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@eigenfrequencies
this blog is a GENSHIN IMPACT OC for a nonbinary, visionless snezhnaya-born wanderer. this blog welcomes crossovers, alternate universes, original characters (obviously), multimuses, and canon-divergent muses! mun is 23, blog is 18+, semi-selective, mutuals only, and will feature triggering content + spoilers + fan theories.
RULES / BIOGRAPHY / PERMENANT STARTER CALL
odinnadtsat·:
Hold momentarily tightens on the grip of his bow, lowering down as the arrow he manifests dissipates into the air. “I assure that I have been working and progressing on my archery. It’s not that bad if I can hit the target.”
❝hitting a target means very little if you don’t hit them correctly. a boar simply hit in the hind leg can still get away to live another day.❞ they sound - and look - unimpressed, but there’s an air of amusement around them at the same time. ❝your posture is horrible - straighten up, hold your shoulders back, strengthen your pulling arm. try again.❞
@dancefrost liked for a one-liner / accepting.
❝i didn’t expect to see you here; is it for the knights or personal reasons?❞
@odinnadtsat liked for a one-liner / accepting.
❝you were always terrible with the bow but i didn’t think it was this bad.❞
@tidesraging liked for a one-liner / accepting.
❝things like you should remain a ghost - gone and forgotten.❞
@freedomwisp liked for a one-liner / accepting.
❝something’s changed since i’ve been gone - what happened?❞
perhaps like for a one-liner?
haha what if i brought back kosha. jk.... unless?
1!
muse development meme ; accepting.
1. what would completely break your character?
how do you break an already broken person? for kosha, there’s little to nothing that can shatter them compared to what they’ve already gone through. losing their parents, the most important people in their life, was enough to cause cracks that would never fit back together again. having their best and only friend join the fatui made sure that there was no using gold to mend those breaks, not even with a skilled hand and an artist’s patience. even after all these years, those cracks remain, perhaps closer together than before, but a constant reminder of what they’ve lost and how little they’ve gained. there’s nothing to be taken away from kosha that would break them down completely - but what about giving them something back? when the fatui took away kosha’s parents, they accepted their death. they had heard stories, whispered by their parents near the fireside when they believed the child asleep, of what happened to those that raged against the tsarista’s winter wrath. it did not take a genius to imagine what example would be made of those so bold to express such traitorous opinions. so when they were dragged out into the snow, never to be seen again, kosha did the only thing they could do: they accepted their death and grieved / they are still grieving now. but what if they were still alive? prisoners never to see the light of day again and yet never taste the freedom that death would give. contained in their cells, names long forgotten, never knowing how their only child fared against against this world without their guidance. and that poor child, forsaken one. did their heart too lay bare against the snow all those years ago? did it harden with hate, solidify into the rock needed to stand against the icy waters of time? or did it simply shatter and never grow? would it ever be soft again? does the heart shrink? kosha comes across the information on accident. that those long ago taken have been held alive, captive since, the greatest torture to atone for their sins against her majesty. visibly, nothing changes, but they walk away, deep into the woods (familiar even without the snow; father sets a trap nearby, mother holds out her hand for them to take), far enough in to where no one hears them scream and scream and scream until throat aches and bleeds and no more sound escapes. and even then they sob, their body that of a child again, cries too big, too painful, swallowing them whole. it breaks, shatters, sanity slips by. how do you break? with thunderous cries.
me: i will go to bed! brain: what if kosha joined the fatui with childe me: ah.
when ajax comes back changed, violent, angry, spiteful, kosha understands because they’ve always been that way, biting at any hand that feeds or slaps. and when it starts getting worse, when village teenagers and grown men are beaten down, when even kosha can’t control or fight back against ajax’s rage, they know. it’s seeing his father’s worried eyes, the villages fearful ones, the eager ones behind the mask of the fatui. and despite it all, despite ajax knowing kosha’s history with the organization, they both know that he’ll join them because it’s the only option. it’s his future. it cannot be fought. so kosha swallows their pride. they swallow the tearful nights, the hatred for the tsarista, the lust of revenge against an organization that claims to support snezhnaya’s people with one hand while cutting out the ‘bad seeds’ with the other. kosha follows ajax into the fatui, watches them twist and turn, become childe, become tartaglia. ajax is a dead name. they do not mutter it, even on a good day. kosha wonders if childe would hesitate to put a knife to their throat if they did so. they doubt it. but he’s all they know. he’s laughing in the middle of the hunt and scaring the prey away, curling up against each other by fireside in an otherwise empty house. he’s holding bruised hands after a fight (the roles reverse - once it was ajax holding kosha’s own, and now the darker haired figure wraps the redhead’s knuckles while he comes down from the bloodlust), soft promises of the future before falling asleep. long lost memories, but still cherished, still thought after, even after all this time. he’s all he knows, and even if it means stomping on everything their parent’s stood for, kosha will not lose another cherished one. even if it means going against everything. even if it means dying for a country they don’t love. even if it means pledging their allegiance to the tsarista while dreaming of shooting an arrow through her throat.
and this beating in my chest won't start back up it just stalls and stalls and stalls and stalls please come back
“do you believe in ghosts? no. i believe in being haunted.”
— Nancy Huang, “A Hymn to Shanghai,” from Favorite Daughter
“I point at my father and say come home. Tell me what my name is.”
— Dave Harris, “David And” (via buttonpoetry)
and you don't seem the lying kind a shame that i can read your mind and all the things that i read there candle lit smile that we both share and you know i don't mean to hurt you but you know that it means so much and you don't even feel a thing
oh this world was made for ending oh the storms that grow oh the love we've known oh the homes not home oh the worlds not shown oh the storms that grow
— Anaïs Nin, from Henry and June
