sunshii
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"do you dream?" childe asks, and you think this could be familiar, if you dare let it. inhale this moment and cradle within your lungs the sharp scent of pine, then something burning, salt. and again, softer now, nearly swallowed by the stars in between you two— "do you dream of me?"
"of course. i dream of drowning."
(or: there is a part in a play you know well, and it goes like this: you rise against childe in a race for the geo archon's gnosis because you hate him, and he hates you.
this is a lie. this is the truth.
this is not contradictory: lie long enough and anything becomes true.)
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In Teyvat, the stars will always have a place for you.
(or: Aether takes Razor to go star-gazing for the first time. the night is dark, and so are the hollow spaces beside them where a pelt—a hand—should've been.)
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you just really want to go home. unfortunately, you've got a list of harbingers to track down for your tsaritsa first.
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His smile dips, wavers, but Kaeya isn’t Mondstadt’s resident spymaster for nothing. The laugh that edges its way up his windpipe carries the rattle of forced levity, something downtrodden and bitter shaving the edges with coarse sandpaper.
“Just humor me for a moment. Do you remember ?”
(Or: Kaeya shows up at Diluc’s house in the middle of a storm with a preposition for all the broken pieces of their brotherhood)
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Ajax is fourteen when he dies.
Ajax is fourteen, innocence softening the edge of his jaw, the clear sky still cupping his eyes with its crystalline purity even as he watches it become swallowed by earth and something acrid burning in his throat. Ajax is fourteen when he falls and he is still fourteen when it is instead Tartaglia who crawls inch by inch to the world above.
(or: with death comes rebirth. rise, carrion boy. rise and walk again amongst the living.)