his guest. It had been some time since they last met, but he remembers her plan clear as the frozen lakes of his home. "I can't guarantee I'll stop if you ask me to; we don't like starting fights we don't intend to finish." He raises a hand in front of his face and watches Cryo energy dance around his fingers, and the occasional strike of Electro from his recovered Delusion. It's not like his Hydro by any means, but Tartaglia prides himself on his adaptability. So he pulls away the fabric concealing his corruption and tosses it into the ether. "Just say the word, Leucosia." Unprompted Asks // Accepting!!

The seas below were slowly growing angry, the longer this went on, the more they rocked and swayed the boats on their waters... The longer she was away from what she loved, her anger raged beneath the shores of Fontaine...

"I'm aware." A sharp reply as she approached him, a hand going to his shoulder as she ran the other under his chin, "you can fight as many people as you wish once we begin...~" Leucosia released him and walked past him, looking out over everything and narrowing her eyes.

Did Furina really think she would have just left well enough alone? To leave HER alone? AFTER EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED??

There was a deafening crash of the waves against the cliff sides and the hills they were standing on, arms outstretched as if to embrace what she had longed for for an eternity....

She didn't care who died, she didn't care if they killed innocents- the people of Fontaine were JUST as guilty as their archon in her eyes.

Arlecchino could try to stop the prophecy from coming true... but she could never stop the sea's never-ending wrath. And after an eternal silence, she just placed her hands to her chest only to let them fall to her sides.

For her love- The hydro sovereign, for her nature- the unyielding and changing waves, for her sisters- her family... This would bring them home. THIS would bring the prophecy of Fontaine to fruition.

"....Begin."

"I'm about to make the first incision," Tartaglia states, knife of Hydro poised above one of four purpled mounds on the traveler's back. Out of all possible reasons he could think of for them tracking him down, something like this would have never made the cut without assistance.

The description provided of the metal he could feel pushing against the skin was not too dissimilar to the crystals that would erupt from his back in his transformation, the only difference being he had other pain to distract him from the feeling of four blunt objects piercing through skin.

He just hopes that the cool of his fingers against the burning skin offered some brief reprieve before the blade sinks into their flesh.

Blocking out the sounds of his comrade, Tartaglia presses on and does his best to avoid scraping against the metal. After each incision, he dispels the knife above a bowl of water and resummons it to clean it of blood.

By the time they're done, the towel they left beneath the traveler is beyond saving, as must be the sheets beneath that, the traveler's back has been stitched closed - cleaned and wrapped - and Tartaglia's uniform and skin are stained red. He sits back in the chair next to the bed to steel himself and assess his friend's condition.

The scene reminds him of an event from roughly a decade ago, and his thoughts wander towards his siblings; did they feel like this when they found him in the snow and he wasn't waking up? Was this feeling of concern why- ...

A golden eye peeking out pulls his attention away from his thoughts and he lets its owner take hold of his arm as he ruffles the blond locks of the traveler.

"You get some sleep, okay? I'll be right here when you wake up, buddy."

It started as a dull ache that Aether paid no mind to. Aches were all too common in the life of a traveler, after all. This one was persistent, sure, but that wasn't shocking.

What was shocking, though, was when he felt the hard lumps under his skin one day when taking a bath. Hard lumps that Aether recognized immediately. They didn't know if they were taken with relief and want, or worry for the pain they knew would come.

It took time, for the lumps to grow. For one that had lived eons, often did time slip in the blink of an eye. Now, though, each moment was agonizingly slow- especially when the lumps stopped growing and started pushing. That was when he sought out Childe.

Perhaps there had been better options, logically speaking. Baizhu, for example, was an actual doctor. Someone with healing abilities to simply heal him after the deed was done. Most friends, however, would take issue with slicing into his skin, that Aether knew. Besides, out of them all, not only did he know Childe would understand, he also wouldn't be squeamish. There was no doubt going to be blood, after all. Regrowing what were essentially limbs wasn't a pretty sight.

They hummed in acknowledgement of Childe's words, burying their face in their arms. For all the pain that slicing through skin tender to the touch brought, the relief when the base of their wing slid out, slick with blood, brought a rush to their head. It was dizzying, and he only just had enough presence of mind to bite down on his arm to keep the situation from getting even weirder than it already was.

He must have been moving too much, Aether realized dimly when the bed beneath him shifted. A weight settled on his lower back, and a free hand pressed just just above his shoulder blades, keeping him still. A curse in his native tongue slipped out, and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut so tight that he could nearly fool himself into thinking he was once again flying amongst stars.

The lower lumps were worse, and were far more reliving. The base of both lower wings were smushed together, and Childe must have offered him a towel after his teeth bit through the skin of his arm, because he was now biting on cloth.

It took awhile for Aether to realize it was done, when Childe was bandaging up the wounds left behind. As much as it was, he knew it would have been worse if he left them to burst through the skin, instead of being given neat slices to slide their way out of.

He wouldn't remember what it had been like the first time he got his wings. Had there been so much blood then to? Had there been that much blood for Lumine? Had she had hers grow back, too?

The next time Aether became aware of his surroundings, the weight on him was gone. With a groan he peeled open his eyes, and relief flooded him when he seen his friend sitting next to the bed. He hadn't meant to reach out and grab Childe, had only thought he was mentally entertaining the idea, but he hummed in response to the voice.

"... Aether." He mumbled, and if his voice was hoarse from disuse or any shouts he'd made, he didn't know. "My name's... Aether."

He felt down Childe's arm until he found his hand, and laid his head down to trap it there. Light glowed, unfurling from the base of his wings, until the gauze like structures laid limply across his back.

It was like that, that Aether fell asleep.

@tartabinger ➤ plotted

Childe stumbles across the Fontaine countryside, sopping body in search of a destination only the choked up water from his lungs knows. He recognises the presences within him: the familiar dark ooze that has been with him since his rebirth, and the translucent call from the depths that he's dreamt of since he was a teen. One has been a constant companion, the other? An unwelcome intruder. His boot catches on something and they all tumble to the ground as his body ignites and his jaw clenches to stifle a silent scream, barely able to ignore the sensation anymore. They all remain there, waiting to see who will make the next move as Childe fights to not writhe. A few moments pass before the human moves his aching arm to roll over, then the whale seizes control and the entity panics; in a flash, Childe's consciousness catches up when he's grasping onto a blade of Abyssal energy, choking on more water as fresh dark goop bleeds from his eyes like mock tears. He laughs, the first sound ██████ lets him make since joining the party of two, bitter at the realisation his uninvited guest is waiting for them to cooperate. But then something - or someone - catches their eye, and ██████ decides it's done with their stalling. Little grunts escape Childe's mouth as he's forced to his feet and his hand pulls the blade - which he recognises as one of his polearms - free from the ground. Dark goop burns his skin as it falls from his face and its owner fights hard to stop them all from moving. Every step grows in confidence until they break out into a run as Childe approaches his friend, but ██████ keeps his breath and vocal cords in control to stop him from warning them of the attack.

      The story of Childe's slip from the Fortress of Meropide is one that is kept between few, but tongues easily loosen and even what's meant to stay in eventually escapes out. Of course, like all interesting stories with no outcome ( and with details locked behind the very few who know ), they eventually fade to nothing ... but it doesn't mean it fades from memory.

      Not like Sylvie could do much about it once they find out the news; Fontaine was unfamiliar territory to them after so many years, and they knew even less about this whole 'primordial sea' stuff ( outside the fact the taste of it made them want to vomit ).

      So, colour them surprised when they see a familiar sopping head of ginger hair off in the distance, making them stand and stare stupidly for a few long moments to process if this was merely a visual hallucination, a hydro eidolon being cheeky, or the truth.

      They approach, footsteps steady in the beginning, but slowing down as details sharpen with the closing of the distance between the two of them—joy and relief fading out into an odd knot.

      Something is wrong. That is Childe, yes, but normally people aren't bleeding black and viscuous mucus—nor do they normally lunge with intent to maim. The hair on the back of their neck prickles—reeking of Abyssal—and Dendro energies flare to life as thick bark forms into their claymore, brought up with intent to deflect or block, the ground ripping and tearing as roots protectively seek out to restrain the other without causing harm in return.

      Whatever this is, it's not Childe behind these swings. And whatever is bleeding out ... gods, they do not want it near them.

      Once was more than enough.

@tartabinger: "Careful what you say, Toni, you too will one day interit this head."

"No I won't. Because if my head turns into a fruit, it's going to be a nice fruit, like a strawberry! You, on the other hand, are a stupid head, so you get a stupid orange head."

@tartabinger​ said: 

"Try not to die! Or do," he shrugs, "I don't care." (I couldn't resist dfjkadghfkda)

“That would be far too rude of me,” he shakes his head, “women and children always go first. Know your manners.”

Clockwork Angel Meme // Accepting!

@tartabinger​:  "How rude. Many who have gazed upon me have compared the experience to gazing at the radiance of the sun.” (Please feel free to roast him fdhajkfakd)

‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time’-- a quote that she had heard countless of times from her levelheaded father, known throughout her town for being rational and calm. Unfortunately for the harbinger Yanfei was not her father and she was moments away from showing him just how different they truly were.

“You must surround yourself with idiots that fawn at your very presence then! I mean, I knew the Fatui contained some devoted followers but LIARS as well? How sad.” She hardly spared Childe another glance while dipping a brush into thin ink, currently much more interested in practicing her calligraphy than entertaining his antics. Where was she again? It was only after she finished delicately copying the symbols that Yanfei addressed him again with an airy laugh.

“Though they may be correct; staring an the sun is known to be quite painful and this experience with you has been nothing short of dreadful. Should you require my service again, perhaps work on a better approach and I might give you the time of day.” 

@tartabinger &&. said... Sounds of exertion echo down the halls of Zapolyarny Palace late in the night, their creator seeming to forget to care about the existence of other occupants. If one were to follow the sounds to their source, they would find a young Childe demolishing the training room as he fights invisible opponents, training dummies, and even the room itself - all while dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts. Blades of Hydro form in his hands and sail into a wooden dummy a few feet away from the Harbinger, breaking it apart and pinning a section to the floor. No matter how hard he punches, how far he leaps, or how fast he moves, his muscles remain tense as the remnants of his dream permeate through his cells with every panting breath. At least the sweat staining his clothes no longer matches the cold that soiled his sheets the few hours of sleep he managed. Adžaks stops his fighting with a frustrated yell and a poorly formed blade thrown into the floor. He needs a real opponent to battle with and keep his thoughts at bay; he needs to satisfy the craving that licks at the edges of his mind, calling for him to lose himself in the voices that yearn for total destruction of existence. A noise from behind breaks through the cacophony of temptation and he startles, throwing a blade of Hydro at the source with the added force of his turn before he can process who or what made it. Recognition floods his senses with the snap of Electro and the yearning retreats. He clears his throat and stands up straight in an effort to clear any hoarseness before he speaks. "Balladeer," he nods, hoping his voice comes across stronger than it feels, "can I help you with anything?"

it's  the  noise  that  manages  to  capture  his  attention.  the  balladeer  is  not  the  sort  of  fragile  thing  that  requires  SLEEP  in  order  to  function  properly  —  but  he's  well  aware  he's  surrounded  by  creatures  who  do.  (  it's  why  the  evening  is  his  favorite  time  of  day;  it  affords  him  the  illusion  of  solitude.  )  he  can  hear  the  sounds  even  from  his  quarters,  faint  yet  persistent.  the  familiar  cacophony  of  battle  —  a  fight,  perhaps?  or maybe  someone  is  being  killed; it's ferocious enough that he wouldn't be surprised.  kunikuzushi  quietly  hopes  they  at  least  have  the  courtesy  to  drop  dead  sooner  rather  than  later;  he's  trying  to  READ  —  and  the  noise  is  hampering  his  enjoyment.  unfortunately,  minutes  slide  by  without  any  considerable  change.  it's  a  bit  like  a  fly  buzzing  in  his  ear;  the  sort  of  minor  irritation  that  grows  larger  and  larger  the  longer  one  is  aware  of  it  —  until  it  takes  over  their  thoughts  ENTIRELY. 

it's  when  he  realizes  he's  read  the  same  line  once,  twice,  three  times  that  the  harbinger's  shallow  well  of  PATIENCE  runs  dry.  snapping  the  book  shut,  he  tosses  it  aside  —  if  someone  hasn't  died  yet,  they'll  certainly  wish  they  had  by  the  time  he's  done  with  them.

he  drifts  through  the  halls  like  a  living  shadow;  what  few  souls  he  does  encounter  are  wise  enough  to  duck  their  heads  and  scurry  along,  as  if  able  to  sense  his  foul  mood.  (  or  perhaps  they  merely  know  better  than  to  BOTHER  him.  )  it  doesn't  take  very  long  for  kunikuzushi  to  track  the  sounds  to  their  source.  the  training  room;  unsurprising.  equally  unsurprising  is  the  individual currently  tearing  it  to  miserable  pieces  —  he  should  have  known  childe  was  RESPONSIBLE.  there's  a  quip  resting  heavy  on  his  tongue  about  the  eleventh  being  so  insufferably  battle  hungry  that  he  would  even  forego  sleep  for  a  thrill,  but  kunikuzushi  swallows  it  back.  though  his  opinions  on  his  fellow  harbingers  range  from  unfavorable  to  downright  abhorrent,  he  is  not  so  negatively  biased  as  to  be completely  dismissive.  this  is  unusual  behavior,  even  by  childe's  standards.  the  frenzied  nature  of  his  movements,  the  shouts  rife  with so much  ugly  emotion.  brow  furrows.  the  balladeer  takes  a  step  closer,  kasa  chiming  softly  from  the  movement  —  only  to  be  met  by  a  flash  of  blue  flying  towards  his  face.

electro  meets  hydro  with  a  furious  crackle;  he  smacks  the  blade  away  on  REFLEX,  violet  static  still  dancing  around  slender  fingers  when  the  other  greets  him. ( with words, this time. )

exhaling  a  derisive  little  huff  through  his  nose,  the  balladeer  deliberately  chooses  to  FOREGO  pleasantries.  ❝  some  people  are  trying  to  sleep.  ❞  not  that  he  really  cares  —  but  childe  might.  ❝  and in  any  case ...  i  feel  like  i  should  be  the  one  asking  that.  ❞   there's  a  pause  —  deliberate,  in  kunikuzushi's  usual  theatrical  way.  equally  deliberate  is  the  way  he  looks  the  other  up  and  down,  then  clicks  his  tongue  as  if  in  implied  DISAPPROVAL.  ❝  you've  clearly  seen  better  days.  ❞  the harbinger  surmises BLUNTLY.  then,  ❝  what's  wrong  with  you?  you're  making  a  mess  and  you  aren't  even  enjoying  it.  ❞

@tartabinger​ replied to your post:

Childe vc: Please don’t piss on the squirrels

“I... am not even going to dignify that with a response.”

#JustAiasThings courtesy of @tartabinger

I commissioned @h-surjus for a scene that @tartabinger and I wrote! I absolutely adore how this came out!

@tartabinger​​  ➤ unprompted

Tartaglia reaches a bare hand up towards the deer's face, palm turned away to indicate lack of malicious intent. He waits for them to deem him a non-threat and duck down closer to his height. When they do, he places his hand atop their head and begins to ruffle their fur, admiring their beauty as he brings his right hand up to ruffle the fur along their jaw.

"You're a gorgeous thing, aren't you?"

      It was rare that the god opted to return to their true form and lounge around in the wilderness; although they did not care much for being seen, that doesn’t mean that the presence of a person did not make their fur stand on end for a short moment. Wary eyes looked towards the newcomer, and they had to resist barking out a laugh—which would’ve broken the illusion the other seemed to be under. 

      This was the one Zhongli spoke about, wasn’t it ... ? They’d at least give him the enjoyment of petting the big, fluffy13-foot deer as they craned their neck down to be in easy reach—but alas, they couldn’t help but to keep themselves from talking and shattering the idea that this was just a big, abnormally pretty creature.

      Although their mouth did not move, the voice that followed clearly originated from them. “Why, thank you for the compliment, I am quite gorgeous, so I’m glad others can see it too.”

@tartabinger​: "The swear jar will contain you and every adult who condones your swearing or so help me, in the Tsaritsa's name-"

“Well, Adzaks. In that case, the Tsaritsa can fucking suck it.” Simple as that.

@tartabinger​ said:

In a world not too far from that which is familiar, a large boat sails towards Snezhnaya on its return journey from Inazuma, carrying both cargo and people. Among them exists a young, fit man with a mop of ginger hair known with affection by the port locals as Adžaks Aleksevich; part-time adventurer and full-time fisherman. With still some many hours before the boat births at his destination, Adžaks decides to talk to someone to pass the time and he finds his target in a fellow young man looking like a fish out of water.

"You'll hurt your hands if you grip the railing any harder, buddy!" he calls as he gives the stranger a playful slap on the back. "We picked you up in Inazuma, right? Nevermind never having been to Snezhnaya, you look like you've never sailed before; is that right?" He looks out to the endless ocean and closes his eyes, feeling the breeze in his hair and smelling the waves as they crash against the vessel.

"Maybe you didn't realise," he looks back towards the stranger, "but out on the deck is one of the best places to relieve seasickness - and I don't just mean that because you can vomit over the edge. Outside, the air can refresh and rejuvenate you, compared to the staleness of the brig. Ah, but where are my manners?" he extends a hand towards his conversation partner, "The name's Adžaks, but feel free to call me by my Common name, Ajax, if you'd prefer. If you find yourself in need of a guide around Snezhnaya, I'd be delighted to show you around!"

"Do you know about our tradition with Fire-Water?" Adžaks turns to invite his newfound friend towards the crew area, right where his locker is with bottles of the alcohol in question... "Since we have a few hours to kill, I'd be happy to share a drink with you!"

He’s at a loss for words, he has been ever since he’s opened his eyes and figured out how to open the door to that strange abandoned mansion he awoke in that time ago. Ever since then he’s wandered aimlessly without a sense of direction, really just going where the wind took him subconsciously. His travels began many a time ago, he’s seen a lot of things since then, things that still confuse him and throw him off. He noted that there’s others like him. They stand like he does, but don’t look anything like him. Some are taller than him, some are smaller than him, others have long hair like he does, some others don’t. It’s... odd. The wanderer doesn’t quite know what to make of it. He’s concluded with himself that he should consider them his kind, kin of sorts, or at least that’s what he’s adopted thus far all on his own. Some have approached him, spoken to him and all he does in return is stare at them without blinking, a blank and an uninterested stare in their direction. 

What’s your name? 

What is that?

Where are your parents?

What are parents?

Why are you out here all by yourself?

... ?

And the wanderer only stared at them, looked at them like they were odd creatures, like they were speaking a language he didn’t quite understand. He heard them but the meaning behind those words he knew little of. His manner of being seemed to unsettle them, making them uneasy for his lack of response or reacting in a manner that wasn’t fitting for the situation at the time. After a while they would leave him alone, overhearing them. Calling him odd or weird. It was like that for a while and then he began to teach himself by watching from afar, seeing how they acted and spoke. He began to mimic them in hopes of perhaps getting a better understanding between each other. But even then, apparently he came off as strange. He didn’t quite get why, from a distance he’d wave at some people who’d pass him by to only be ignored. More than likely by this time he’s already made a name for himself for being an oddball. He didn’t take it negatively or positively, actually he didn’t know how to take it. He just wondered really. A wave of a hand is a sort of greeting is it not? He’s seen it be done time and time again, why is it so different when he does it? He didn’t dwell on these matters too much because again he didn’t care, he didn’t know how to take it at all. He just moved on and tried to teach himself some more as he went. He quickly came to discover that he was different. Those around him consume because they need to, he not once felt the need to consume in order to be functional. Hunger isn’t something he feels, in fact. Is that weird, too?

He’s had many different encounters in his years awake and from each he’s learned different things and slowly caught on to how things should be, but not in a precise manner. Sometimes he’d smile when he shouldn’t, sometimes he would glare when there’s no reason for him to do so. He’d repeat a word he’s heard for the first time out loud sometimes like some parrot. He was unsettling to some still. He’s seen all sorts of people since, violent ones, angry ones, kind ones, warm ones, everybody was all so different... just like the men in this vessel were different. 

The wanderer encountered them by a shore in Inazuma, collecting fish it seemed. Like many in the past, they also approached him and tried to speak to them. By this point the wanderer had the capacity to express himself in some way and most of his exchanges with them were his shrugs. The nameless wanderer wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but being taken with them was certainly not it, yet he allowed it, he followed them and now that he’s on the boat he feels strange. 

The way the vessel moves made him uneasy, so much so that his grip becomes that of death itself. The water making the boat rock from one side to another, unsteadily to where the wanderer can’t have a firm footing with his bare feet and that is an unsettling feeling that he does not like. He becomes tense and a sudden impulse to go back overcomes him. If he jumps will he be able to go back? The nameless wanderer wasn’t one for hesitation and he would have done so that is until someone has taken notice of him. “Oof-” The sudden strike to his back surprises him and the sudden presence of one of the fishermen garners the nameless wanderer’s attention. 

“...” He stares at the ginger haired boy with a blank expression, hearing him talk, the death grip he had on the railing just now lessening in its intensity at the sudden unexpected company of the other by his side. “... Yes.” He says, answering both his questions before the young man goes on and on about things. It’s quite peculiar to the wanderer. This one likes to talk a lot it seems. The eccentric continues to stare on blankly, keeping to himself as he tries to keep up with what he’s being told. “Sea... sickness?” The wanderer questions and watches yet again how the young man shifts the subject to something else. The wanderer is able to tell that he’s introducing himself without a struggle, that he’s seen plenty of times. “A... jax.” The wanderer speaks out the peculiar name. “Ajax,” he repeats with more confidence and then looks at the extended hand which he takes, placing his over the other’s without prompting any sort of movement afterwards, simply awkwardly taking a hold of the outstretched hand. This is a greeting... he knows that. “Snezhnaya,” he adds after a pause. That’s a nation he’s heard the name being tossed here and about many times in this lifetime thus far. “... I’m going to Snezhnaya.” He doesn’t ask, but he states that he is, now being made aware of the direction of this strange vessel. The wanderer has only ever been in Inazuma, never once in any other nation. “Tradition, I don’t know.” The eccentric shrugs. Fire-Water, aren’t those elements? “Okay,” the nameless wanderer nods his head once, his paper-blank expression still in place. He... he has a name too he’s sure. It’s just... he doesn’t know it, can’t remember it at this point, so he doesn’t bother to introduce himself because he is nameless. “I’m a wanderer,” he merely says and still with his hand in his, not once retracting. 

"Ah, no-one was kidding when they said you have chiseled cheeks..."

That's a terrible pickup line, Picasso.

tartabinger replied:

Childe vc: Don't threaten me with a good time

“For both of us~? Absolutely!!”

✍ - Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

MS PAINT ./ accepting

[gio vc] not for long