#lunarant

@lunarant​ said:  "you can’t get rid of me that easy." velgaius owo

YEARN // accepting!

     Slowly, Velkyn’s lips curl, broadening his stunned expression into one that could only be described as pleased. His eyes, previously fixed upon Heirsbane, find the Black Wolf’s face instead, lit warmly in the flickering lamplight illuminating the tavern. His tail flicks one way, then the other, and without asking the man’s permission, he takes the seat across from him at his table. How the two of them had both found themselves here, after all this time, Vel couldn’t say for certain. There was a funny sort of coincidence about it, though, something that smelled of fate, if he was inclined to believe in such things.

He wasn’t.

...But, considering the man before him had been believed dead, perhaps he should reevaluate. 

Ears flicking forward, the miqo’te tilts his head to one side. The last time he’d seen Gaius van Baelsar, the praetorium had been collapsing in blazing wreckage about their heads. He had been assumed dead in the aftermath, and Velkyn had been hailed as the man who had killed him...but that had never been the entire truth. Velkyn had beaten the Ultima Weapon into submission, certainly, but whatever had followed after, whatever had killed-- Or rather, not killed-- Gaius had been none of his doing.

And a part of him-- perhaps a selfish majority of him-- was glad of that fact. Opposing sides are opposing sides and they had certainly been on them, but all of that dust had settled and standing in it now, Vel recalls Baelsar as an impressive opponent. To lose the chance to face a warrior like that, in war or spar or simply in conversation, would have been an awful waste.

     “That so? Glad to hear it. I would’ve been pretty disappointed if that was all it took.” The tone of his words reflects a perfect mirror of the smirk tugging at the lips that shape them, flashing a hint of sharp teeth that glint in the dull fire-glow. “Even so, I’m not especially interested in finishing the job. I wouldn’t say no to a real test of strength, though, if you’ve the time for an old adversary.”

No Ultima Weapon, no Light’s Blessing, no Ascians, and no life-or-death stakes. He wants to fight him properly, for fun. He wants to see what the Black Wolf can really do.

Fuck!! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!! And may I repeat: Fuck!!!!!!!!

It was already bad enough that Qinghua had to come face-to-face with this person at all--even someone like him has heard tell of the oppressive aura of Momochi Tanba, after all--but fuck, did he really have to go and do something so outlandish?! Now he’s dead for sure!! Ahh, this was all the fault of his own aspirations to leave the legislation of Oumi behind, now he’s doomed again!

“This-- This, haha, ah, I humbly apologize for my actions, I would not have taken them if I were able to control my frantic impulse!!! Please forgive me!!!” It’s really not that Qinghua likes to grovel or submit to the whims of others! It’s just that this looks like his only chance at survival! It’s not like there’s any chance any ninja would be sent out to get him in particular, so this encounter probably happened on the way to something else, right? He can get himself out of this!

Right?

Coming out of his petrified stupor for just a moment, Qinghua drops the sword he’d just foolishly used to attempt a strike against the man. It’s not like it did him much good anyway, useless as he is with a weapon. “Haha, see, I have no plans of attacking anyone again so, well, haha this might seem like a tall request but I really didn’t intend to bother you so I should be on my way!”

“Paimon thinks Kaeya should watch his language, Bitch.” 

(fwoot pops the ask meme) // Closed!

🍇: how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood?

Quiet mornings softened by the snow. Ceramic mugs of hot cider that burned her fingers. Patchwork quilts made of scratchy wool and embroidered with roses. Petty arguments that ran circles around the dinner table and were forgotten just as unceremoniously. And there was laughter, of so many shades - loud and infectious and rumbling and quiet and squeaky and mischievous and giddy and it was love. It was all love.

Tonia remembers her childhood as warm, full of affection, full of things near and dear no matter what the thing in question was. Absence, be it of people or things, makes the heart fonder after all.

And that warmth—in this dark place, it’s so easy to forget it, to lose it, to never have it in the first place.

She was only fourteen when it was ripped away from her - love and life and any chance at a normalcy that she can only distantly dream of now. The Abyss enjoys ruining everything, it seems.

(A part of her, grieving for a bygone childhood, hoards the memories - locks it deep in her heart, makes sure it remains unblemished, a pristine comfort. No other love can be accepted, for what if, what if, the love in her heart becomes displaced and she forgets the warmth of her siblings hugging her, the warmth in her mother’s eyes as she consoled her, her father’s rough hand patting her head. Even now, so far into the future, this present—a part of her is too scared to love, not again. Love is so easy to lose.)

Knowing how unkind the world can be, there is no path to walk but forward. She doesn’t have a choice in that regard. Her heart is not on offer though, rarely is, never will be - but she can afford a listening ear and a merciful hand of some sort. It’s not quite love as she knows it but it’s close enough—and to some, who have never known its shape, it might be the best and only thing to give nonetheless.