#with: ccaptain

[bitbrumal]

RE:  kaeya’s skin leaks looking like a prince of khaenri’ah, & @ccaptain stating the lil fucker would totally wear it to halloween :)))

[glacialmarch]

@ccaptain asked —

❛  it’s  always  back  to  you ,  again .  ❜ of COURSE it is. of course it's ALWAYS back to the vision in his hands, the vision that saved him from diluc's flaming rage illuminating that fateful night. of COURSE there's always an answer, but the child soaked in stormy rain and freezing can't find it. the man in front of the tsaritsa can't, either. he would beg -- really, he would, if his mouth wasn't crackling with dry answers.

KHIONIYA  thick & rich is the silence that decorates a gaping hall. it sits in the stillness of pale pillars that lead deeper inside; in a timeless face. in the creases around her eyes- the many motionless hairs within furs of beige & brown.       nothing moves until a mortal comes into awareness, & he is smoke billowing into clear mists. familiarity treads at his side.    something dips the marble of her cheek.

"...welcome home.”

& home has brought itself along. smoke, or pigment. oil in the thrashing waters of a child come home- home as a rhyme in triplets. an event worth sitting up for. soft & softer, furs slide along each other to chase shoulders’ curves.

                    “you have brought your own.”          jashenka’s little one, newly acquired. fascinating,          the way mortals can form a chemical composition with each other until they are no longer an equation; unbalanced by absence hence. ( she’ll forget she can do the same. )

built upon natural hot springs, the basalt floors warm the weary feet of any visitor. what drags itself inside now are a bird’s hollow, snapping bones / & the jaws of a feline closed around it. all in the same man.

he is not immediately familiar & truly the term cannot be used — yet. at most there have been faint smudges of soot on the distant edge of awareness where it retreats: from wretched barbatos. miscreant bard. but the taste is easier to remember than it is hard to forget.

peach / ice — the soft of hers on the sharp of his eye. the white of her lashes blinks slow. “...” well. are these questions to be asked, or shall she invite them to the kitchens?

[bitbrumal]

                                                                                QUESTION                  @ccaptain​   ↤   accepting   ::   ❌ FOR A DISLIKE  ↩

❌

DILUC     “.......................uhh.      i thought we were kinda past..?”

it’s feverish, the cold sweat that seeps from his temples. “...this.” no more bad words. no hatred / the terror & anguish that motivate it. not the paranoia that paints his tongue black with a pyre’s soot: unlit, forever unlit, yet the soot will stain him all along that road.                         “you’re perfect.”

& the best part is---it’s not even a lie.          there is a different fever that feels as such for how it fractures bright & hot through the black of internal skies. a rejuvenating emotion, despite its being rather old. familiar.     perfect, indeed.

                 at least he can say he never stopped loving him.

[bitbrumal]

                                                                   CONTINUED  @ccaptain​​​    ↤    ragbros reconcile    ::    THREAD    ↩

DILUC  you did what you should have done, & pale fingers sink into a cascade of red, unruly hair. they grip tight enough that the rhythmic shake of his head makes it all ache — sweeter, sharper, easier.  “no,.”        this, the most terrifying thing: that his attempt to protect family feels wrong. that kaeya, his kaeya, simply matters more- more than everything else diluc is.

like sane. like right. like in love with mondt, with life, with the few kind things that are devoid of ulterior motives - but how much of those things are real? how many of those things walked up to him & told him... confessed / doled out their manual & pointed out their name in the dictionary? traitor. liar. you’re nothing but a target to me. you have been nothing but a ragnvindr to me.

maybe that’s why this tenuous link to kaeya is the only thing that breathes in the chest. kaeya at least, however late, was honest - & what did it really serve..? if diluc forgives, then, it makes sense to think of it as a long con / successful.                   as long as he does not, then perhaps kaeya’s guilt was real too.

isn’t that awful?

if kaeya can’t use him, he’s not a user.

it’s... a slightly new place to be stuck in, but he is stuck nonetheless.

         “..........thank you.”    for bothering to speak to me at all, of this. for doing without lies... or with the pretence of honesty. in any case, it’s...                 “...but it’s not right. i don’t want you to think-” even if it w a s right “-that hurting you, is ever...” his voice is thin & warbled by the time it worms past the ache in his throat. curled over knees pressed closely together, his eyes bleed. “please don’t think that.” & he can’t even say the words, can’t even spell it out like he should be able to ( my baby brother my baby brother i ), “please.”

[glacialmarch]

@ccaptain asked —  ❝  stay,.please.  ❞ he has no right to demand that of her, but what holds kaeya back from asking in a quiet tone? a moment, and she may have missed it.

[ stay the night prompts — accepting ]

KHIONIYA  the dark has slid across teyvat. the little thing that was purring in sleep beside her, crawled into folds & curls of fur, stirred as she did — it is time to walk. if the body’s desire to move is ignored long enough, she’ll forget to wake from being statuesque.

       “...” stay, please. ah.    so intoxicating a demand.

mortals are adorable.

hm. well. nothing creaks or cracks as they lean across the armrest, despite how long they’ve been still for. little limbs are tenderly arranged to be more easily caught in layers of fur. in the wake of a tug, the bundle slides across smooth stone until it can be fitted into the crook of their arm. small & slender, kaeya is arranged like a babe on its mother - & about that size. his weight sits easily in one arm & his head is all that pops out of the furs. long white curls may tickle his nose.

“then you will join me.”

each step rocks the boy. they shall share the long trek across heated basalt &, then, through chill northern air. no light streams out the palace’s windows, but the wide embrace of the mountain side is a lover’s sweet breath. always good to remember the world truly exists. her sleepy visitor will get cold quickly, though, so he’ll be shown the gallery instead of the grounds far the last leg of the walk.        ...fresh snow is meant to be kicked up.

     “you see this?” the rolling snowdrifts & outcroppings of dark rock that break them up. birch trees taller than the gate house, stepping stones that shift into miniscule banks of powdered snow. even the night cannot be blind here, where the landscape is so pale it glows under the faintest star. “pure white. all thanks to the littlest star.”

[glacialmarch]

@ccaptain​ asked —

o9﹕ sender  falls  asleep  leaning  against  receiver . // and when all is said, all the questions have been answered and words risk of hanging him, tears have been spilled and energies have been exhausted. the broken husk that is kaeya lies, unrespondent and with dryed streaks of pained -- pained, relieved, mourning, understanding -- tears down to his chin. when all is said and done, the traitor lies in the arms of the traitorous god and has wept in her furs like a child, open-mouthed ugly cries for help that dropped down in her lap. his eyes are stinging. kaeya alberich has sobbed himself to a catatonic sleep, finally breaking apart his doubts and fears.

at home.

KHIONIYA  — lines shift in slow limbs of marble. slow enough not to disturb the child’s weight in her lap. the throne room lies cavernous around them: she its throat & it her maw. ever open, that the little ones may sleep between the teeth of a god & know few things willing to test the strength of these jaws.

it is not actually off-limits, but people treat it as such. a pity. they tend to rely on assumptions. it can be a frustrating lack of sense.

   a peach’s rose slides to the one passed out / a sated glance.      next to never do people ask to nap in these furs. the most luxurious, soft, & thick ones had been selected especially to cushion fragile bodies & elastic minds. they find themselves attracted to 'creature comforts’ — it has lead the choice to build a kitchen directly outside this hall, to construct the palace atop hot springs, to ensure large hearths are lit when there are those in need of coming home. seems she is off-putting. hm.

fair enough.

( the urge to pet this new welcome one is resisted. the mind drifts pleasantly on the currents of the present & when he wakes, she promises herself,       she will try to ask. )

here & there, an outlier seeks a haven in her presence / finds it. & whenever they do she is flush with emotion.

a hush of cloth & leather: the slow uncross / recross of her legs under kaeya’s smaller frame. he is properly out, heavy with relaxation. deep is the yawn that expands her ribcage with a small pop.

perfect.