“Well, well, well.” He can’t say he’s surprised to see the other; given that this is his home ground. He approaches the Halovian, a familiar confident smirk gracing his visage. It wouldn’t hurt to pay a final respect before leaving. Another day, another hunt. There’s no rest for the wicked and Virgil is no exception to such an adage. Vengeance is as wicked a venture as they come and it is the self-appointed reason for living.
“If it ain’t the lil birdie himself.” A hand rests on his belt, an all too familiar posture for him to adopt. He makes his intentions known; his aim in saying goodbye. Virgil has become a creature that by an acquired nature must wander. It isn’t like him to linger, not without proper reasons. “It’s a fine evenin’ fer a farewell, ain’t it?”
Not long ago, Dáinsleif has learned that those who experience abyssal poisoning may have symptoms akin to being immersed in a dream. Dreams should be as natural as breathing to human beings, yet the primary reason why they're considered a symptom is because the people who live in Khaenri'ah had lost that ability for unknown reasons, thus earning the kingdom's location the descriptor as a «dreamless land». That would be a good explanation why the noctilucent knight is in a state he can only describe as dreaming, if it weren't because he hasn't partaken in any actions that would lead him to said poisoning.
In an even closer event than learning about poison-induced dreams, Twilight Sword reminisces one of his brother's ceaseless rambles about Irminsul, about how that tree may be an emanation of an even bigger tree somewhere in the universe just like there are multiple emanations of the Axis Mundi scattered across Teyvat. Given that the conversation strayed into topics that only those who Dáinsleif would consider to be abyss lunatics, he never paid too much attention to that, nor he necessarily believes that statement to be true to his current state of affairs. If anything, because it doesn't matter in the face of the predicament he's facing.
He doesn't know for how long he's treaded this new city, so unlike what he's heard of other nations, so distant from what could anyone imagine civilizations to grow into by the time humanity reaches such level of advancement. His concern, none other than the suggestion he was made just a few days ago: a chance for receiving the power of the abyss within him. And an even more worrisome premise is that Vedrfolnir himself was the one to ask.
If it is true that he bears a connection to Irminsul as his brother had claimed, perhaps this dream could be an answer from the almighty tree to help him come to a decision. Somewhere far away where the weight of his decision-making won't affect his daily life, somewhere inconsequential to what he does. Not that Dáinsleif has any interest in doing anything— actually, he couldn't even said he had walked down the streets long enough to acquaint himself with this city. Only enough until it's reached his ears the location of a confessional. The notion of attending one heavily foreign to a non-believer like him, if his understanding of the workings of one is correct according to what he had heard from others who came to Khaenri'ah after losing their faith in their god.
But perhaps... it is worth it a shot.
Reason why he's currently waiting on line, hesitant and nervous all the same to such extent that he kept offering his turn to another when he was close enough to be the next to confess. Dáinsleif could procrastinate as much his turn until he was the last and final individual of the day to step forward, his mind too far adrift thinking about his brother and all the signs under the crimson moon he could find that indicated a certain obsession with the abyss to notice.
Robin knew she should not be doing this. If anyone caught her, it would be… trouble. This was also, probably, an act of betrayal against her friends, whom her brother had hurt, or tried to hurt. But Robin couldn’t help it. This was her brother. Sunday. Her dear brother, locked away, and she didn’t know what they were doing to him, what was going to happen to him. She couldn’t bear it any longer.
It was easy to find out where they were keeping him, with her connections. It had only taken a day to find out all the information she needed. And so Saturday night found her with the key to Sunday’s room (room, they were not keeping him in a horrible cell, thankfully), unlocking the door and stepping inside.
The lighting was dim, the room only lit by an open window, seal by metal bars so no one could escape. Robin’s heart hammered in her chest, and she closed the door behind her quietly. Because in the center of the room, there he was, chained to a chair, head bowed. Suddenly, there was a chime of a grandfather clock: midnight. It was Sunday.
The first character I first fell in love with: it was actually Ann ! When her trailer came out i remember seeing it on twitter and being heart eyes at her (still can't play her tho lmao)
The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Frederick, with each update he gets better and his involvement in Ashes of Memory is so -chefs kiss-
The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Alva...I get it cause of the whole Luca lore but he's just kinda there for me tbh
The character I love that everyone else hates: Joker (surprise surprise) I know the crimes I will fight for this man, he did all the wrongs in the world and deserves all the karma he gets but that's my lil mew mew. the fandom can cry in a corner they can't handle evil men that aren't conventionally attractive
The character I used to love but don’t any longer: ehhh Orpheus, it's not that i don't like him anymore but he feels so flat lately
The character I would totally smooch: let me give Ithaqua a big smooch on his forehead my baby
The character I’d want to be like: My god don't wish that upon me (maybe Margaretta cause she classy)
The character I’d slap: Undead and all his mains fuck you all
A pairing that I love: Anne and Ganji they need to marry, open a toy shop & live happily ever after (margejoker too but it's mostly cause simp and unattainable muse)
A pairing that I despise: I don't think there's a pairing that I hate. Maybe Antonio with Andrew? Just cause I don't get where it comes from (but then again half the fandom ships are like that so)
Honkai StarRail
The first character I first fell in love with: Serval and I am still feral about her
The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Bronya, she grew on me specially after the most recent trailblaze mission in Belobog
The character everyone else loves that I don’t: Tingyun but i blame it on the story she kinda did nothing for me i hope we get to know what's made of her tho
The character I love that everyone else hates: I'm not sure she's hated but I love miss Cocolia Rand. I know she's an npc, i know she's dead (rip the queen) but that's my emotional support weekly boss battle and her fight in the main story is still the most satisfying moments in game
The character I used to love but don’t any longer: I don't think i feel out of love with anyone tbh
The character I would totally smooch: Aventurine ONE CHANCE PLEASE
The character I’d want to be like: Asta so I can have her bank account
The character I’d slap: Jingyuan's ass
A pairing that I love: i mean the brain rot is fresh so AvenDay. But also KafkaBlade these two -grips them-
A pairing that I despise: Danheng and Blade need to stay 50 meters away from each other at all times. Idk if it was the fandom, idk if it was the quest but i really can't see them as a ship
The first thing that he feels is unexplainable warmth. It surrounds him gently, coaxing heavy eyes to open to dim light. He's not sure where he is but this wasn't supposed to be his destination. When Aventurine had bought the dream bubble he had expected the brutal winds of his homeland to be what would greet him. The desert would surround him and bristle his skin with harsh sand but ultimately, it would feel like home.
Instead, he's faced with a crowded room. Toys clutter the surroundings and fix their empty gaze upon him as if accusing him of intruding. He tries to sit up, hand reaching to rub away the sleep from his eyes but that only makes him freeze. A familiar weight of cool metal is around his wrists.
For a moment he forgets how to breathe. It's been so long since he left his chains that he can't help but to panic. He feels small once again. Powerless to the fate that he's been born into. And he would have continued spiraling had it not been for a sweet voice rousing him from his dread.
He can hear it coming from behind the wall of soft plush. There's a glow coming from above, almost acting like a spotlight to a scene he's yet to be privy of. With a crawl, he slowly pushes the toys to the side and makes his way towards the beautiful voice, timidly rising to his feet as he finally sees what illuminates the room.
There stands a child on a bed, unrefined posture that she's still learning to keep as she sings the melody gleefully. At the foot of her spectacle, watching with rapture is a boy on his knees. It's not hard to guess who these children might be, their wings a dead give away of just who this dream belongs to.
To think he'd end up with the dream bubble of the main leaders of the five lineages.
Before him, Sunday and Robin are the picture of unabashed joy, it's almost sickening how beautiful the sight is. The glow above makes a young Robin look almost ethereal. Even in a simple dress Aventurine can already see in her what her older self projects in her stellar performances. And Sunday, he is the picture perfect of a devotee adoring a saint. The open smile feels bizarre in contrast to the guarded empty smirks etched to his current leader image.
Jealousy is not unfamiliar to him. Granted, he knows that not everyone has had the same circumstances. It's only natural that the siblings would have had an easy start, they were after all the future leaders of the Oak family. Still, to be put in such a place while he's heavily reminded of his own past, Aventurine couldn't help but to feel disgusted at the display. His chains feel heavier than ever, the cool metal digging into his skin as he grips them in quiet rage.
He takes a step back, thinking he has seen enough yet in his haste he knocks down the wall of plushies who promptly bury him in fluff. With a resounding yelp he sits up, pushing away the giant toys from his lap trying to scram before they find him. But it's already too late. Silence is already filling the room as Aventurine looks back on his shoulder.
the fate of a gem is to be desired, cut and sold. such is the steadfast belief of the blond man, a notion that holds truth in the hearts of many, perhaps even his own. ❝ i don't find myself agreeing. ❞ sunday declares, ❝ rather than being desired, cut and sold, i believe its destiny should be to be cherished. ❞ he muses gently, leaning forward to place a delicate kiss upon the man's forehead. ❝ the fate of a gem lies not merely in its material value, but in its ability to be treasured and loved. ❞
He all but stops, cheeks warming, gaze fleeting as the words sink in. He wants to blame the tender gesture that renders him speechless but actually it's the belief. Destined to be cherished. Ability to be treasured, to be loved. It's a dangerous thought, to think his end is not that of death. Sunday always has a way with words.
"Ability you say." Aventurine wonders if he has it in him. It's a difficult thing to accept when his birth dictated his worth, to his people and the rest of the verses, the expectations were there before he could even open his eyes. He's not supposed to be able, he's meant to just be, meant to follow the tell tale of the gem whether he's capable of withstanding it or not. Yet all those who believed in his worth are no more and he's currently left to prove himself to those who consider him even less than a speck. But Sunday speaks of inner worth instead of bestowed, and the kiss to his forehead is a quiet proof of his belief in it's existence.
He's not sure what to say, what to promise. It'd be so easy to fall back on the Aventurine, to shrug the gesture and taunt the man, remind him of who they're supposed to be, how they're supposed to act. In a rare moment of honesty, silence speaks. He can't really say much else, he would win nothing by airing out his actual thoughts on himself nor what he's been put through. The less Sunday knows the better, like that, the halovian can keep on believing in whatever inner worth he thinks Aventruine may have. A gem doesn't chose it's value nor destiny but if it could.
If it could.
A gloved hand seeks the other's and is rewarded with warmth, he musters a smile, however practiced it might be, it'll do to not shatter the moment. Even he finds himself deserving of it in spite of it all.
"That's a lovely sentiment." It's all it is, a sentiment. But he still ponders it.
Sunday is an earnest idealist, his core quality and flaw. For all the things that make it easy to understand one another, all the similarities, the thing that distinguishes them the most is their view. Aventurine accepts reality as it is, all it's flaws, all it's injustices, the roles he must take to keep going and all the ruin it brings him. The cards are dealt regardless of fortune, the only thing one can do is to play. Sunday wishes to end the game, he tried so, almost did it, but in the end.
In the end Aventurine's cheeks are warm, the light feeling of a kiss lingers on his skin and he finds himself wishing for that reality. He places a kiss to the back of Sunday's hand, eyes finally meeting, a belief of his own, no matter how sheepish and unsure. While he's not as grand as the cosmos nor as important as humanity, perhaps he can muster the ability to make himself important to one person, regardless if he has value or not.
songbird #12 - achilles come down featuring Sunday (@halothes) & Aventurine
summary: in the midst of nothingness, madness and harmony, aventurine sees the person who's responsible for it all.
"You crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. It is empty Achilles, so end it all now. It's a pointless resistance for you."
'We've got to make good use of death.'
Such were the words he told Ratio before walking to his execution and such was the truth even if masked in deceit. The near omnipresent gaze was meant to hinder their plan as it should be impossible to lie under such circumstances. With every move read and every word analyzed the slightest misstep could be fatal but Aventurine is used to this pressure. After all poker had always been his favorite game.
The confident smile speaks of coercion, an early silencing of the dove that could shatter a million hearts across the universe but none would bleed harder than that of her brother. Tied to the altar as he was, it was impossible to move without stirring the delicate strings of the knot that held Penacony together.
How fortunate of him that Aventurine was there to hold his hand. A faithful servant who had offered himself so graciously, forfeiting his own freedom and power to Sunday as promise of his unwavering loyalty. He was to uncover the truth in his name, perhaps even bring the criminal to his trial, standing shoulder to shoulder with the head of the family as the sinner is sentenced for the murder.
Too bad The Family is not fond of games of deception.
With the barrier broken between the layers, Nihility and Harmony bleed into each other in a slow dance. The fissure reveals a hidden world submerged in slumber, far too big to be ignored but small enough to be temporarily contained. And although Aventurine should be walking beyond the barrier, he finds that there's still some defiant interference in his way.
He should not be seeing Sunday in front of him right now.
'This is all but a fleeting dream.'
They stand on what could be described as a roof top, the black waters gently dismantling the building from beneath but never quite allowing it sink. A silent devouring that should cease as the knot begins to mend itself whole again. But for now, IX remains in the horizon, uncaring of his travel to it's immense shadow and oblivious to the grappling resistant pull of The Harmony.
Sunday's hand is extended, expectant.
"Is this your last effort to keep me?" He can't help but to laugh. The trial should be over and the Harmony's connection severed from him. Whoever, Whatever he's seeing right now is not Sunday, but they managed to make him stop nonetheless.
'Do you love your family more than yourself? '
There is an underlying rage as he recalls the question. To force him to admit such truths to be used as punishment on him was foul. Even after decades of having his origins held against him by everyone he comes across, none hit quite as hard as having the fictitious promise of being reunited with his family again.
A new beginning, free from pain and eternally happy under the merry tune of the harmonious orchestra. It's disgusting. A laughably terrible joke.
Perhaps this is how they attempt to lure him back. If not by love then at least by hate. Surely he wouldn't pass the chance to have one last shot at winning his trial. They studied him so well, they gave his younger self the perfect day of a lifetime, his future a mocking smile that insults him from even daring to fight back, and his present. He was made captive in the dream, isolated from everything and everyone he has come know and forced to walk the Golden Hour in excruciating torturous pain under the guise of investigation. All the while he gave his cornerstone to whoever would accept, the broken aventurines are to spread fortune and wealth to those who need it most.
Such a magnanimous selfless act. He can't believe they fell for it.
The etched marble like smile remains ever so gentle as he approaches. Immaculate gaze elated as if the pain he has gone through was well earned and washed whatever crimes he had committed. All that is left is to do is take the hand and he is forgiven.
Aventurine finds that divinity and economy act the same way. They think themselves superior and justified as they bring ruin for those who swear to their name. Calling mercy to their guiding hand, promising sweet nothings that wouldn't be real had they not destroyed everything beforehand. But the worst of it all, is their self entitlement to punish those who do not comply.
Gaiathra Triclops punishes him for being born. The IPC punishes him for surviving. Sunday punishes him for doing his job.
The only difference is that Sunday is tangible, even if not quite at the moment.
"What a miserable move." He takes the waiting hand and guides it to his waist, letting it rest securely behind him as he crowds the figure. " You should never gamble, your bluff is terrible."
He really shouldn't be entertaining this but Aventurine doesn't know when to quit. Doesn't realize where the edge of the building and the sea of abyss is and how close to danger he truly is. He just keeps walking, guiding the ethereal figure in an embrace towards their destiny. And just as he has continuously done since he set foot in Penacony, he takes a gamble.
"Don't worry." His cynical smile doesn't match his gestures. Caring hands cradle the unmarred face, fingers webbing through soft feathery locks as he lures Sunday ever so close.
He's uncannily surreal, the precious gold doesn't shine in reaction, in fact, he continues to maintain the image of a merciful saint who knows of his past sins and has absolved them. It's a pity he can't have the satisfaction of seeing real fear in such a perfect face.
"I am still on your side." There's some honesty to every lie but the betraying kiss should be for the real one and not for this joke of a fabrication.
The first thing that captures Cartethyia's attention is not the prospect that you would venture to fill this bingo card fashioned after her heart— but the cute, little stickers designed to your likeness used to complete it. A joy that cannot always be seen on the surface of your visage, only through a keen eye to notice your every word, your every movement. Quiescent is the chuckle that escapes through her nostrils, easily mistaken by an exhale as the corners of her lips lift in a smile. Fingertips touch the empty spot where practice self-love should have been filled, too. Her gaze moves to the letter that enveloped the little bingo card thereafter. Within her, warmth spreads from her fluttering heart to porcelain cheeks. Though wish she would that you were here, for once she is grateful that you are not to witness her feelings betray her measured composure. On the day you and her meet again, she shall not hesitate to address this matter: for gratitude sake, but also to express the mirrored sentiment to do for you what you would for her as per the bingo card.
