QUESTION ! ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ █ ▌▌▌@galactia​​.

The night is heavy with a pending storm, thunder rolling ever closer in warning. The pounding of hooves against the cobbled stone of the Winery's courtyard seemed harsh and out of place. Who could be flying to the last bastion of the Raginvindr in such haste, as if dogs were at their heels? In the midst of a rolling clap of thunder, it drew up, harsh and purposeful, only long enough to throw something that had been draped across the saddle horn. The sky blazoned with lightening, illuminating the body crumpled against the door, tossed there like a discarded puppet.

Kaeya looked all the world like a corpse; bloodied, still, hair loose and wild and sticking to his skin. But death had not yet claimed him. There was a measure of instinct - deep, ingrained, visceral - that drove him to claw and flounder, trying to sit up. The wood of the door splintered beneath his fingertips as he dug in, almost animalistic, to lift himself. Blood dripped from his nose and he tasted it, foul and tangy, on his lips. Surrender would have been easier. Closing his eyes and waiting for the rain to finish the task left uncomplete so many years ago, when a young boy hid, half-drowned, beneath a wagon. Would Diluc's life be easier, that way? If he let the cold and wet and blood loss take him? Maybe he ought to crawl aside, like an animal going off the perish.

It is morbid, the thoughts that dance through his mind. His head thumps against the door. He tries, "Help-" But it’s a croak, and Kaeya instead, raises his fist and hits, as hard as he can muster. He folds, shoulder against the wood, trying to catch a breath into his lungs. Lungs, surrounded by ribs beaten in until he was coughing up horrid and red.

The first drops of rain splash onto his face. They're cold.

DILUC 

      storms like these don’t allow for any rest. they fatten the air with tension, chase silence from the world & the mind alike long before they truly start their tantrum; he cannot dream without jolting awake, cannot lay down without being brought back up by a cramping. regurgitated stress.                  a waste of time and energy, sleep.

            so he doesn’t try.

  the winery’s front doors were passed through hours ago.

diluc makes of himself a wraith between the densely packed trees in the wolvendom, pale & in pursuit. the sky riots above to make his boots sink into the mud below.     unease haunts every thought. he doesn’t think many.

              it is very strange, then.

...because he knows that horse.               its silhouette seems familiar, at least- & when the inaudible clop & scuff of hooves sees it list sideways, the smear of something is revealed that is familiar in a worse way. pale like he has been all night, clumped together like matted fur because it is & even through the downpour,      that must be-

muted all evening, the shriek that underlies him is what fractures through the fog of his mind first—what cramps through muscle to make it work. panic quickens steps that are allowed to slide across cobble for the double doors can catch his weight- “kaeya?” small, stoic mute with horror unlike the cacophony inside. on his knees beside him, diluc hovers like a bird picking carefully at her tousled nest.         he looks far too quiet, far too cold. a hand on the door / keys a short jangle of purpose — he hunched over another’s body to shield it from at least the rain. he’s not as wet as he should be- sweet, loyal animal: kaeya’s steed had shielded him, too. “stay awake. tell me where they got you.” want to pick him up, want to carry him. can’t. “kaeya?” a frisson of the hysteria that binds his chest seeps into his voice.

                          fuck.

         small touches map out what they can, but the rain & the dark make it hard to tell where kaeya begins & injury ends. something like rage ignites in the coldest parts of him; chill with horror.                                  the door gives way where it refuses hands shake to unlock. diluc’s voice leaps ahead of the thunder, rails against the lack of welcome his brother has received his fault & how disastrous that may prove to be. it is simply past the time for the servants to retire—he’s never made them wait up for him.

he can do this himself. he has to be able to.

the mind runs amuck, tripping over a short list made long by its stumbling:  towels, dry warm clothes, a bed & another for when the bleeding has been stopped. hot water, needle & thread- of all times, why do his hands shake now? ( because the last time they’d had this blood on them, they’d drawn it first. )         this time, he’ll change things for the better - & he’s too preoccupied to remind himself it won’t absolve him of anything.

“wake up, kae,” perhaps it is best he does not: the words come warbled, torn & twisted by a sorrow that refuses to stop insisting it’s too late. he pushes bangs away from his brother’s forehead & they’re almost dry / his touch carefully warm. he continues slaving over the injury.                when he whispers it again it’s for his own sake. a prayer to the last thing he could need badly enough to believe in - to cast aside brutal reality & hope. without care for how much worse it will make a- ...disappointment.       “w-wake up...”

Guess who just finished the Magolor Epilogue today

Puffballs

what it says on the tin - permanent inbox call!

Like this post if you are fine with me sending you unprompted asks and memes. This is basically giving me permission to send you fun stuff anytime (unless your askbox is closed ofc!)

The muses I could and will be sending asks with are: Zhongli, Kaeya, Diluc, Alhaitham, Thoma, and Ayato! Illarion, my OC, is also available.

If you have a muse preference from your roster, you can list the muses in a reply that you'd prefer to receive asks for.

This will help me out to know who'd most enjoy interaction - whether we've interacted a lot, or never!

@abyssmalice replied to your post “"Why are we beating up the old rock man? Can I...”:

because he's an ugly meanie, meanie-r than my brother

@galactia replied to your post “@melodicbreeze replied to your post “"Why are we...”:

"Actually, the original violence was spawned because I refused to allow Tonia to burn Qiaoying Village."

​... their face fell into an absolutely blank stare. No thoughts behind those eyes. They see. They understand. "Well, good luck, I'm getting the popcorn."

@galactia liked for a starter ( open ) !

typically,  documentation  that  was  to  be  delivered  to  the  palais  mermonia  was  not  carried  by  the  duke  himself,  although  there  were  most  certainly  exceptions  to  the  rule.  whenever  the  papers  contained  something  worthy  of  a  discussion  with  the  iudex,  or  if  wriothesley  felt  like  stretching  his  legs  and  enjoying  the  gentle  warmth  of  sunlight  on  his  skin,  the  warden  liked  to  visit  the  palais  mermonia  himself.  the  exact  cause  of  his  personal  appearance  that  day  was  to  remain  his  own,  though.

❛  good  day,  chief  justice,  ❜  he  greeted  as  he  moved  past  the  tall  office  doors,  gently  closing  them  again  behind  himself  before  wandering  towards  neuvillette's  desk.  ❛  i  thought  i  ought  to  deliver  the  more  recent  numbers  for  the  production  line  myself,  in  case  any  questions  crop  up.  i  do  hope  you  don't  mind  the  unannounced  visit.  ❜

@galactia replied to your post “"If I can't burn anything can I at least punch the...”:

Zhongli vc: "That would be preferable to the burning of a village. The Geo Archon's face is quite capable of handling the abuse. However.... I am unsure if your fist is, young one."

"...Are you saying I can't fight?" Sure, Tonia isn't an expert in hand-to-hand combat - her brother probably would be, but she, on the other hand, could care less about growing in martial expertise.

That doesn't mean she can't pack a mean punch in other ways. The temperature suddenly drops several degrees.

"Maybe not, you stupid ugly man. But I can throw something else at you!" Cryo rapidly condensates and sharpens - and shoots straight for the 'stupid ugly man' in question.

It was attention he desired, so it was attention the Harbinger would receive. "Be still." The dragon growled, his gloved hand wrapping around Childe's throat. The strength in his grip was calculated, enough only for the prick of his claws beneath his nails to be felt. He dipped forward, claiming Childe's lips in a kiss grazed with fangs. "You are an impatient rascal." The god breathed as they parted, thumb caressing Childe's pulse, "Impatient, and petulant." Zhongli loomed closer, pressing a gentle touch of a kiss beside his young lover's ear, "What shall I do with you?" Was the question breathed in a rumbling whisper.

Oh. Oh. Freezing when slender fingers wrapped securely around his throat, a groan would have been fully audible at the growl that escaped Zhongli's lips had his own mouth not become occupied with the kiss Zhongli instigated seconds later. Lips immediately parted for the former Archon and Childe's own hands quickly grasped his lovers waist to make sure Zhongli couldn't pull away so easily, even if he'd made it abundantly clear to the mortal he was in control right now.

When the passionate but short lived kiss came to an end much too quickly for Childe's liking, he pushed against the hand still restraining his neck in an attempt to chase after Zhongli's mouth and get it back to no avail for now. A smirk tugged at the corner of the Harbingers lips at being called an impatient rascal, he certainly wasn't denying that accusation; he wouldn't have gotten Zhongli's attention in the first place being passive and quiet.

Fingers tightened on fabric when Zhongli leaned in and spoke again, pulling their bodies closer together if he couldn't have the kisses he so desired when he wanted them. What shall he do with Childe? That seemed like an easy enough question for him to answer. One would think that he'd have less tenacity or bite back with a hand still so firmly holding onto his neck, but even with that being the case Childe was not about to be submissive so easily.

"I think you owe me about three days worth of attention now, you better start catching up now unless you want to make it four."

| Starter for @galactia

The Harbinger clung to life far longer than Diluc expected. He was a resilient one and strong—possibly the strongest single opponent Diluc had ever faced, proved by the many injuries they each owned—but their long fight had to end eventually. What Diluc didn’t expect was to feel so bittersweet.

He knelt on aching knees beside the dying Tartaglia—Ajax, he said was his real name—and took the bloodstained letter and flickering Vision that was offered to him by a trembling hand. Perhaps he could have removed the blade of his claymore from where it was sunken into Ajax’s side and let him bleed out more quickly, but it seemed an unnecessary insult to cut short what limited time he had left on Teyvat.

They weren’t too different in age, he supposed. Two young men doing what they believed they must. Safety for Mondstadt and money for a struggling family in Snezhnaya (or so Ajax claimed). The area all around them was scorched and broken, steaming with the memory of their days-long duel, and Diluc was certain Tartaglia could have kept enthusiastically on for another week were it not for the ground giving out and shifting beneath him when it mattered most. He’d never met someone so excited or so quick to offer compliments and make small talk in a fight to the death.

A strange one, to be sure. All Harbingers were.

“Tell them…” Ajax choked, blood dripping down to his chin from a crooked, red smile. “…not to be sad. I’ll see them again…” He paused to wheeze, clutching at his broken chest with a pained expression.

“Easy. No need to push yourself,” Diluc replied, tucking the letter into his coat with care not to crinkle it. “I’ll deliver it to them.”

Ajax grinned again, but his eyes were focused somewhere far away as he went on, saying, “You really didn’t disappoint. I had my doubts…” He sighed and let his head fall back against the tree to which he was pinned. “It’s a shame I won’t get to train and challenge you again.”

Hmph. “Maybe in the next life.” 

“I’ll hold you to it.”

For a long time, Diluc stayed at his side, listening whenever Ajax had the strength to speak and sheltering them from the rain that had begun to lightly fall. More than once, Ajax mentioned someone else that might come, but, when Diluc pressed for details, Ajax hadn’t the breath or clarity of mind to expand and Diluc let it go. He draped his coat over Ajax when he began to shiver and complain of the cold, and tore at his shirt to staunch and patch his own bleeding wounds as the sun slowly rose over the rolling hills of Mondstadt, throwing a warm glow over their scarred battlefield.

Another hour passed and Ajax was cold and silent, his eyes gone dark, and his chest stopped straining for breath. Diluc finally pulled free his claymore and laid him down in the charred grass. 

“May Her Majesty the Tsaritsa welcome you into her benevolent arms, and may you find peace beyond this world,” he whispered, taking his bloodstained coat and pulling it back onto his own drenched and aching body. “Or I suppose it would be more fitting to wish you may find eternal dueling partners.”

@galactia asked:

The darkness here was inky and suffocating, saturated in Abyssal power, clinging to the weathered stones and stealing what there was of air. This was a place sunlight could not touch; a place where the power of the gods could not bring reprieve. How a door had been opened to this depth was not known to that which crawled in the dark, but the Abyss opened its jaws, welcoming another sacrifice- Blue-black darkness gave way to frost here, like mist from the shadows, and reached, like cold tendrils to coalesce around her feet. It might have been a caress, for the way it ebbed and flowed, but another step, and then another, and the ice turned sharp, freezing at her boots. There was a laugh that echoed on unearthly stone, the echo of which was mad, and a voice, too familiar not to be recognized, too hollow to be right, joined it. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? Little red riding hood, lost in the wood-" Spikes of pure cryo erupted from the floor, closing Signe in, entrapping her in a frigid cage. The breathy laughter seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere, and mingled with a distant scream (everywhere, no where, animalistic, pained). A figure unfolded from the dark, a blade of pure cryo in its hand, "Oh-... what big teeth, I have-" A gold eye (hazy, scarred) and a blue eye and cascading, blue hair, "my dear." Kaeya emerged from the dark, whole, alive (whole?, alive?), and different. Dark veins tore through brown skin, bleeding into his right eye, and disappearing across his neck. His clothes were his, but utterly changed. He drew close (was she real? was she flesh, and blood, and a beating heart?), eyes narrowed, eyes shifting. He watched the ice melt against her touch. Real. He flinched back and tossed his head and a peel of wretched laughter seemed ready to split him in two. (How? Why? No, no-...) "So brave, so foolish-" He leered closer, and a blink sent tears rolling down, seemingly unbeknownst even to him, "Have you come to join me?"

She had torn through the pages of her tomes until her fingers bled from the papercuts, and the dark circles under her eyes suggested that the witch hadn't slept in what was at least a day or two. Her escape from the Abyss had come at Kaeya's expense, and she wouldn't have rested until she found a way to rescue him, too.

Plenty of Knights and common Mondstadters alike had stopped by the library to ask how she was doing. The change in her demeanor and the absence of the infamous Cavalry Captain that usually lingered by her side were far from subtle signs that something wasn't right. Signe grew pricklier at each question, barely gracing them with a response to return more quickly to her desk to pour through information again. Finally, after endless research and Bennett's help, a portal into the Abyss had come to surface - but Signe had ventured into the cave alone in the case that she didn't return, the opening seemingly vanishing after her.

It became harder to walk with each step into the Abyss. Any moisture that had collected on the soles of her boots seemed to freeze her to the ground, and her shivers became more pronounced as the temperature around her dropped. It's of no matter, she thought: I must be getting close.

The large clearing in front of her was covered in ice, and the temperature had dropped so much that there was a bit of frost collecting on her lashes. Signe barely had time to react when the large spikes of cryo emerged from the ground, leaving her little room to move (to escape?). The figure that had emerged from the darkness was clearly Kaeya, but the Abyss had clearly managed to touch him, too.

"I came to find you," she replied, instinctively trying to melt through the cryo with her electro with little progress. Join him? Join... the Abyss? He couldn't be serious.

"--To bring you back. We've all been worried sick. Everyone’s been asking for you nonstop, and I couldn’t--

“Kaeya, what have they done to you?"

                                                                       QUESTION            @galactia​​​    ↤   accepting    ::     NEARLY A KISS    ↩

[  TAUNT  ] :  Zhongli is taunting Kaeya, slowly moving in closer to his lips with no intention of kissing them & [  CHEEK  ] :  Zhongli and Kaeya are leaning in to kiss each other, but at the last moment Zhongli dodges Kaeya's lips and kisses his cheek instead. (Zhongli is teasing Kaeya shamelessly)

KAEYA  sunlight is a slow crawling warmth where it creeps into zhongli’s apartment. liyue’s heat can be burgeoning even early in the day: when the morning cannot kiss him awake before his lover does for he is too spent - exhausted by the same lovemaking that invigorated him the night before.

              he is the peaceful cadence of breaths / all steady.         “...liebling...” the silence of satiation; aglow still, hours after zhongli's handiwork. his afterglow is the centrepiece. the messy sheets his pedestal- instead of flower petals he has the imprints of fingers & teeth left in his skin—aching their small reminders of a passion banked by sleep.

dense lashes flicker low above the soft, small o of his mouth. impeccable heat rouses in his marrow; murmurs awake to answer the song of someone’s presence.           hm.              a tease.

    see— that’d be more effective were zhongli not a being composed of tease.

the man’s every facet winks in & out of existence. a play of light across polished stone. cheekiness & raunchiness fold back into the shadows of civilised sophistication with an ease that robs kaeya of breath. does he really think-? his advances have been exposure therapy from day one.

he rubs his cheek slowly along zhongli’s. wraps his arms around his shoulders, refuses to let him rise. a cat’s affection. “there are others who will kiss me, if you won’t.” the tickle of another’s breath is pulled close to his throat as his leaves it in a yawn.         “—you spoilsport.”      a SHOVE-             a l o n g s t r e t c h the dip of his spine & all along it the marks of an ownership uncontested—truly, no matter the way kaeya twists & turns to earn some more potent attention. drugging, addictive:  this dragon has made it clear just who he belongs to.

the words are made languid by the heat of potential: “shall i taunt you into a proper display of affection?”          yes, this is a power to get drunk on.

       “ I'd rather be the hunter than the prey if I can help it, Mr Zhongli. ” The blithe remark was accompanied by an easy smile. It wasn't as if Beidou was a stranger to this establishment, despite having never met Mr Zhongli personally; whenever one of the Crux, one of her own, passed away at sea, all possible arrangements were made to repatriate them to their family in Liyue or, in the event that wasn't possible, ensure that the proper funeral rites were conducted for them nonetheless. “ The work you do here at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is admirable, but too long spent here and I think I'd miss the companionship of the living. ”

🎁 / @galactia + zhongli 72. natural, imagine dragons

nudges gently at a character building question: in the markus is dead verse, does he remove the photos of markus because of the moving on? or the grief? I am curious

The grief, definitely. That's their home and Connor would not want to move out of it for at least .... a couple of years after Markus' death (I think he'd move back in with Hank, eventually; he likes to have company, does better with a home that isn't empty) but having photographs of them together up around the place? Why would he do that to himself? He would not get rid of the photos (and he'd leave the cupboard with stickynotes untouched, sometimes leave it open so he can see them at a distance. Sidenote, at least once, he's added an 'i love you' stickynote to that cupboard door, in the After) -- would not get rid of the photos but he would have them somewhere in a particular place where he could look at them when he wanted to look at them.

Does it hurt to see photos of Markus? Hm, maybe. I think actually part of the reason would be that there are photos of Markus semiregularly in the news, even still, and they are photos of 'Markus The Leader Of The Rebellion' who is, yes, part of who Markus is and was, but also they're not Markus (Home), and I think Connor would like to have photographs of Markus that still feel 'new' or fresh or. Things that don't feel like permanent fixtures which can be overlooked or background-noised. It's not like he doesn't have access to photos at all times anyway. But the physical copies - especially that photo of Markus in the sunlight on their balcony, facing Connor, threatening to tip right over the edge because he's chronically perched in places, smiling at being caught on film - the physical copies are nice to keep as keepsakes. There's something tangible about photo albums rather than framed pictures on a wall anyway.

He misses him often and misses him more with these snippets of Markus who is real and laughing, shining out at him from a photo. I am not sure Connor's reasoning would be as explicit as everything above - he has handed me these as all good reasons for what he did (taking the photos down, putting them away) and I agree these are probably several of the reasons, but none of them were what made him do it. He arrived home one day and photos of Markus were everywhere and he thought, I want to take those down, and he did. the 'why' sort of came later, and probably is genuinely the 'why', but the knowledge was he wanted to take them down and so he did. connor has always known grief, and knows it well enough to not question when 'i want' is there. in grief, 'i want' is a gift.

I am sorry to have to enforce this rule a bit more firmly, but, as I have mentioned before - if you are a mutuals only blog and you break mutuals with me by simply unfollowing (therefore, we can no longer interact, because the mutuals only is part of your rules), I am going to hard block.

It causes me frustration and anxiety, as I do admit I take my time, and I enjoy people on my dash and enjoy the potential for being able to interact in the future when I have spoons/the inspiration/an idea.

An unfollow (WITHOUT a soft block) effectively just stops me from being able to to send asks/memes, or anything IC etc and confuses me.

an addition: I know tumblr glitches. I've been on this sight long enough to have seen it happen a lot. I typically reach out to someone once to check if an just unfollow was intentional or not! Because I get it. It happens.

AND, if you aren't mutuals only - unfollow away. I'll continue to follow and interact because I know that is cool with you! This just applies to people who are mutuals only in their rules.

@melodicbreeze replied to your post “"Why are we beating up the old rock man? Can I...”:

He's never had chocolate milk-

@galactia replied to your post “"Why are we beating up the old rock man? Can I...”:

Zhong vc: .... not you too, Sylvie.

​"Wuh ... huh? Is that why?" Immediately, their spirits deflate and their shoulders sag. "What's so weird about that?"

@narvvhal replied to your post “"Why are we beating up the old rock man? Can I...”:

Genetics

"... I'm not counting Tonia wanting to throw hands, considering she wants to use me as a means of transportation and threatens me when I say no."

Trick: A bottle of dandelion wine is left at Venti's table, tied with blue ribbon, and accompanied by a note that, on the surface, is signed only with a K. Venti would know. Except when the cork is popped mint-colored glitter flies out, coating anyone in the vicinity in sparkly, green flecks. On closer inspection, there is another note on the bottom of the bottle, Trick or treat, friendly neighborhood bard. It reads, You'll find real bottle behind the third barrel on the left behind the Angel's Share. That one, is full of the nectar of the gods. Enjoy.

Not for a second had Venti thought the bottle contained anything truly malicious, despite noticing the very different feel this bottle had than one that was filled with liquid would have.

Alas, a glitter bomb was not something he suspected... he wouldn't have opened it inside the tavern if he knew what a weapon he'd be unleashing.

The note on the bottom caught his attention, and Venti had to laugh. At least there would be something for his troubles-

the trouble of having to use the wind to blow all of this glitter out of the tavern before Master Diluc banned him.

If, perhaps, later that night when Venti was indeed enjoying a nice glass of wine, some of the glitter blowing in the wind found its way into Kaeya's abode, well, who was to say?