VALENTINE'S DAY. | always accepting!

❆❅ . ― While others see the world for what it is, monstrous apparitions often fill her view; grotesque, dark and messy— her curse threatens to swallow her whole at every waking moment. But Sanhua remembers the soothing waves amidst the erratic and sharp ice most fondly. A frequency that was simply glimmering and crystalline, like untainted water turning into clear ice.

When Jinhsi found her in the middle of darkness and a cruel winter, she allowed Sanhua to bloom anew. To stand by her side as her imperial guard, her loyal knight, her shoulder to lean on when needed— duty takes precedence above all, that is her dharma in life. Yet, Sanhua finds herself wanting to reach out for the other's figure from time to time, to bask in the simpler moments of Hsi's company and to rest her own head on the other’s shoulder.

But... how can she ask of something so inherently selfish? The Madam Magistrate has already spread herself thin through her region and there is no need to add more weight onto her person. Feelings are sometimes too burdensome— and henceforth, that desire is buried deep into her heart until it is almost out of sight.

Tonight is just like every other night, spent working and reading files. Sanhua forgets about those unyielding thoughts momentarily, urgent matters filling up her mind as she participated in discussions with the Madam Magistrate. By the time they are done, the moon hangs high in the dark sky and Jinzhou’s streets have grown quiet. Red eyes shift towards Jinhsi, the silence blends well with her calm frequencies like a beautiful painting— and while Sanhua wishes to stay longer, the Knight does not expect anything more.

And so she gets up from her seat but is stopped by a gentle hand. While others merely accept her stoic front, Jinhsi seems to see right through it.

Stay. Even if it is just for a little.

The other did not need to say a word— her Knight returns immediately, sitting back down beside her and slowly… Sanhua leans in. Resting her head slightly on Hsi’s shoulder, she is almost afraid to put her full weight on it but eventually, she learns to do so. Sanhua closes her cursed eyes after, wishing she could see her expression in this moment; her kind eyes and soft smile.

the makings of a warrior are so intricate, so complex, so beautiful. the warrior strides ever onwards, they carry on. even when fallen to their knees, they must persevere. they must go ever onwards, despite, despite, despite. “is it not heavy?” Sunday inquires of Jing Yuan, “the world that you carry on your shoulders?” oh, now, he understands, you see! some wounds are centuries deep, centuries preserved. they require but the slightest touch, and they bleed again. they require a tremendous amount of care, before they can close once again. his are the hands that do not mind being stained with all that red, if only to know the hurt has begun to mend in truth. if only to be assured that the ache lessens, even if only slightly. and thus he offers an ear to listen. indeed… so many have forgotten to listen, have they not? they cast words akin to red, hot blades that pierce another mercilessly. it is far easier to do so, than to listen.

JING YUAN WAS ALREADY aware of this halovian’s presence, the comings and goings of those who came upon the Luofu very rarely escaping his attention. Naturally, someone like this would definitely be an ‘individual of interest’ merely because of how rare it was to see such beings among the throngs of foreigners that would come for business or pleasure. Still, he was surprised that they would come to speak to him in particular, the words that followed enough to capture a vague sense of interest as he gave them a deceptively languid glance. ‘Is it not heavy? The world you carry upon your shoulders?’ Heavy… That word was not enough to encompass just how exhausted the general truly was. He was old – far older than his appearance signified, and he knew that others waited and watched, wondering when mara would overtake him as it had many others who had held his spot. For no other general has sat upon this position as long as himself, the stress of it all, always, always winning in the end against even the most ironclad of wills. However, though his position was indeed heavy, there was little intention on passing that weight to another just yet.

     No, not yet.

For ease of access, I'll generalize this to just Hoyoverse in general.

My time here for the most part has been peaceful. Engaging games, finding fans who actually enjoy lore based perspectives, not to mention how character love is better emphasized as people really do rally to express as such. I'd rank it higher compared to past experiences I've had.

Not to say there isn't its line of trials either. When we bring fandom into the equation, we know full damn well how composes itself.

The passion that's carried for their series become this fandom's double edged sword. Where you have high creativity, there's also this high obsession that grows thorny too. People willing to wage their online wars for characters they love, concepts they've sold themselves on, beliefs for fictional mediums where this has to be law or the heretic in question has to be damned from the dominion.

It gets pretty bad.

Primarily in how it tilts well beyond the parasocial wall. Where commitment to these characters and the unhealthy levels of attachment leads to horrific levels of recklessness. People in the business, outside of it, other fans especially just get lit up to high hell. Part of me wants to lean that into being more about today's online culture as a whole. Not to mention with Hoyoverse's marketing scheme that promotes this kind of behavior from the higher ups, and people who are out there for their 'feel good' become volatile elements in kind.

Another issue that's moreso just my personal grievance is the particular obsession I've seen with expys in this fandom. As someone who enjoys stories flourishing on their own merits, it just gets disheartening that I'm inevitably being headlocked to HI3 for example, where this has to be the content I absorb or recognize or I won't 'get it'. It's been my factor for a minute that made me wary in expanding from Genshin in the past, but I'm glad I've got over it more. I still don't like the idea, and it'll never be the first priority for me to just hop on. (Cause again, I'm not caring for HI3 that much as of now.)

Though. Bringing in the cross continuity like they have for HI3 and Star Rail does get em intrigued. I want to let the material speak for itself in its own select ways.

That's segwaying too heavily though. Throwing it back to the main topic, the fandom is at that perpetual struggle point. I believe respect just needs to be better reinforced, while that perpetual wheel of obsession guiding people to be reckless needs to REALLY be toned down. This goes for 'character love' but moreso the ideas that people genuinely will get judged for if they don't agree with.

This is most pointedly directed at ship culture. A catalyst for what I imagine is 80% of Hoyoverse related issues. It gets personal, it gets messy, and ugly. I've made another post on this once upon a time, but this isn't just with Hoyoverse either, that's just a generalized weakness of fandom culture overall because people gain unhealthy commitments about this. Again, proper respect would be a hell of a good deterrent for this.

@sortilegii said: could you do me a favor? could you pretend you’re my girlfriend for a moment? ( from Levy for Serpent because further shenanigans )

party sentence starters

The look that Serpent gives is nothing short of scathing an spiked with disdain upon the request of her. For many she would be happy to oblige such a request. For him? Not a chance. And she purposefully ensures there is enough space that should he try to lay hand on her, she can avoid it.

" Absolutely not. Why would I do any favors for you? " Serpent replies while the shackles hum under her skin. It is the first time that they truly feel like a leash to demand obedience

. She could poison him. The thought suddenly flickers to life in her mind, her tongue moving over the back of her fangs. Her venom could likely paralyze all his organs - lung and heart included - if she concentrated it enough. Or maybe just enough to make him woozy and she could throw him to the wolves at this party. It would be better for the collective happiness of people. He deserves it.

But what would she tell Chief? Then again, she has half a mind to raise hell and demand compensation in some form for having to be the one to go on this mission with Levy anyways. Being allowed to perform for a few minutes at this party was becoming less and less worth it.

@sortilegii

Empty laughter of a jester in the face of Death is only met with a soft yet similarly cold smile ever-present on her gorgeous face. The porcelain skin and her cold touch make others shiver in their place when she reaches out to touch them, embraced by the Abyss and the Mania, Oak Casket watches and listens as she always does. Chief of the MBCC is a life full of brightness, color, and maniacal existence. A bomb waiting to explode on everyone who prides themselves to be brave to stand so close without any worry for their own well-being. His gaze looks forward and he almost seems insane in his speech to her, but the Listener accepts him as he is, not caring about the loud words and proclamations of soullessness. All have souls, all will face Death, all will someday return to her and will never escape the grasps of Death. Well, no one but those she chooses to truly save. The chirping bird, the tool, the never-ending color of life.

And as he laughs and looks at her with determination and monsters in his eyes, suppressed by the human flesh, Oak Casket chuckles lowly as she cups his face with her gloved hand. His heat from life and flame of rebellion will satiate her curiosity and her interests for a while, a being who is known among the dead and the corrupted. He is just like them, searching for a place to belong in this vast world of the living. However, the Listener does not care for the world of the living as much as she is intrigued by what everyone speaks about after their Death. Corpses, ashes, blood and destruction are what feeding her ability and her Mania, all are her fascinations and this young man, too, will be one of the whispers she'd love to hear in her ear.

After all, she is a Maniac. A maniac who is obsessed with Death, in love with the afterlife and the music of those whispers that are brought through screams, broken bones, and crackling of the flames. Someone, Chief will hear her sing and it'll be a song of Wild and Horrors, of Death and Lullabies, of Life and Disgust. For if Death did not recruit her among the bodies in the Mass Grave, she'd be the songstress of the end instead of lulling the dead to sleep in the cemetery.

"You've passed my trial, you've shown me the soul so stubborn and so adamant that I'll wait for it until the last dying breath you take," she still holds his face in her hands, her lips curl into a more chilling smile. There is obsession in her eyes, this man who screams so loudly to Heavens that he'll bring Hell up is fascinating to her and she wants to hear his secrets when he crosses the line and becomes hers, and only hers. She will be the final witness to his existence, a Sinner who will truly have everyone in the grasp of her own hand. Everything after Death will belong to her: his life, his death, and his last words. Everything. "Your soul is unimportant as a concept, I want your life, your death, and your story. You've signed the contract and you already belong to me. Past the day when Death embraces you, you'll always be mine."

Then, Oak Casket lets go of Zelimir and steps back, holding back another surge of obsessive interest. The Mania surges within and she wants to laugh out loud just like he did but the laughter would've been cold and coldly embracing, impossible to run away and forcing even the strongest of the voices to hide in fear for the Abyssal Whispers will kneel before her just to be heard, so they won't anger the only one who can hear them. But the Romanesque Hall Manager does not laugh; instead, she smiles once again and keeps her hands locked on her stomach, eyes gleaming with sparks of Mania before settling down.

and a crossover ship: stargazer x irelia (league of legends).

honestly this is my biggest excuse for having a league AU for stargazer and it's just because i wanted the story of a desert wanderer to meet a fellow dancer. both of them are physically creatives, and spend their solitary nights expressing their feelings through movement. for the desert's wild rose to meet the lush expressions of the east, it might actually be the start to a new art - and its preservation.

it is not a very well-known aspect of stargazer's, and in fact, probably under-acknowledged - that she sings and dances on her own. it is also due to the spiritual undertones of ionia and stargazer's being able to see the future and interact with specters, so i really would like to be able to write this properly someday, so they can exchange their perspectives on these.

the only thing that makes today different than any other is that the chief is trying to speak to someone who no longer exists. this realization comes slowly, then all at once, and empty, white orbs are drained of whatever life that dare live in them. still, nox gazes silently at the chief, hands placed perfectly in her lap as she doesn't even blink in response.

there is nobody left to want to find / that girl had already died and nox is nothing more than a shell. she knows this. the chief knows this, too. nox knows she knows, she'd gone as far as showing her.

it is because of this that nox doesn't entertain her, doll-like gaze merely placed easily on the other woman in the room. who is she trying so hard for? the soul this body once held? or the living ( debatable, researchers have yet to determine if she's actually alive ) husk of a complication of disaster.

oh, but this must be some sort of joke. while she's not too familiar of them, she'd learned of them not too long ago. she'd also learned that they were supposed to be funny.

is this a joke?

sound escapes her as lips part, indistinguishable words, all jumbled and soft murmurs of the shadows and voices all of which are not her own. if the chief listens closely, she will hear the sound of distant, backwards crying. these same voices speak to nox, all much louder than what comes forth from mere, hardly parted lips.

the chief must be mistaken.