18 Works by sleepymoha
Listing Works
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Men come and go.
Their numbers, once overwhelming, offer little distraction now.
They don’t sense his presence. His gaze smolders from the shadows of the vents. Their eyes meet. Only Abaddon is aware.
They don’t fear ghosts. They don’t fear demons.
They squander material wealth to get spooked by the lull of the building. They stay for one night. Two. It drives him insane.
He finds the hole that once held him captive, the shallow grave with no tombstone. Curled within it, he feels… content.
And so, he waits.
The boy waits with him.
The building does, too.
Or, A study of Abaddon's relationship with the land, stretched over three centuries.
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Waking up is always abrupt and disturbing, not having any air in his system is truly just the cherry on top.
The world around him is so cold it wakes a deep ache in his chest. His face, his fingers, the damp shirt stuck to his body, and for a second he’s back in the slums hiding under old cardboard, curled around his sister to keep her warm against the cruel winter night. He was – is – missing his coat.
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Dissociation is easy on a child's mind. Drowning at the hands of his mentor isn't.
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Dear Senshi of Izganda
It feels weird to use such a formal title, but I’ve never got to say it while we were together, so forgive me for indulging a bit.
If you’re reading this letter, I am probably dead.
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Dear Chilchuck Tims
I miss the joyful look on yer face as ye eat my cooking.
Perhaps, it isn’t the most romantic way to start a letter, but yer Senshi was never known for his particularly good word choices.
//or
2 letters, sent 63 years apart.
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Seiryuu is a surprisingly talkative sleeper next to him, mumbling away without a care for the world, but his body is warm and real against his own, his fur coat if soft under Zeno’s head, and his uncovered sleeping face is a truly rare sight to see. If Zeno was to squint hard enough, he could see just the faintest similarities in this face to a more delicate one long lost in time. The slope of his nose, the set of his eyes, the shape of his ears. Oh so different but still so familiar, as this dragon warrior’s face will never be quite as soft, quite as dainty, but those striking golden eyes are still the same, the blueish tint of his hair is still the same, the marks on his cheeks are still the same, and really, Zeno should stop comparing the current generation to those long gone, but he truly cannot help it.
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Not wanting to get soaked in the rain, Zeno is stuck in the tent for the night. Accompanied by the gentle flutter of candlelight, He and Shin-Ah have a pleasant conversation about the past.
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Two thousand years is an awfully long time. Long enough to make the peculiarity of leaves pointless, long enough to make breathing seem like a chore rather than a privilege, a particular nuisance so deeply rooted in one’s heart that ripping it out would be simply pointless. Those roots are now one with the soil, a soul rich in heartache and grief, and the gods always had a strange sense of humour, for those roots would bear the most magnificent flowers with the sweetest scent.
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A character study of Zeno leading to him holding the chalice of blood in his own two hands
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He will never pray to Barbatos, hoping for a fulfilling life.
But he can thank him for a pleasant day.
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As Albedo is left alone with his thoughts, he takes a few minutes to think about the act of worship, the past, the present, and the future.
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Right on the edge of Heaven and Earth, wrapped up in secure darkness and the murmur of the universe, a shepherd is patiently waiting for his star's return. Over the centuries, his patience had never wavered, and the reunion is always pleasantly sweet on the tongue.
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Don't cry, brother, as we will be reunited by sleepymoha
Fandoms: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
21 May 2023
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When he closes his eyes, he sees a skyless sky, a big black void with painted stars, and it’s all so familiar, so nostalgic, as if he had spent his early life looking above this mimic of freedom. The voice in his mind grows stronger, more eager, more pronounced, more dominant, and Albedo grows attached to this tone too, even if the rational side of his brain protests.
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As Albedo falls deeper into the false reality of delirium, Aether is there to pick up the pieces.
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For Kaeya, Diluc has always been the sun.
He figured if his sinner of a soul is way too tainted for the gods to love, he would be content with the stars instead.
As he is left on the ground, cradling a vision in his burned hands, his own crimson merging with the midnight rainfall, Kaeya is left with the sinking realization that his father was right.
His sinner of a Khanri’ah heart was far too cursed for any god to love. And now, not even the stars heard his prayers.
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He knew he had his own risks. For putting on such a cursed weapon, he basically handed over his soul on a silver platter.
But grief was a potentate, a being Diluc never quite learned how to act around.
He was desperate for power.
//or
While the delusion didn't take Diluc's life, it bit his hand until it bled.
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Of dancing flames and gentle vapor by sleepymoha
Fandoms: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
22 Oct 2022
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His Firefly offers a hand for him and he takes it without hesitation, pulling his body towards that familiar crimson until their bodies crash and collide and his mouth finds the other’s in a gentle fluttering kiss.
They evaporate just as quickly as they’ve came to life, disappearing from the judging eyes of the mortal realm.
Only the crystalflies remember their tales.
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“Why are you all the way over there? You should be in my lamp, keeping me nice and warm.” the boy mutters under his breath, and his voice is shaky and weak and oh so desperate to cling onto the back of Life’s skirt, to urge her to keep going and take him with her one more time.
// or
a mere pyro spirit guides Kaeya towards a happier future, then settles down next to him as a form of a vision in his brother's hands.
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When Kaeya had first saw that pair of crimson wings, fiery and wild and oh so free, he couldn’t fight the tender smile stretching across his boyish face.
The Ragnvindrs were truly Barbatos’ favorite.
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Diluc’s vision is cracked.
Split right down the middle, the two sides like day and night, truly a pathetic little thing it is;
Half dead half alive, never full.
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They sit in the grass, fingers tangled, as if they’re ten again, and for the first time in years they let the walls crumble around them. There’s no need for those now anyways, not when a silent truce was formed in the form of tangled fingers.
And it’s not perfect, it may never be, but neither are them, and maybe two imperfect brothers can mend a broken brotherhood with enough time and patience.
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"They slow dance in the pure whiteness, cold corpses long forgotten beneath their feet, their sins crawling back to them with poisonous claws that scratch their skin raw, but it’s all so good, so perfect, so delicious it makes them delirious."
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And while Barbatos had blessed him with freedom, he never blessed him with entitlement.
//or
As Diluc slowly bleeds out on the land of Snezhnaya, he takes some time to think.
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Kaeya looks at the scene sadly. He takes a step back, thinking. He could shove that tiny figure off Diluc’s chest, but the strings around her fingers are tangled, and Kaeya was never good with knots.
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When the land of winds was blessed with snow, Diluc falls into a deep slumber.