#rhaazt

[altarfates]

Reality is unsympathetic to Lu Guang’s plight for the man before him is rendered now in terrible clarity, in the dream his countenance remains nondescript, a churning sequence of lurid colour, now, his expression is abhorrent. It is the calm he loathes the most, the patience that seems to be drawn taut across his elegant features, it won’t last, he can all but sense the ways it will inevitably fracture. It’s because he has witnessed this before, hundreds of time-lines unravelling at the tips of his impudent fingers, the unspooling thread inextricably woven around lives he had not intended to change. That did not matter, the consequences of his own arrogance aren’t bothered by how benevolent Lu Guang may have considered himself. Not that he did, he had long since lost the ability to see this as anything but a tribulation, inevitability becoming the thing he was running towards and from all at once. Vein is an incarnation of that punitive judgement, staring him down with the intensity of a raging fire.  He is not given an alternative here, his hands are effectively bound and his back forced straight against the rigid wooden back of what he surmises is a seat. Instinct compels him to avert his gaze, to writhe frantically in the snare that has been set for him but Lu Guang has taught himself how to pretend to be unaffected, even if it was not always persuasive. For it was not his life he was considering right now, not as those lethal fingers dab graciously at his slick forehead, nor as the other rests his elbow atop his knee, creasing his immaculately kept trousers. Cheng Xiaoshi’s name reiterates itself over and over in his mind, Lu Guang cannot feel him currently and the absence of his presence sinks into his veins as ice-cold dread. If he acted irrationally, diverted from the intended path that would lead to their future, he could not account for his safety even if he did survive. He has to be smart, even as his heart shrieks in protest, his fingers clenching against his restraints, memorizing the steady, dependable cadence of pain that bloomed from that durable rope embedding itself in his skin.  It is then that Vein relinquishes his hold on that clemency, the cloth discarded in favour for a sleek, silver gun. Lu Guang can taste death on his tongue, a viscous lathering of trepidation that accompanies the erratic beat of his heart. Breathe, he reminds himself, steadying it because he was jostled free of the dream and into something worse. Here, he could not run from his enemy, with the barrel of the gun flush to his chin, effectively tilting his head back, he was entirely at Vein’s mercy. Don’t be rash — it felt like a conversation he would have had with Cheng Xiaoshi before a dive. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret. @rhaazt’s voice cleaves open that palpable silence, addressing him as if he were an inconvenience and perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, he was nothing but an incessant thorn in the other’s side. Lu Guang cannot say he knows for certain what the others machinations consist of but having witnessed Cheng Xiaoshi’s death by his hands he knows he cannot trust his forbearance to be lasting. ❝ I’ll answer your questions.❞  He swallows thickly, the gun’s cool barrel encouraging him to remain docile, any futile squirming could result in a bullet entering and exiting through his skull. It would be a quick death, a compassionate gesture from the man Lu Guang insistently evaded. Now, there’s nowhere left for him to run, cornered with his wrists fettered, the stormy grey of his eyes still possessing the audacity to remain defiant. Because he had something to survive for, not something as tangible as a strategy or as efficacious as a means of escape, but a desperate exigency to see Cheng Xiaoshi’s face again, alive, alive, alive.

He musters equanimity, even as he can envision his own death, even as he meets the other’s gaze and holds it, his breathing was even now, his mind unimpeded by the dregs of fear that had lingered in the wake of that nightmare. ❝  And give you what you want.❞ it’s reluctant but Lu Guang doesn’t let that prevent him, even as his teeth ache to clamp down on his tongue until he tastes acrid blood. He had to live — without him Cheng Xiaoshi’s future was no longer guaranteed and he could not allow that to happen, not now, not ever. 

[essencefluxed]

“God, I wish that were me.”

[pei-na]

@rhaazt cont. from x

“ you’re always jealous. ”  rhaast's foot nudges a crumpled, dirty hoodie on the floor, sending it flying to the edge of the bed. it clings to the unmade sheets for a few moments before dropping back down, hit and missed. at least rhaast had tried. sort of. he’s leaning back in the gaming chair next to kayn’s desk, the chair creaking every time he shifts. it’s more accustomed to kayn’s weight than his, but it’s still the most comfortable spot for rhaast when all he wants to do is distract himself with a bag of snacks. this time, it’s something sour, something he found in a drawer in kayn’s room. if kayn had been attempting to hide his candy from the entity that lives rent-free in his head, then he must be a fool. or at least, that’s how rhaast sees it, though it wouldn’t be surprising if it were true.  rhaast is known for his restless hands, or so he’s been told, and his habit of picking up everything kayn owns, handling it, and weighing its importance as if it were his to control. in some ways, it’s his own jealousy manifesting. new guitar picks are bent until they almost snap, borrowed clothes are stretched out when rhaast forces himself into them or wraps them around his arm, distorting the fabric beyond recognition. even gifts from others are treated with little regard, as if rhaast is waiting for them to break in a way he would call a happy accident. nothing kayn owns is safe from rhaast’s grasp. it's always been like that and if rhaast could have it his way, it'll always be like that. “ he listens to me. you’ve fucked off to god knows where the last couple of times i’ve tried having a conversation with you. ” ezreal is a good listener, sometimes, and a surprisingly amusing little thing once you really get to know him. rhaast isn’t typically this intrigued by humans, but the heartsteel house has become a refuge for a group of individuals who don’t quite fit anywhere else. ironically, kayn blends in with them far too easily. on any other day, that might spark another wave of jealousy in the darkin’s mind, but today, rhaast has opted for stubborn defiance, the kind that digs at kayn’s patience until they’re both forced into this conversation. hell if rhaast understands why it has to be like this. and if rhaast is stubborn, kayn is worse. rhaast grunts, swivels the chair he’s perched on, and reaches for a trinket, toy, or whatever else is sitting on kayn’s desk. it feels smaller in his palm than it did when it was sitting on the surface. normally, he’d find it amusing, but right now, all he wants to do is crush it and flick the pieces toward kayn. “ i didn’t lose my shit when you ditched me last weekend only to stick your tongue down some dumb fucking whore’s throat and then be too tired to write the next day. oh but nooo, me having one conversation with one of your bandmates is where we draw the line ? fuck you. ”

// always jealous is one way to put it. possessive is a better word, that kayn would prefer to use. but both of these are unreasonable in the face of the circumstances rhaast poses: and he knows this, just as well.

everything in kayn's room belongs to rhaast. and so, by extension, he at the very least views rhaast as one of his own possessions as well.

nothing gives him more of a headache than being confronted with his own faults. he rolls around on the bed, onto his back, eyeing the other upside down. " oh, is a conversation what you wanna have? " , he says, after leaving rhaast at least a few seconds of silence, huffing a breath past his bangs.

pink hair picks up slightly, then lowers itself back onto his lips, that he presses together like some stubborn child.

finding a place to belong is something that kayn never really expected of himself. if he was honest, he still wonders if this place is truly where he belongs, but it's been better - more comfortable - better. rhaast invades every space he spreads himself out into, squeezes into it, possesses every part of his life and sometimes he has to admit he needs a break. then, he leaves, distracts himself with whoever'll have him, and then he comes back, expecting comfort.

needless to say, rhaast isn't the greatest at comfort.

kayn clicks his tongue, rolls onto his stomach, and picks up a sock. after only a short consideration, it's tossed at rhaast, with an annoyed groan. " takes a bitch to know one, don't it? I didn't even say shit. go make out with ezreal, or whatever you two were doing. "

stubborn words accompanied with an expression that speaks of even more stubborness. there's no civil air. no rational thought inside of kayn's head.

" when's the last time we spoke without yelling? "

[altarfates]

❝ what did i tell you about being more careful with your words ? ❞ vein flicks xiafei’s forehead lightly, closing the distance between them with a purposeful step, staying within arm’s reach as though anticipating the other might retreat. rumors, after all, are the lifeblood of this industry, an ecosystem that thrives on gossip and the ruthless tearing down of others to claw one’s way to the top. it hardly matters how many people get trampled in the process, the cutthroat nature of it all is undeniable. vein is reminded of this every time he recalls the moment he first found xiafei, submerged in water, held down by two fellow models. envy and jealousy, he concludes — petty, corrosive emotions driving the behavior of adults who ought to know better. rules exist for a reason, vein believes, and they are not to be broken. his operation is governed by a firm, unyielding hand, one that leaves no room for error. this control extends to xiafei, his top model and sometimes trusted right-hand, though even xiafei has an unfortunate knack for fueling rumors about the two of them. more than once, vein has caught whispers in the hallways of his own building — words that fade into silence the moment he steps too close. even during phone calls with xiafei, the faint sound of murmurs in the background betrays that their relationship is under scrutiny yet again. despite vein’s insistence that they’ve been nothing but transparent, it seems nothing can stop people from weaving new stories. the gossip takes on a life of its own, defying logic or proof, but it still manages to seep into every corner of their world. vein tightens his grip on the situation, resolute in his determination to maintain control, even as the weight of speculation presses in from all sides. ❝ when the rumors are so loud that they reach my floor, i can’t overlook it anymore. you mean to do good, to be good, don’t you xiafei ? ❞ fingers slip into the blond man’s hair after vein pats the top of his head twice. ❝ i thought i taught you this lesson already, do you perhaps need a reminder ? ❞

It was a cut throat industry, bedecked in luxurious clothes and inordinate glamour it had a way of beguiling those it deemed callow. Ascending too abruptly, exploiting his good-looks to have more than pittance at his disposal and more than deplorably cheap noodles on his table. It had exposed xia fei to condescension unparalleled in any other profession, the voracious mouths of his elders spouting praise and disdain indiscriminately. Everyday he had been committed to meeting those unreasonably high expectations and everyday it left him feeling bled of his vitality. There were many nights he had spent swathed in his blanket and quietly pleading that his supervisors would somehow realize that he was, in fact, still human. That had never extended to Vein, as if he were exempt to this particular brand of cruelty. Because he had always shown kindness to xia fei, from his most dire circumstances, his lungs heaving desperately for air whilst he was plunged underwater, to the less consequential — like when he got into underhanded arguments fuelled by the frivolous words of his co-workers.   The impact of his finger was lenient and as he met Vein’s eyes he began searching for answers, surpassing the reprimand that never sharpened into lethality, something that glittered in his gaze. He nods, slowly in acquiesce because he knows he has done something wrong — that his mordant reply, even if in jest, had been disseminated with such enthusiasm that it had even reached the top-floor where he resided. Guilt twisted in his gut, partially because he knows how Vein operates, that having to rectify his mistakes was taking up valuable time he may not have had in abundance. His expression is rueful, it wasn’t that he regretted standing up to those whose arrogance prevented them from holding their tongues but that he had become an issue his boss had to promptly see dealt with. ❝ Boss, I shouldn’t have said anything  —❞ because he knew the problem would be expeditiously resolved even if he didn't interfere, never to see those lineaments twisted in disdain. It sent a shudder up his spine, knowing they would be contorted in a far more agonizing expression when their punishment was dealt.

Obediently he tilts his head back, entirely pliant in the other’s hands, his fingers wreathing through strands of gold like this was his prerogative. Because xia fei was his top model, representing him upon a pretentious stage far below his standing. ❝ I remember. ❞ he repeats it as if it were an instruction, deliberating on how it felt upon his tongue, the impression of his reply far more impactful than his softer, less commanding timbre. Good, the praise from anyone else in the industry would have felt counterfeit, as contemptible as their ridicule. When it came from Vein it held the weight of veracity, because he abhorred lies, truth becoming a concept that conformed to his resolve. He doesn’t writhe in his grip, still lenient, gentle but maintains eye-contact because glancing to the side or away would have been an insult. ❝ you’ve taught me so much since I came here — how could I be anything but grateful ?  ❞ he breathes, feels how the air between them becomes so charged it was palpable, dragging its spectral fingers across his skin; portentous. ❝ I would never say no to a lesson from you. ❞

[essencefluxed]

“You ever feel like you’re being watched?”

[cloudhymn]

it wasn’t as if all of his past lives had been lancers, before the creation of cloudpiercer there had been imbibitor lunae that relied on more than the orb of abysm to reach their highest level of combat prowess. dan heng, too, had learned to fight without it, but there was no denying being without that familiar weight was less daunting. a cautious caress of fletchling into a smooth draw of the arrow, the steady exhale as steely green eyes narrowed into seafoam slits. the arrow cut through the air with speed and grace, and yet, dan heng only spears through the target dummy’s leg. a quiet hiss-like breath of disappointment, before turning to regard march, gaze upon her hands and then towards her propped up weapon.

“ can you show me again ? ”

@rhaazt liked.

[altarfates]

“ dan ! heng ! ” uh oh, it’s that tone of voice again. at least this time, she doesn’t seem particularly upset, a cheerful smile stretched across her face as march approaches with steady, determined strides. in her hand, she casually swings a camera, the strap looped twice around her wrist for security. “ it’s monthly picture day, come here, don’t be a bum about it this time ! ” she halts just in front of him, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to adjust the collar of his shirt. “ you should invest in some turtlenecks if you’re going to come back from running 'personal errands' with new bruises on your neck. ” bruises, she says, but they both know what she’s referring to. “ anyway ! i have a great cream for redness. you can have it, if you smile at the camera this time. ” 

March’s jaunty strides are portentous of something that leave dan heng with an imminent sense of disquiet, for all her effervescent joy her gaze was astute, or perhaps he had not been as discreet as he had thought. There was one person who should face reprimand for that, someone who, despite his most earnest efforts, had decided the side of his throat needed to be marred by the lingering impression of his teeth. Involuntarily his hand comes to rest defensively over his throat, a barrier between her knowing expression and the dark, possessive contusions that had been engraved into his skin. It would seem circumventing this was no longer a possibility and whilst indulging an onslaught of selfies, each with a more absurd composition than the last, was not something he reveled in, there were many much worse outcomes than this. “ Personal errands aside, will you not be asking them to join us ?” the ambiguous them could be referring to mister yang, himeko or even the ever enthusiastic trailblazer. any of them would have been far more suitable than himself. although, her touch, which should have felt invasive, feels kind, considerate, adjusting the collar of his shirt to conceal the vestiges of another personal errand. dan hengs attempts to keep them clandestine had been in futility, especially when it was march’s gaze that swept over him. “ In exchange for a smile ?” it seemed like pittance for what she was offering but if it were to alleviate the arbitrary spatterings of red brazenly rising above his collar then he could be but eternally grateful. “ All you would ask for is one ?” He studies her with a steady, inscrutable gaze but it does very little to disguise that faint flush that had dusted his cheeks spreading to the tips of his elegantly pointed ears. “ …I can agree to that.” 

[poswiecenia]

@rhaazt | from here !

( 🎨 )          ❛   I'M WELL AWARE when it starts , alhaitham.   ❜ carmine hues aren't focused on the scribe while the architect personally focuses on removing his earrings --- already in the process of mentally fretting over what on teyvat he was going to wear . . there's little time to argue or debate on how long until the event was. being late by a few minutes wasn't the end of the world was it ?

DOESN'T MATTER. HE had it in his mind that he's going to go --- now all that matter was figuring out something to wear . . not just to compliment what alhaitham had been planning to wear but color wise as well.

CARMINE CATCHES TEAL , brows furrowing as lips fall into a thin line ; unsure what the sudden closeness was about ( was alhaitham about to decline the weaseled invitation of him tagging along when he should have already invited him when he received the summons. whenever on teyvat that was . . probably weeks ago by now ! ) and preparing reasons in his mind as to why he should be allowed to go with him. even if technically he'd be his plus one.

ONCE HE WOULD have been horrified to show his face like this ; that the great " Light of Kshahrewar " hadn't been invited himself -- that he had to find a way in another way. now he didn't really care that much ; while a little frustrating to feel like such old news it wouldn't be a bad idea. mingling wasn't so bad and hells , he could possibly find a sponsor or two.

ANYWAY. alhaitham.

THE ARCITECT'S EYES flicked over the scribe's face as he read him silently , taking note of the softer way alhaitham's expression sat regardless of how he held himself in terms of body language. oh -- . . he wasn't pushing him away. odd how now he was more than willing to --- !

EYES WIDEN AS his hand flies up to cover the ink that had been pointed out , a flustered sound leaving the man as he took several steps backward in retreat   in embarrassment.   ❛   YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY MESSING with me --- !   ❜

WELL. AT LEAST he's getting ready ?