auberich - Tumblr blog

[auberich]

𝚅𝙸𝙲𝚃𝙾𝚁 wasn’t thinking of the weather. He hardly felt the cold through his coat. He was too busy trying to picture what Eli’s face would look like when he received their message. Trying to picture the shock, the anger, & threaded through it all, the fear. Fear because it could only mean one thing. Victor was out. 𝚅𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎. penned by mandinha.

[auberich]

If I hypothetically am setting up a new blog what then

[auberich]

@lockvale

If I hypothetically am setting up a new blog what then

[auberich]

If I hypothetically am setting up a new blog what then

[auberich]

Oh so like big thing I gotta update on my carrd is that I am not in fact 21 still 🫡

[auberich]

Every day I think abt my xiao blog n how I would 100% get back on if only I remembered the username & password

[auberich]

I like actually hate it here

[auberich]

@melodicbreeze​ said :        ❝ if we had met earlier in life, do you think that we would have been friends? ❞

                             he clears his throat , euphonic laughter shortlived from a disingenuous mouth :         ❛      my ,    i fail to see why we still can’t be .      ❜ 

                             𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐑        &&.        𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓��𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ,      filled by a piceous ,      rotten lacquer of a milled god on the bartop.       Kaeya’s glass lingers centimeters from his lips ,     the tilted wine teetering from the furrow of its rim        &&.        spilling with the monotony of his expression .       𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 ?       TOO WISTFUL A THING    /    too clamorous a question for what’s spoken amongst him        &&.        the bard who seldom he’s seen in 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 on nights harangued by the shadow of Diluc’s absence       (     still the tavern careers nautically     as if set on a supernal tide in which his forebears may visit        &&.        imbibe the gaudy rejoicing of drunkards with exuberance        &&.        eccentricity while the liquor finally padding on his tongue dizzies him        &&.        the typography labeling the lined bottles on the cedar shelves behind Charles soften into cottony ,    illegible hazes for his eye .     )      

                            𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥  —   neither is Kaeya .       He doesn’t have to voice his suspicions of a god’s shortcomings five hundred years too soon when Dvalin’s to his beck        &&.        call .        He does not want to face his own reality yet :      what does the ameno archon possibly know of him ,    then ?       Are their secrets both like snake’s shed skin ,    waiting only for the serpent itself to be found ?       

                           He sets his glass on the counter        &&.        as Charles slides over to refill it he raises a hand signaling that’s the last he’ll have for the night .        ❛      Would we have been friends ?       Well ,    I got along well enough with most the people I met .       I don’t see why not .       ❜        

                                                      But no ,    I don’t think we would have been .

[auberich]

y’all are welcome to keep sending me memes from here !!! I’ll try & write later <33

[auberich]

hi here’s a xiao

[auberich]

Trying to ice bridge to inazuma with @wolfkcst before I tragically had to leave 😔

[auberich]

                 @egregiie​ said: "Hello my dear friend" sliiiiiides in next to him :)

                            𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 perhaps serves to hide some murderous intent as the harbinger slithers his way into the booth       &     situates at his hip,       the 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚗  —   angel's share,       the bar,       a disgracefully withering tree in a manmade heaven  —  turning 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝:       much too bitter for the tip of his tongue,       suddenly,       &        he sets his glass coldly atop the table.        He hums,       eying the floors dusted        &        clean even at this hour,       the vintage wood        &        ornate wainscotting adorning the walls.        

                            It's not that he recognizes the portrait forebears hung on the upstairs floors out of the eyes of 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚜 entwining himself in a legacy of blood        &        redeemable only in blood     or that he has any respect for the man behind the counter who has rag in hand         &        shines an empty wine glass as though he could change the shape of the bowl if he commits enough in so much as the ghost of the man that sometimes peers through the terse pinch of his brows     as if the strix himself a supplicant of 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬,       a spectre of lines at corners of his eyes        &         the details that have escaped him in the solemn passage of years twisting         &         righting in the eviscerating pulse of the gaslamps like a 𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 for him to reach out descry that stop him from dirtying the floorboards with 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝.        Kaeya flicks the corner of a coin against the bottom of the cup,       a lost toll drowned in the gossip of drunkards.        

                            ❛        my,       a harbinger in mondstadt.        surely i don’t owe the honor ?        ❜          he says lightly,       but his face is starkly blank beneath the smile.        all fall innocence.        𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛.        He drags the glass across the table        &        to his lips,       slinging his arm over the back of Childe’s chair,       making himself comfortable          &          mouthing a faint   ‘ ah ’    as he sets the wine down        &        smiles once more —   brightly,       this time,       as if there’d never been sign of malice to start.        ❛         why,       it’s no matter —   a friend being all the way out here is a cause to celebrate,       wouldn’t you agree ?        consider your first drink on me.        ❜

[auberich]

[auberich]

A Rosario Castellanos Reader: An Anthology of Her Poetry, Short Fiction, Essays, and Drama, ‘Silence Near an Ancient Stone’ tr. Maureen Ahern 

[auberich]

                             𝚃𝙾𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙰𝚈.        i am not quite sure i know how to explain why — if it’s in the way the sun descends over the city,      sitting in a bloodreef between a terracotta sea        &        stone meridian or the warm        &        gilded light fanned in the old cobbled streets corrugated with rainwear        &        glistening with bonedust lodged in its striae.        grains of sediment cradling tales of anonymity.        of a prelapsarian world,      halcyon        &        quiet.        if a time ever did exist.        clockless        &        untolled.        honey streaks of sunlight stream from the window igniting gold squares across the oak desk        &        over the floors.        it feels like Sabbath.        holy.        the connotation leaves a cauterizing taste that never leaves the mouth.       

                             @windsettled​ said:        ❝      You seem troubled my friend,      could it be that you've been having issues with your poems again?    ❞

                             lilted laughter escapes his chest.        hearty        &        fecund with illusive liveliness.        his chin digs into his palm        &        he lowers his hand onto the desk.        peeling his gaze from the flowered traffic climbing about the street like a windtilted garden        &        likewise from his thoughts with a jovial grin,      this habitual slinking transition,      a cognitive memory.        he is writing his name in the ancient orthography harbored by the rich alluvial of ���𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥 trees,      the abated dialect whispered by the last few obelisks        &        among curious marble architecture rent with ruin.        he is sliding on another shirt or a different boot.        The motion is all the same.       

                            ❝      my dear bard — i am,      for once,      doing what I’m supposed to be doing.    ❞        he chuckles again        &        waves at the papers in front of him.        So yes,      I’m a bit troubled.        ❝      though I take you didn’t come all this way to stand awkwardly by the door.        is something the matter,      or would it be wishful thinking you’ve just come to visit a friend ?    ❞        

[auberich]

exaeriss​:

Barbatos,   floated  with   grace   as   he   played  with  the  half  empty  wine  glasses   that  he  held  in  place.    Mondstadt   had   been  driven  into  a   dark  shamble   and   yet   who  would  have   thought   that   ,   even  in  it’s   darkest   hours,  there’s  still    people   who  plans   to  put  them  further   in  shambles. 

One  lone  khaenri'ahan   descendant  mingled   with   his  people,  playing  the   innocent   act ,  loving   and   being  loved   but   when  the   night  is   at  it’s  peak,  he   would  plan  a  course  of  action  to   his   revenge   for   his  people,  and  the  Lost  God  could   only   laugh ,   such  deceit   makes   his   cruelty   lust  upon.   How  many  heart  aches  could  this  man  even  create   once   his   facade   had   been  liberate? 

“ for someone  who seeks   for    revenge,  you  do  seemed  to  enjoy   being   around  with  your mondstadt  friends. “ Barbatos  stated   darkly.   “  or   are   you   starting  to  feel   a  ‘ change   of   heart ‘ ,  little   prince ? “ 

                              [       the drunks had not yet washed up in cobbled corridors        &        the sun sat red        &        elliptic under the reef of terracotta shingles where in the old stone walls of the alley shadows make a gothic harp of cellar windows across the floors that paled        &        deepened        &        paled        &        deepened like the heart of the city their god had come to lay claim to at last.       

                             𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓.        a beautiful city built in the ramparts of its forebears gilded in tudor architecture,      all history lodged in limestone brick,      legacy redolent in the evening dew of fresh blooming flowers.        living        &        flourishing in the incavated silhouette of its archon.       ]          how the first few years had made his skin crawl.        primordial,      all - seeing,      all - knowing.        the first sight of the cathedral with its stainedglass eyes that followed his every step.        he had not been wrong,      then.        to think they did.       

                             ❝      barbatos...      ❞       he mutters.        after a moment,      much clearer:        ❝      𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐬.      ❞

                             he smiles thin.        it is another thing altogether,      snakelike        &        empty.        there’s no pleasantry to be found in this.        [      kaeya claps once,      blithely mocking,             &        paces a few steps to his left before stopping with his hands still together.      ]        ❝      my !        you look well,      barbatos.      ❞        [      he leans forwards as if this is the grand gesture that is the reunion of a friend then rocks back on his heels once more.        he knows if he runs he will not see the gates of Mondstadt again.        the bitter fall of stars over the predawn dark of the city        &        the soft strumming of music        &        hushed chatter of its people in the lonely spring forenoon.      ]        if he draws his sword    —    a confession to being the enemy of the patron saint,      the ravening wolf in sheepskin.        ❝      one might say it looks like you haven’t aged a day in over five hundred years.      ❞      

[auberich]

ExcusemeasicomewiththisrandomblogBUT-

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️!!! Mandi! I love your interpretation of kaeya! I love reading the little posts you publish where u talk about diff aspects of his character and his thoughts and feelings regarding certain things, it really gives him a lot of depth and I'm not saying this bc I'm biased over kaeya ok 😌👏🏻👏🏻

send ❣️ if you think my muse is well-written!

EXCUSE ME !!! i am making things up as i go & still figuring out a lot but this means sm ??? especially from u !!! u write all ur muses so well & i'm definitely excited to see what you bring w/ childe :3