irisunderglass

[irisunderglass]

yk whats funny about this, i actually reconsidered taking out the "no goodbyes" part bc it isnt something i'd do to anyone, leaving without a goodbye

but then i remembered: i did do that to xiao. when i started anew here and moved all my selfships and left him behind in my old blog, in a way i did leave him without a goodbye or an explanation

anyway ily xiao just not romantically anymore xoxo you shall be a big brother figure from now on. bonks.

✧ hearts entangled: (ex) xiao x isabel

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: isabel moved on, but xiao didn't.

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: angst.

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: el oh el guess who strikes again. ehm. based on the song "actor" by conan gray that literally came out today. props to mirei for enabling me (again)

The night air hung heavy over Wangshu Inn, damp with the promise of rain. The wind carried the faint scent of wet stone from the mountains, brushing against Xiao’s skin like something that wanted to linger. He stood at the highest point of the roof, spear in hand, gaze fixed on the horizon as if watching for a threat. But there was none. The battles tonight were not against monsters.

They were against memory.

Nobody saw us in the hotel lobby.

It hadn’t been a hotel, but an inn tucked between two market streets in Liyue Harbor, a place that faded into the background for everyone but him. Lanternlight had spilled over her face when they stepped inside, hoods drawn to keep their closeness a secret. Her shoulder brushed his, the faintest smile curling her lips when their eyes met for that heartbeat too long. To the rest of the world, they were strangers passing in the night. To Xiao, they were something he hadn’t dared name.

And nobody saw us with your sweatshirt on me.

It was his coat, really — tailored for the mountain winds, its weight more than enough to keep her warm. She’d pulled it over her shoulders one evening, the fabric hanging loose on her frame, and he hadn’t taken it back. He’d just watched her fingers curl into the collar, holding on like she belonged there. For an adeptus, possessions meant little. But that image — her, wearing something of his — had rooted itself somewhere deeper than he liked to admit.

And nobody saw us leaving bruises on our necks / In a summer spent in a coat check.

The summer heat hadn’t stopped her from pulling him into quiet corners, laughter on her lips until it was swallowed by his mouth. Her fingertips had left marks on him, light as whispers but impossible to forget. He’d told himself it didn’t matter. That marks faded, and so would this. But he remembered every one.

Nobody wondered where you went all of April / Like kicking feet under the whole damn world’s table.

She’d disappeared from the Harbor without anyone noticing, vanishing into his world of shadows. Her words had been strange to him — like kicking feet under the whole damn world’s table — but her grin afterward was warm enough to make him keep the phrase, storing it like a secret talisman. Xiao didn’t understand it. He still didn’t.

When my friends discovered when you left me in July / No, I didn’t cry, kept the lie alive.

There had been no fight, no proper goodbye. Just the sharpness of absence. His few acquaintances asked once, and only once. “She left,” he’d replied, his voice as steady as stone. He didn’t cry. Didn’t explain. Just buried it, the way he buried everything.

But the church bells won’t stop ringing / For an undead wedding day.

The toll came in his mind — deep, deliberate, endless. Not a celebration, not a funeral. Something in between. Something that refused to die completely.

And you’ve spent the summer drinking / While I spent it being erased.

Tavern keepers mentioned her in passing — smiling with strangers, glass in hand. Her voice carried in rooms he no longer entered. And while she drank herself into new memories, Xiao patrolled, fought, and bled beneath the stars, each battle wearing him thinner until he wondered if she would even recognize him now.

And I tried to hide the feeling / But it just won’t go away.

Grief wasn’t a hilichurl to strike down, nor an abyss beast to banish. It followed him into the hours before dawn, lingering like the taste of blood at the back of his throat.

Let’s pretend nothing happened, I agree / But you’re a much better actor than me.

She could erase him from the story so cleanly that even the world forgot he’d been there. He couldn’t do the same.

A friend of mine asked you, “Have you talked to Conan?” / You didn’t react, you said, “I barely even fucking know him.”

It was in the Harbor, months later. He’d been close enough to hear her voice, far enough to see her smile at someone else. The words cut deeper than they should have. Maybe she believed them now. Maybe they were true.

You’re saving your face, but you take it out on your nose / The white wind blows, and now I’m lives ago.

The wind was sharp that day, biting through the high passes. She had moved forward, leaving him as nothing more than a relic of a past she didn’t care to revisit.

And the church bells won’t stop ringing / For an undead wedding day.

They came again, low and slow. They always did.

And you’ve spent the summer drinking / While I spent it being erased.

The stories of her laughter reached him like news from another lifetime — one he no longer belonged to.

And I tried to hide the feeling / But it just won’t go away.

He told himself she was just another mortal, that her name was no heavier than any other. The lie never held.

Let’s pretend nothing happened, I agree / But you’re a much better actor than me.

She could play her role until even she forgot the truth. He could not.

If you ever cared, well, I wouldn’t know / Blame it on a bad manic episode.

He’d like to think she had cared, once. That it hadn’t all been some passing whim. But if she had, she’d taken it with her when she left.

When you meet a girl on some TV show / There’s a side of you that she’ll never know.

The new one was different — bright, unburdened, free to meet you without the shadows that followed Xiao’s every step.

Tell all your friends that she’s the one / And you can say it’s love.

He didn’t know if it was real. He didn’t want to know.

But the church bells won’t stop ringing / For an undead wedding day. / And you’ve spent your whole life drinking / Oh, drinking me away.

She erased him glass by glass, laugh by laugh, until there was nothing left but echoes in his own mind.

And I tried to hide the feeling / But I just can’t lie that way.

Pretending was her gift, not his.

You pretend nothing happened, I believe / ’Cause you’re a much better actor.

And maybe that was mercy — to let him fade without ceremony.

carved names upon the storytree: @milk-violet , @lovedbykaveh , @lagenxria ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

✧ hearts entangled: (ex) xiao x isabel

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: isabel moved on, but xiao didn't.

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: angst.

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: el oh el guess who strikes again. ehm. based on the song "actor" by conan gray that literally came out today. props to mirei for enabling me (again)

The night air hung heavy over Wangshu Inn, damp with the promise of rain. The wind carried the faint scent of wet stone from the mountains, brushing against Xiao’s skin like something that wanted to linger. He stood at the highest point of the roof, spear in hand, gaze fixed on the horizon as if watching for a threat. But there was none. The battles tonight were not against monsters.

They were against memory.

Nobody saw us in the hotel lobby.

It hadn’t been a hotel, but an inn tucked between two market streets in Liyue Harbor, a place that faded into the background for everyone but him. Lanternlight had spilled over her face when they stepped inside, hoods drawn to keep their closeness a secret. Her shoulder brushed his, the faintest smile curling her lips when their eyes met for that heartbeat too long. To the rest of the world, they were strangers passing in the night. To Xiao, they were something he hadn’t dared name.

And nobody saw us with your sweatshirt on me.

It was his coat, really — tailored for the mountain winds, its weight more than enough to keep her warm. She’d pulled it over her shoulders one evening, the fabric hanging loose on her frame, and he hadn’t taken it back. He’d just watched her fingers curl into the collar, holding on like she belonged there. For an adeptus, possessions meant little. But that image — her, wearing something of his — had rooted itself somewhere deeper than he liked to admit.

And nobody saw us leaving bruises on our necks / In a summer spent in a coat check.

The summer heat hadn’t stopped her from pulling him into quiet corners, laughter on her lips until it was swallowed by his mouth. Her fingertips had left marks on him, light as whispers but impossible to forget. He’d told himself it didn’t matter. That marks faded, and so would this. But he remembered every one.

Nobody wondered where you went all of April / Like kicking feet under the whole damn world’s table.

She’d disappeared from the Harbor without anyone noticing, vanishing into his world of shadows. Her words had been strange to him — like kicking feet under the whole damn world’s table — but her grin afterward was warm enough to make him keep the phrase, storing it like a secret talisman. Xiao didn’t understand it. He still didn’t.

When my friends discovered when you left me in July / No, I didn’t cry, kept the lie alive.

There had been no fight, no proper goodbye. Just the sharpness of absence. His few acquaintances asked once, and only once. “She left,” he’d replied, his voice as steady as stone. He didn’t cry. Didn’t explain. Just buried it, the way he buried everything.

But the church bells won’t stop ringing / For an undead wedding day.

The toll came in his mind — deep, deliberate, endless. Not a celebration, not a funeral. Something in between. Something that refused to die completely.

And you’ve spent the summer drinking / While I spent it being erased.

Tavern keepers mentioned her in passing — smiling with strangers, glass in hand. Her voice carried in rooms he no longer entered. And while she drank herself into new memories, Xiao patrolled, fought, and bled beneath the stars, each battle wearing him thinner until he wondered if she would even recognize him now.

And I tried to hide the feeling / But it just won’t go away.

Grief wasn’t a hilichurl to strike down, nor an abyss beast to banish. It followed him into the hours before dawn, lingering like the taste of blood at the back of his throat.

Let’s pretend nothing happened, I agree / But you’re a much better actor than me.

She could erase him from the story so cleanly that even the world forgot he’d been there. He couldn’t do the same.

A friend of mine asked you, “Have you talked to Conan?” / You didn’t react, you said, “I barely even fucking know him.”

It was in the Harbor, months later. He’d been close enough to hear her voice, far enough to see her smile at someone else. The words cut deeper than they should have. Maybe she believed them now. Maybe they were true.

You’re saving your face, but you take it out on your nose / The white wind blows, and now I’m lives ago.

The wind was sharp that day, biting through the high passes. She had moved forward, leaving him as nothing more than a relic of a past she didn’t care to revisit.

And the church bells won’t stop ringing / For an undead wedding day.

They came again, low and slow. They always did.

And you’ve spent the summer drinking / While I spent it being erased.

The stories of her laughter reached him like news from another lifetime — one he no longer belonged to.

And I tried to hide the feeling / But it just won’t go away.

He told himself she was just another mortal, that her name was no heavier than any other. The lie never held.

Let’s pretend nothing happened, I agree / But you’re a much better actor than me.

She could play her role until even she forgot the truth. He could not.

If you ever cared, well, I wouldn’t know / Blame it on a bad manic episode.

He’d like to think she had cared, once. That it hadn’t all been some passing whim. But if she had, she’d taken it with her when she left.

When you meet a girl on some TV show / There’s a side of you that she’ll never know.

The new one was different — bright, unburdened, free to meet you without the shadows that followed Xiao’s every step.

Tell all your friends that she’s the one / And you can say it’s love.

He didn’t know if it was real. He didn’t want to know.

But the church bells won’t stop ringing / For an undead wedding day. / And you’ve spent your whole life drinking / Oh, drinking me away.

She erased him glass by glass, laugh by laugh, until there was nothing left but echoes in his own mind.

And I tried to hide the feeling / But I just can’t lie that way.

Pretending was her gift, not his.

You pretend nothing happened, I believe / ’Cause you’re a much better actor.

And maybe that was mercy — to let him fade without ceremony.

carved names upon the storytree: @milk-violet , @lovedbykaveh , @lagenxria ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

✧ hearts entangled: jing yuan x isabel ; isayuan

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: “would you love me if i was a worm?”

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: none

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: i couldnt be bothered to pick new header pictures. based on a conversation with mirei.

The General of the Luofu was rarely caught off guard.

He could anticipate enemy tactics with startling precision, command entire legions with a flick of his hand, and navigate political intrigue with a smile that gave nothing away. But Isabel had always been his one exception.

She lounged across the garden bench with her legs tucked beneath her, half-lost in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The soft fabric of her dress fluttered lazily in the breeze. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell from the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that she was scheming something.

He set his teacup down, a low clink of porcelain on wood. “What is it?” he asked, already amused.

She cracked one eye open and grinned. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his tone fond. “But I know that look.”

The look in question deepened into something impish, and she sat up, tilting her head toward him with mock seriousness. Her hair was haloed by sunlight, and her lips quirked like she was holding back laughter.

“Alright, I have a question,” she said.

“Go on,” he said, already bracing himself.

She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her expression almost solemn.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Jing Yuan blinked.

Of all the ambushes he’d prepared for today, this had not been one of them.

“A worm,” he repeated slowly.

“A worm,” Isabel confirmed. “Slithery. Pink. No limbs. You know.”

There was a beat of silence, and then a laugh escaped him—quiet at first, but it grew rich and full in his chest. Isabel folded her arms with exaggerated offense.

“I’m being serious,” she huffed, though she couldn’t quite suppress her grin.

Jing Yuan smiled through his laughter and shifted on the bench to face her fully. His eyes softened in the way they only did when they were alone. “That is the most absurd question I’ve been asked all week,” he said. “And that includes a meeting with Qingque.”

She beamed. “So?”

He regarded her for a long moment, then reached forward and gently cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips, as familiar to him as the rise and fall of his own breath.

“If you were a worm,” he said thoughtfully, “I imagine you’d be the most stubborn little worm in the universe. You’d still try to organize your books the way you like, wouldn’t you? Even with no arms.”

“I would,” she said proudly.

“And I’d find you in the garden soil—probably trying to argue with a beetle—and I’d know right away it was you.”

She tried to stifle a giggle and failed.

“I’d build you a lovely glass terrarium. With moss and flowers and a tiny scroll library made of bark,” he went on, tracing the curve of her jaw. “I’d talk to you every day. I’d read to you until you fell asleep. And I’d love you.”

“As a worm?”

“As you,” he said, voice quiet now. “Always as you. No matter the form.”

Isabel blinked, caught off guard by the weight in his tone. Her teasing faltered into something more tender, her eyes searching his.

“You’re not just saying that to humor me?”

Jing Yuan leaned forward and kissed her.

It was slow, deliberate—no grand passion, just warmth and truth. His lips lingered against hers like a promise. When he pulled away, his hand moved to the back of her neck, thumb resting where her heartbeat fluttered.

“I’ve loved you in your joy and in your grief,” he said softly. “In the days when your laughter lights the entire Luofu, and in the nights when your silence weighs heavier than any sword I’ve carried. I’ve loved every version of you, Isabel. If all the stars fell and you were nothing more than a soul inside the body of a worm, I’d still find you.”

He saw the way her throat bobbed with emotion, the way her fingers tightened in her lap.

“I’d still choose you,” he added. “Again and again.”

Isabel looked at him for a long while, lips parted, unshed tears making her eyes gleam beneath the golden light. She laughed then, softly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered, even as her voice broke. “You always make my stupid questions into poetry.”

“It’s a gift,” he murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I am, after all, the General. I must have many talents.”

She reached up and caught his wrist in her hand, holding him there. “You're just... good at loving me,” she said, almost shyly.

He bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “That's because you're very easy to love.”

“Even as a worm?”

Jing Yuan kissed her again, longer this time, his hand cradling the back of her head like something precious. When he drew back, their foreheads rested together, and his voice was almost a murmur:

“Even then.”

And so they stayed like that, tangled in laughter and closeness, beneath the blooming sakura tree that would one day shed its petals and bloom again.

Just as they had—across countless seasons, and even in the most unlikely shapes of love.

Even, yes, as a worm.

carved names upon the storytree: @milk-violet , @lexisism ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

🌠 blinks.

hi hello :>

From this post

Isabel (❀´ ˘ `❀)

It took me a bit to find things but I realised you remind me of a soft pink .ᐟ.ᐟ

Yap utc on why some pics were chosen

I think the pink was influenced by your aglaea theme 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 well, at first it was influenced by your theme, but then I just kept scrolling and completely got derailed. I actually searched for more peachy colored pictures but it derailed into soft pink because the images that reminded me of you all went into a softer vibe.

Your fanfics, those I've read so far, gave me soft vibes too (except the angst I read the other day, that was not soft vibes /lh) so that also influenced why some of these pictures were chosen for you 𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

You'll see that there's a few easter eggs to things we've actually talked about and are connected to your selfships like kazubel and lynabel. The bottom left picture is actually inspired by a few of your posts where you've talked about creating things like a phone dangle thingy and there's also the crochet post I saw ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

Oh, your writing in general has such a soft touch to it and that's also why I associate more soft vibes with you. I did think about adding some red in there because some of your fics have a red outline thing going on (like the heart divider) but none of the more red pictures really reminded me of you unfortunately (◞‸ ◟) one day I'll find enough red pictures that I associate with you and make you mood board with those 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 (which also means I associate the color red with you .ᐟ.ᐟ)

You give me artistic vibes. Someone who would enjoy art not only as an artist but as a spectator. Idk why I can picture you in one of those old historic buildings with the paintings on the walls and ceilings (the upper middle photo) but I can and I'd think you'd enjoy looking at everything and even learning some of the history behind the art.

The window one made me think of how writers have to escape outside of their day to day life to write stories. The lace curtains made me think of crocheting again lmfao i can also see you being a big day dreamer for some reason based off of vibes (how correct that is, I'm not sure) so another reason the window picture made me think of you (❀´ ˘ `❀)

Now you know why I asked if you like arcades because I saw the pink arcade machines and went, ":0 Isabel vibes". You seem like the type of person who can have fun and enjoy yourself and ig that's why the arcade machines spoke to me 💀 (you seem like the type of person who doesn't give up easily which some arcade games, like the claw machines, need from the player) (I also saw carnival pictures like the ferris-wheel and that made me think of a possible lynabel date ngl)

I saw some pictures that were tea party inspired and those made me think of you as well. Think you'd be really fun to have a tea party with where we just talk while having some desserts and tea.

Tldr some of these pictures are inspired by your fics, your selfships, some posts I've seen from you, and the vibes you give me 𐔌՞꜆. ̫.꜀՞𐦯

[irisunderglass]

New fact about isabel: no matter the universe my hands shake all the fucking time

[irisunderglass]

[irisunderglass]

✧ hearts entangled: kazubel, lynabel, isayuan, avenbel, isalaea & phaibel.

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: the idea of your moles being in the places your past lover kissed you kinda inspired me so that. but also not really.

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: incredibly self indulgent bc this is just my f/os kissing me in the places i have moles irl in. I specified who kisses where but also i have a shit ton of moles so some of them are just places.

emotions (ew/lh) in kazuha's part (sorta), implied non-sexual nudity in lyney and aventurine's, i wrote these when i was tired and i refuse to rewrite them pls just deal with it if the positions mentioned dont make sense, i wrote aglaea and phainon's parts before amphoreus (im at the very beginning as of writing this)

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: i kid you not i spent at least 3 and a half hours just writing aglaea's part while i was awake on 4 hours of sleep, wild morning amirite

shoutout to mirei for giving me the idea for phainon and lexi for helping me with kazuha's part. ily guys

I. KAZUHA

On my hand, on the outside of my palm ; multiple ones scattered around my back

The wind had quieted.

Kazuha stood beneath the blooming sakura tree, its petals drifting gently through the air like pieces of a dream. And there she was—Isabel—perched on the gnarled roots, sunlight tangled in her hair, her gaze distant and soft as if listening to the sky itself.

She didn’t hear him approach, not at first. He moved like a breeze himself—silent, unintrusive, part of the scenery. But she always felt him. She always turned.

Her eyes found him before he said a word, and her lips curved into that small, breath-stealing smile of hers.

“I was wondering where you’d gone,” she murmured.

Kazuha stepped closer, a soft hum rising from his throat. “Never far. My heart tends to wander only where you are.”

Her blush came easily. It always did when he spoke like that—when his voice dropped just enough to catch against the delicate parts of her. But before she could reply, Kazuha reached for her hand.

She let him take it, her fingers curling trustingly into his palm. He didn’t rush. He lifted her hand carefully, gently, as though it were something fragile he’d waited all day to hold.

Then, without warning, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

Not a fleeting kiss. Not one of etiquette or teasing affection.

No, this kiss was something else entirely. His lips lingered—soft, slow, reverent—against her skin, right at the base of her fingers, just where the pulse was gentle. It was the kind of kiss that made the world hush around it.

Isabel’s breath caught.

Her cheeks flushed in an instant, warmth blooming across her face as her shoulders rose slightly in surprise. She hadn’t expected it—not like that. Not with that kind of tenderness.

And she turned away, almost bashfully, lifting their joined hands toward her chest as if to shield her expression. Her posture shifted with the motion, her back facing him now, exposed slightly beneath the fall of her blouse. Loose strands of hair swept away in the breeze.

Kazuha’s gaze softened.

He stepped closer behind her, not letting go of her hand. “Ah,” he murmured, “don’t hide from me, dear heart. Not when you look so radiant in your flustered silence.”

She lowered her head further, her spine curving inward—but Kazuha only leaned in, and pressed a kiss to her back.

Right between her shoulder blades. Through the fabric, warm and steady. She tensed slightly, a breath shivering past her lips.

He kissed her again—just below her shoulder now, where the cloth dipped looser. This time, his lips lingered longer, parting slightly as he whispered against her skin.

“I kissed your hand,” he said, “because I admire how you hold the world so gently.”

Another kiss, higher. Near the nape of her neck. “But your back…” he murmured, “your back carries everything you don’t say. It holds the weight of quiet strength, the ache you never speak of. I see it, you know.”

She said nothing, only clutched his hand tighter.

“I want to kiss it all away,” Kazuha whispered, brushing his fingers along her spine. “The heaviness. The doubt. Every inch that aches without telling me.”

And then—one final kiss, right at the base of her neck. Soft as breath. “Let me carry you, just a little,” he murmured.

She turned her head, just enough for him to see the tremble in her lashes, the overwhelmed softness in her eyes. Her voice barely reached above the breeze. “You always know what to say.”

“I don’t,” he said gently, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “I only know what I feel.”

And he felt everything.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind then, letting her lean back into him, surrounded on all sides by his warmth and the drifting sakura petals.

“I love you in your stillness, and in your shy glances,” he said, holding her close. “Especially when you turn away—because even then, you’re turning toward me.”

And in that quiet moment, nothing else mattered.

II. LYNEY

Multiple ones scattered around my shoulders ; multiple ones scattered around my collarbones

The early morning light poured through the slats in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bedsheets. Fontaine hadn’t quite woken yet—outside, the city was quiet, save for the faint chirp of birds and the occasional hum of a passing aquabus in the distance.

Lyney was awake first. Not unusual, considering how often his internal clock woke him up at unreasonable hours, trained by years of needing to slip out unseen after late-night rehearsals or disappear before anyone could catch him in the mornings. But today, he stayed. He stayed because Isabel was beside him.

She lay on her stomach, hair messily pooled around her shoulders and face, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. The blanket had slipped low across her back, leaving the gentle curve of her bare shoulders exposed to the light. And Lyney... well, he could hardly resist.

He propped himself up on an elbow, watching her for a while. She looked so peaceful like this. So unguarded, so soft. The faintest crease between her brows told him she was still hovering at the edge of sleep, not quite ready to wake just yet. He smiled to himself, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the dip of her shoulder.

Isabel shifted with a quiet sound, more instinct than thought. Lyney kissed her again, this time just a little higher, closer to the nape of her neck. Her skin was warm beneath his lips—warmed by the sun, and sleep, and something else entirely.

Another kiss. This one at the top of her shoulder. Another, a little slower, against her collarbone.

She groaned, barely audible, and stirred more fully. “Lyney...” she mumbled, voice rough and sleepy. She didn’t even open her eyes yet.

“Yes, chérie?” he replied innocently, though the devilish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

She turned her head just slightly, her voice muffled by the pillow. “What are you doing..?”

“Worshipping,” he said, unrepentant. “Admiring. Studying the subject of my most beautiful dreams.”

He pressed another kiss to her collarbone, right where it met her neck, lingering longer this time. His thumb skimmed gently over her spine, lazy and reverent. He felt her shiver.

Isabel finally opened one eye, squinting at him with that half-hearted glare she always gave when he was being too charming for this early in the day.

“Stop being so poetic. It’s too early.”

“It’s never too early for poetry,” Lyney murmured against her skin, his voice low and playful. “Besides… you make a very inspiring muse.”

She scoffed and tried to bury her face back into the pillow. He grinned, undeterred.

Another kiss, this one right on the sharp ridge of her collarbone. She flinched and let out a breath that was dangerously close to a laugh.

“You’re ticklish here,” he mused, and—before she could stop him—he kissed the same spot again, slower, more deliberately this time.

“Lyney!” she gasped, squirming just a little. He caught her around the waist and gently pulled her toward him, burying his face into the crook of her neck as he laughed softly against her skin.

She was so warm. So real. The scent of her hair, the drowsy murmur of her breath—it was grounding in a way that even his most polished performances couldn’t match.

“I’ll stop,” he promised, though he kissed her again anyway. This time, his lips moved from her shoulder down toward her back, chasing the path of exposed skin where the blanket had slipped away.

Isabel inhaled sharply when he reached the center of her spine. “You said you’d stop.”

He chuckled, dragging his mouth up her shoulder again. “I lied.”

This time, she twisted just enough to look at him properly, her eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace,” he corrected, grinning as he leaned down to kiss her nose.

She rolled her eyes—but she smiled, and her hands came up to rest on his chest lazily, like she couldn’t be bothered to push him away. He could feel the trust in her touch, the softness that was just for him. And oh, how he treasured that.

He traced lazy patterns on her back with his fingers, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re too pretty for me to resist, chérie,” he whispered. “Even the morning agrees.”

“Mm... you're just trying to butter me up.”

“No,” he said, nuzzling against her. “I’m trying to love you.”

She stilled at that. Then, slowly, she tilted her head and kissed his cheek—sleepy and uncoordinated, but tender. “You’re doing a good job.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Lyney shifted to lie beside her properly, tugging the blankets up around them both. His arms curled around her waist, pulling her back into his chest, his nose nuzzling behind her ear.

“Do you have a show today?” she asked quietly.

“Not until late,” he murmured. “You?”

“Off day.”

He smiled. “Perfect.”

“Perfect for what?”

“For staying like this.” He kissed her shoulder again. “All morning.”

She gave a sleepy hum of agreement, threading their fingers together where they rested against her stomach. Lyney closed his eyes.

For once, he didn’t need a spotlight. He didn’t need applause or gasps of awe.

All he needed was this—the slow warmth of morning, the quiet rise and fall of Isabel’s breath beneath his touch, and the simple, sacred peace of loving her when no one else was watching.

And maybe, maybe, a few more kisses.

III. JING YUAN

One in the middle of my throat ; one where my neck meets my jaw ; one at the back of my neck

The General of the Cloud Knights, even in all his strength and authority, always found himself softer than silk whenever she was near.

It was still early in the day, the sun veiled behind thin clouds that let in a pale kind of light, diffused and gentle as it spilled into the room. The air inside his chambers was still and warm, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and the lingering sweetness of the tea she had brewed just an hour ago. Now that the teapot had long gone cold, its purpose fulfilled, there was nothing left in the moment to command his attention—nothing except her.

Isabel.

She stood by the open balcony doors, a book in hand, the breeze tousling her loose hair and tugging at the ends of her robe. She wasn’t wearing anything ornate, only the delicate silk he’d wrapped her in that morning when she groggily tried to sit up too soon, protesting the hour. The light caught on the curve of her shoulder, where the robe had slipped just slightly, revealing skin that made something deep in his chest ache.

Jing Yuan approached without a word, his footsteps light as snowfall. She didn’t hear him, or if she did, she pretended not to—until she felt his arms ease around her from behind.

“You walk like a cat,” she murmured, the smile in her voice undeniable.

He hummed, low and amused. “Old habits die hard.”

She leaned back into his embrace, just slightly, letting the book fall to rest against her stomach. “You’re supposed to be in a meeting.”

“I rescheduled.”

“Jing Yuan—”

“I missed you more.”

He wasn’t lying. He had endured half the morning surrounded by stuffy commanders and scrolls of strategy, nodding politely, offering feedback, delegating this and that—but his mind hadn’t been in it. It had wandered back here. To the curve of her neck when she tilted her head to sip tea. The way she curled one leg beneath her when she read. The soft, sleep-heavy sound of her voice murmuring his name as dawn broke over their windows.

His hand reached up to brush her hair aside. He did it slowly, almost reverently, his fingertips tracing the nape of her neck as though he needed to memorize every inch of her all over again.

She stilled.

“Jing Yuan,” she whispered this time, quieter. Not a protest. A plea? A surrender?

The moment stretched, tender and unhurried. And then he bent down and kissed her.

He started just behind her ear, pressing his lips there with deliberate softness. The skin was warm, faintly perfumed from her morning routine. His kiss lingered, slow and deep, a breath exhaled against her as his arms pulled her more securely into his chest.

She made a sound—surprised, breathy—and tilted her head instinctively to give him more room. That was all the invitation he needed. He kissed her again, brushing his lips down the side of her neck and then to the place where her neck met her shoulder, that gentle slope that always made her twitch just slightly in response. His lips parted just enough for her to feel the warmth of them fully, paired with the faint scratch of stubble that made her skin tingle.

“You’re being dangerous,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Mm,” he said, kissing her there again, then drawing his mouth inward, closer to the base of her throat. “I haven’t even started.”

He kissed the spot just above her collarbone, where her pulse fluttered like a bird beneath the surface. Then he moved lower, down to the base of her throat, pressing his mouth there slowly, almost reverently, and then further up to the center of it—the middle of her throat—where her breath hitched and her fingers gripped his sleeve in surprise. His lips paused there, lingering, breathing in the intimacy of it, as if he could inhale her heartbeat.

A soft chuckle followed, light as starlight. It was hers, and it melted him in a way no battlefield victory ever could.

Jing Yuan pulled her closer still, one hand resting at her waist, the other gently cupping her jaw from behind as he angled her head again—this time to kiss the underside of her jaw, then again just below her ear. He moved like a man utterly unhurried, as if the world had paused just for them.

“I should be reading,” she breathed.

“You should be adored,” he said, his voice a gentle vow. “And I’m behind schedule.”

She turned slightly in his hold, just enough to look at him, her gaze drowsy and warm. Her lashes were lowered, her lips parted in a half-smile that tugged at something tender inside his chest. His thumb brushed her cheek, reverent, almost hesitant, and for a moment they just stood there—still and suspended—wrapped in each other like a dream too delicate to break.

Then he guided her gently, turning her a bit more in his arms, until her back was to him completely. He bent down again and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck. The skin there was cooler, untouched until now, and her breath caught audibly. He stayed there for a long moment, then trailed his lips slowly upward along her nape, before kissing the very top, right where her hairline began.

“Do you know,” he murmured against her skin, “how often I think of this? Of you, like this. Of mornings where I do nothing but kiss you slow and remind you that you are the center of my peace?”

Her fingers came up to curl around his forearm, her nails brushing the edge of his sleeve. “You’re being poetic again.”

“I’m in love. It’s inevitable.”

She didn’t answer this time—only leaned further into his chest, her breath a soft hum as he kissed her once more, again and again. Down her neck, across her shoulder, the base of her throat, the back of her neck—no place was left untouched. Time itself seemed to forget its ticking and left them alone in that perfect stillness, where the world was warm and quiet and filled only with the soft hush of lips on skin and the steady rhythm of two hearts in love.

IV. AVENTURINE

Multiple ones scattered around my hip ; multiple ones scattered around my thighs

Aventurine had always considered himself a man of taste.

Fine suits, fine wine, finer negotiations—it was all part of his image. The kind of image that made people second-guess themselves in meetings and raise eyebrows in boardrooms. He played the long game with charm sharpened like a diamond and a mind trained to read every flicker of chance.

But even amidst all that, it was mornings like this that reminded him there were far richer rewards in the universe.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know Isabel was beside him.

Her presence was a quiet thing. Not demanding, not loud. Just... there. Steady and grounding, like the feel of cool sheets under warm skin or the soft hush of sunlight behind closed lids. He’d grown used to the sound of her breathing in sleep—slow and even, as if she trusted the world completely when he was next to her.

And maybe, just maybe, that thought made something gentle bloom in his chest.

Eventually, Aventurine opened his eyes. The early Penacony light filtered through the wide window, gold and diffused, brushing over the bed in sleepy streaks. It glinted off the golden cuff of his discarded jacket slung over a chair, and cast the softest glow across Isabel’s legs, stretched across the mattress with the sheets in disarray.

She’d stolen his shirt again. Of course. The oversized silk fabric had slipped up her thigh during the night, leaving her legs bare and kissed with morning light.

“Now that’s a view worth waking up for,” he murmured to himself, lips quirking into a lazy smile.

Aventurine took his time sitting up. No rush. There were always emails to check, calls to make, people to charm—but not right now. Right now, there was only Isabel, still sleeping soundly, mouth slightly parted, hair mussed in a way that made her look like something out of a dream. His dream.

He reached down, letting his fingers trail softly over the curve of her outer thigh. She didn’t stir, but her skin warmed under his touch.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss there.

Then another, just a little higher, near the center of her thigh.

Then a third, featherlight and unhurried, where her hip began to rise.

A hum of appreciation left him, low in his chest. “You always sleep like you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he murmured with a faint laugh. “Must be nice, sweetheart. Must be nice.”

Another kiss. Then another. Just because he could.

He wasn’t trying to wake her. He just... wanted to stay close. Wanted to bask in the quiet of her. It was rare, really, to feel this at ease. With most people, he was either calculating or guiding their perception of him. But with her?

He got to be soft. And maybe even a little selfish.

“Do you know how many people would pay to wake up to me like this?” he added with mock arrogance, tilting his head to kiss her hip again. “And here you are—free of charge. Really makes you think about what kind of market value I’m undercutting.”

Still, she didn’t move. But her breathing hitched the tiniest bit when his lips found the spot just under her hipbone. That made him grin.

“Ah. So you are awake,” he said softly, voice a little lower now. “Caught you.”

Isabel stirred finally, her brow creasing, one hand lifting to rub her face as she blinked into the light. “...Mmnh. What time is it?”

“Too early to be productive,” he replied immediately, one hand sliding up to rest gently on her hip. “But just late enough for indulgence.”

Her eyes squinted toward him, sleep still heavy in her gaze. “Were you kissing me awake?”

Aventurine leaned in and kissed her thigh again, then rested his chin there with the most self-satisfied expression she’d ever seen. “Guilty. And you should thank me. The alarm clock doesn’t wear silk or whisper sweet nothings.”

She snorted softly, eyes closing again as she tucked one arm behind her head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here we are. Sharing a bed. Sharing a shirt. You could have gone for someone boring and punctual,” he teased. “But you chose the man with the winning smile instead.”

“I think I chose the man who kisses my thighs when he should be getting dressed,” she replied without missing a beat, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed the fondness behind it.

Aventurine chuckled, leaning in to press one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, near her knee this time, just for the contrast. “Well, forgive me for appreciating luxury. And make no mistake, you are the definition of it.”

She turned toward him slowly, hand reaching for his. Her fingers found his wrist, gentle and grounding, her touch lingering on his skin like she was drawing him back to earth. “Stay.”

“As if I’d leave,” he murmured, climbing up beside her and draping one arm around her waist.

They laid there in the sunlight, limbs tangled and breaths syncing. And for all his talk of odds and percentages and making the right moves, Aventurine knew there was no calculation that could sum up the contentment he felt now.

This wasn’t a gamble.

This was a win he’d never stop cashing in on.

V. AGLAEA

One on the side of my wrist ; one on the inside of my palm

The atelier was quiet.

Sunlight spilled like liquid gold across polished floors, catching the fine dust in drifting, luminous clouds. The looms stood silent, their spindles at rest, threads wound neatly around spools. But a few stray filaments still hung suspended around Aglaea’s wrists and fingers, drifting lazily in the warm air, reluctant to leave her touch.

Yet at this moment, Aglaea hardly spared them a thought.

Because Isabel was sitting on her worktable, her legs dangling freely, the hem of her dress brushing the carved edge. She was humming some half-remembered tune, eyes half-closed, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against the wood. The sun lit her hair into gleaming strands, casting little glints that made her look almost ethereal.

Aglaea hovered a few steps away, simply watching. She folded her hands at her waist, a tiny, amused smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re doing it again,” she murmured at last.

Isabel’s eyes flicked open. “Doing what?”

“Sitting there, making me fall in love with you all over again.”

Isabel scoffed, cheeks coloring. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Ah.” Aglaea tilted her head, the golden threads shifting around her in gentle arcs. “But that’s precisely it. You exist. It’s quite distracting.”

Isabel gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Aglaea let out a thoughtful hum. “Mm. So you’ve told me.”

She glided forward until she was close enough to rest her hands lightly on Isabel’s knees. She peered up into Isabel’s face, studying her as though she were one of the intricate patterns woven into Aglaea’s finest silk. Her pale hair fell forward like spilled moonlight, the faint scent of floral oils drifting around her.

“Your face,” Aglaea said dreamily, tracing a gentle finger along Isabel’s jaw, “makes me think of new dye baths. Of gold touched with dusk. Of secrets hidden in silk folds.”

Isabel rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. Yes.” Aglaea leaned forward, her voice dropping. “And yours.”

She reached for Isabel’s hand again, lifting it between both of hers. The tips of her threads brushed over Isabel’s skin, a fleeting caress that felt like the softest brush of wind. Aglaea bent her head and kissed Isabel’s palm, lingering there for several slow breaths, as though imprinting herself into the very lines of her lover’s hand.

Then she shifted her lips lower, planting a slow, tender kiss against the delicate skin just inside Isabel’s wrist. Isabel shivered, a faint gasp escaping her, her fingers tightening around Aglaea’s.

“Aglaea…” Isabel whispered. “You don’t have to…”

Aglaea lifted her gaze, eyes pale gold and bright with a warmth that seemed to glow from within. “I want to.”

She kissed the inside of Isabel’s wrist again, a little deeper this time. Then, almost absentmindedly, she brushed her cheek along Isabel’s forearm, inhaling the soft scent of her skin.

“I could spend an eternity just learning every inch of you,” she murmured. “And I’d never grow bored.”

Isabel ducked her head, cheeks pink. “I don’t know what to do when you say things like that.”

“Simple.” Aglaea tilted her head, leaning in so that their lips almost touched. “Let me keep saying them.”

She kissed Isabel lightly on the corner of her mouth, then paused, her breath warm. Isabel let out a soft laugh and slid her free hand into Aglaea’s hair, fingertips weaving through the pale silk.

“You’re hopeless,” Isabel murmured.

Aglaea chuckled, low and musical. “And you adore me.”

“Yes.” Isabel whispered it like a confession. “I do.”

Aglaea closed her eyes briefly, drinking in the words as though they were the richest wine. Then she pressed a firmer kiss to Isabel’s lips, gentle yet sure. Isabel leaned into her, arms winding around Aglaea’s shoulders, her body soft and pliant under the careful touch.

When they parted, breathless but smiling, Aglaea tucked a strand of hair behind Isabel’s ear, her fingers lingering.

“I don’t need my threads to sense the truth,” she murmured. “I can feel it right here.” She guided Isabel’s hand to rest over her own chest, where her heart beat steadily beneath silk and linen.

Isabel’s thumb stroked lightly over the spot, her eyes bright and damp. “Your heart’s racing.”

“It always does when I’m near you.” Aglaea’s lips curved into a slow, luminous smile. “You’re my favorite chaos.”

Isabel laughed, half-exasperated and half overjoyed. “How did I end up with someone like you?”

Aglaea lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. “Perhaps I wove it that way.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Aglaea kissed her again, softer this time, a lingering press of lips that spoke of quiet devotion. When she drew back, she whispered, “Yes. But I’m yours.”

Outside, the sun was slipping lower, gilding the room in the molten glow of late afternoon. Threads floated in lazy spirals around them, catching the light.

Aglaea rested her forehead to Isabel’s, eyes drifting shut. In the hush, she thought she could hear not only the gentle rustle of threads, but the subtle, beautiful rhythm of two hearts beating in time.

And she decided there was no tapestry more perfect than that.

VI. PHAINON

One on the corner of my eye ; two on my cheeks ; one on my lip

The light outside the windows was soft and slow, like the world itself had exhaled and decided to rest. Gold brushed across the walls, warming the room with its gentle glow. The hush of late afternoon wrapped around Isabel and Phainon like a blanket—quiet, steady, peaceful.

She sat curled against the cushions, book long forgotten beside her, eyes on him. And he... he looked at her like he hadn’t stopped looking. Not since he walked into the room. Not since the first time they met.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched her, something soft flickering at the edges of his mouth.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, voice gentle.

“I was thinking,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “that you’re sitting very still.”

She tilted her head, smiling. “And?”

“That means I can do this.”

He closed the distance in a heartbeat and pressed a kiss to the corner of her eye.

She blinked in surprise, startled but amused. “Phainon—”

Another kiss to her cheek.

“Phainon.”

The other cheek.

“You’re doing it again.”

“I am,” he murmured, his voice full of light. “And I’m not sorry.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, then her temple, and when she tried to pull away with a flustered laugh, he only followed, pressing a dozen tiny kisses wherever he could reach.

“Are you counting?” she asked, breathless.

“No,” he said between kisses, “but I should’ve started.”

“I should’ve known you were planning something.”

“Planning?” he echoed, already trailing more kisses across her face. “This is pure instinct. No forethought. All heart.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed, tilting her face to avoid him, but he simply followed the motion.

“Maybe,” he agreed, dotting a kiss just beneath her eye. “But you’re smiling.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You’re failing.”

Her fingers curled into his shoulders as she giggled—delighted and glowing beneath his attention. There was no heavy emotion between them, no grief or ghost trailing his footsteps. Just affection, bright and burning soft at the edges.

He kissed along her jawline, brushing her skin with the kind of reverence that made her breath catch. “You’re letting me do this awfully easily,” he murmured.

“I’m not sure I can stop you.”

“You definitely can,” he said, grinning, “but you’re not.”

And then, just as she was about to respond, he kissed the corner of her lips—slow this time. Gentle. A pause, a beat longer than the others. Enough to quiet her laughter.

His hand cupped her cheek, and his expression shifted into something more earnest, more tender.

“I could do this forever,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right?”

She looked up at him, her smile softening. “Then do it.”

So he did.

He kissed her—slow and unhurried, lips brushing hers with a care that made her shiver. His other hand found her waist, holding her steady as if he was anchoring himself too.

Their mouths moved together, slow and certain, with the comfort of people who knew exactly where they belonged. There was nothing urgent in it. No hunger. Just warmth. Love. A kiss that lingered like sunlight on skin.

When he pulled back, it was only enough to breathe. His eyes searched hers, the corners crinkling with affection. “You’re going to get tired of me one day.”

“Never,” she whispered, still caught in the glow of him.

He smiled, pressing his forehead to hers.

Then, without a word, he began again—kissing her brow, the tip of her nose, the space beneath her ear. Slow, deliberate. Mapping her the way someone maps stars.

“For your kindness,” he said, brushing her temple.

“For your laugh.”

Her cheek.

“For the way you look at me like I matter more than anything else.”

The edge of her lips.

“For being mine.”

His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, thumb stroking through her hair as he leaned in once more.

“This one’s just because I can’t help myself.”

And he kissed her again, a little deeper this time. A little slower.

The world was fading around them—the sun slipping behind the clouds, the quiet of the room folding around their bodies. And in it, Phainon held her like she was made of silk and fire, and he loved every inch of her like the world outside would never dare interrupt this moment.

“I don’t know why being close to you makes everything feel... clearer,” he murmured.

“Maybe it’s not about clarity,” she said, brushing her fingers against his jaw. “Maybe it’s about letting yourself feel.”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed her again, long and lingering, like she was the answer to a question he hadn’t needed to ask.

And when he pulled back, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted, he smiled—not with mischief now, but with quiet awe.

“I’m going to keep kissing you until the stars forget how to burn.”

She let out a soft laugh, breath catching.

“And if they remember?” she asked.

“Then I’ll kiss you brighter,” he said. “So they’ll have something to look up to.”

carved names upon the storytree: @dawnsigil , @milk-violet , @lexisism , @angeliyuu ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

would you guys prefer the next post to be a long one with all my f/os or would it be better if i separate them and each get their own post?

[irisunderglass]

✧ hearts entangled: jing yuan x isabel ; isayuan

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: Jing Yuan leaves flowers for Isabel to find.

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: nothing besides my mess of a plot.

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: this is based on the picrew above, but mirei's responsible for the actual idea, blame her /aff. anyway have whatever this mess is.

I. THE BEGINNING

The morning sun filtered in through the sheer curtains, painting long lines of gold across the wooden floor. A breeze drifted in from the open window, stirring the edges of scrolls and papers on the desk, brushing softly over the long white strands of hair falling down Jing Yuan’s back.

Jing Yuan stood by the edge of the bed, one hand tucked behind his back, the other lifting carefully to brush a strand of hair away from Isabel's cheek. She didn’t stir. Her features were slack with sleep, brow smooth, lips parted faintly, arm stretched out to where he had once been lying.

She always reached for him in her sleep.

He lingered. Just long enough to watch her chest rise and fall again, to take in how utterly peaceful she looked in the half-light. Then he moved, quietly, across the room to the desk near the window.

He sat down, pulled a sheet of thick paper toward him, and began to write. His script was neat, deliberate—just a little slanted, the ink a familiar blue she liked to trace her finger over when she thought he wasn’t watching.

Good morning, my love. I’ve left something for you today. Ten things, to be exact. They’re small, but they carry my heart. I thought you might enjoy the search. No riddles today—only petals, and the way your smile will feel when you find them. I’ll be back before long. Yours always, —Jing Yuan

He folded the note in thirds and placed it on her bedside table, just beside the worn book she’d fallen asleep reading. Then, gently, reverently, he slid the first flower between its pages—careful not to wake her. A soft blossom, pale in color, fresh from the morning air.

He paused to look at her one last time before he rose. The sun had moved slightly, casting a band of light across her arm now. She shifted in her sleep, nose twitching faintly, her brow scrunching the way it did when she dreamed deeply.

Jing Yuan smiled and turned away.

The rest of the house was dim and hushed as he moved through it, placing each flower with quiet intent. He placed them where he knew she'd check — places that were a part of her routine. Some were in obvious places, others subtle—meant to make her think, or laugh, or pause.

He placed the last flower and stood for a moment, gazing around their shared home with a kind of softened pride.

He picked up his coat from the hook near the door, ran his fingers briefly along the edge of the collar as though grounding himself—and stepped outside.

The door shut quietly behind him.

And in the golden warmth of their bedroom, Isabel slowly began to wake.

II. THE SEARCH

Isabel woke slowly, as if the morning were coaxing her gently back to the world rather than demanding she rise. The sunlight felt warm on her skin, the kind of light that had passed through trees and windows before it touched her. For a few long, peaceful moments, she remained in place, letting the air settle over her, thick with the remnants of sleep and something faintly floral.

It was only when she shifted slightly, turning toward the other side of the bed, that she noticed the space beside her was empty—and had been for a while.

The pillow was cold. Jing Yuan’s absence wasn’t uncommon in the mornings, but she always felt it.

Still, there was no ache of loneliness this time. Just something quiet and curious in her chest.

That’s when she saw the note.

Folded neatly beside her book, its edge tucked just slightly under the cover like a whisper. She blinked once, then reached out, picking it up between two fingers. His handwriting was unmistakable—slanted, careful, with just enough flourish to be elegant without trying too hard. It was a style she could have recognized in her sleep.

She read it once. Then again, slower.

A quiet sound escaped her—half a breath of amusement, half something softer, fonder. “Ten things…” she murmured, brushing her thumb over the ink. The phrasing was classic Jing Yuan. Unhurried. Thoughtful. Laced with a kind of affection that always caught her off guard when she least expected it.

She found the first flower when she opened her book.

The soft bloom nestled perfectly between the pages she’d left her bookmark the night before. She stared at it for a moment, touched it like it might vanish, then smiled despite herself. Not wide. Not dramatic. But the kind of smile that stayed in the eyes long after the lips stilled.

Her feet hit the floor moments later, one of Jing Yuan's shirts hanging loosely off her frame as she padded through the house barefoot. She didn’t rush. Jing Yuan never made anything feel urgent—not even love.

She found the second flower in the kitchen, tucked into the cup she always used, and the third tucked gently in her skirt. That one made her stop. She hadn’t even worn it yet this morning, and he’d placed it so carefully, as if to tell her I thought of you here, too.

The next few came slowly, but steadily.

One behind the mirror—she laughed when she saw it, shaking her head at the reflection like he was standing there watching her. Another by Mimi’s spot. One near her hairbrush. One inside her favorite teacup. One under the folded towel by the bathroom sink.

Each one held a different warmth. Not for what it was, but for where he’d left it—for how precisely he knew her movements, her preferences, the places her hands would fall out of habit. None of it was random. Jing Yuan never did anything by chance.

By the time she found the ninth, she was standing near the door, a small collection of flowers gathered in her hands, the stems cool against her skin. She looked down at them, then slowly walked back toward the sitting room, laying them out carefully across the table.

Nine.

She counted again. Still nine.

Her brow furrowed.

She stood there in silence for a while, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. Maybe she had missed one. Maybe there was one hiding inside a book spine, or tucked in a drawer she hadn’t opened. She retraced her steps slowly, checked behind the curtain, lifted the edge of the couch cushion just in case.

Still nine.

He’d said ten.

And Jing Yuan didn’t make mistakes—not in words, not in gestures. If he said there were ten, there were ten.

Her fingers tapped gently on the edge of the table as she stared down at the little arrangement. Each bloom lay carefully placed, a quiet trail of tenderness. But the tenth… was nowhere.

She didn’t sigh. She didn’t huff or frown or grow frustrated. Instead, she straightened slowly, arms folding over her chest as she gazed toward the door.

He hadn’t come back yet.

So she would wait.

She moved to the couch and sank into the cushions with a soft exhale, the robe still wrapped around her, the faint scent of petals clinging to her fingertips. Mimi had wandered in by then and flopped down at her feet, offering no answers, only warm, lazy company.

And Isabel sat there in the quiet, ten flowers on her mind, and just one still out of reach.

III. THE LAST FLOWER

Evening light spilled long and drowsy across the hallway as Jing Yuan let the door glide shut behind him. Responsibility still clung to his shoulders like a half‑shed cloak, yet the hush of their home washed the day’s weight away in a single heartbeat.

He found her in the sitting room.

Nine flowers rested on the low table in precise alignment—each bloom he’d hidden now displayed like pages of a story. Isabel sat beside them, robe wrapped loosely around her, one ankle tucked under the other knee. She raised her head the instant he entered, and in the warm amber glow he caught the delicate lift of her brow: half triumph, half question.

“Welcome back,” she said, voice poised but bright with something unsolved. “Your clues were... adequate.”

He laughed beneath his breath. “Only adequate?”

“I located nine,” she countered, tapping the empty center of the arrangement. “But someone promised ten.”

He feigned a thoughtful hum while moving closer. “It seems my arithmetic was sound,” he said gently, “though perhaps my definition of ‘flower’ was larger than yours.”

Isabel unfolded gracefully, stepping into the light that pooled between them. “Enlighten me, General.”

He closed the final distance and, with deliberate tenderness, slid his arms around her waist. The movement pressed the gathered bouquet between them, petals brushing his chest. Isabel’s breath hitched; curiosity flickered into realization as his hands settled at the small of her back.

“There is one blossom,” he murmured, “I could never bear to hide beyond reach.”

Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips. “Where is it, then?”

Jing Yuan leaned in until their foreheads touched, until he could taste the question on her soft, uneven breath. His answer came as a whisper, pitched for her alone:

“I’m holding her right now.”

For a fragile instant the room seemed to still, the silence filled only by the rhythm of their hearts. Then her eyes softened—wonder colliding with affection so profound it made him forget every parade and victory he’d ever known. She parted her lips, perhaps to protest that she was no flower at all, but he silenced the rebuttal with a smile that said he’d weighed the metaphor and found it true.

“Ten blooms,” he continued, voice low as twilight, “because nothing less could reflect the measure of my gratitude. Nine you could gather with your hands… and one you already carry in your heartbeat.”

Color rose along her cheekbones; her lashes fluttered like soft wings. She tried for composure—Isabel always tried—but it melted beneath the warmth in his gaze. At last she exhaled a tremulous laugh that sounded dangerously close to a tear.

“So that space,” she whispered, glancing at the gap on the table, “was never empty at all.”

“Exactly,” he breathed, tightening his embrace until the flowers rustled between them. “The arrangement was complete from the moment you opened your eyes.”

The kiss they shared then was feather‑light yet anchoring: no urgency, no theatrics—just the hush of two souls meeting in the middle of a promise fulfilled. When their lips parted, he kept her close, swaying gently as if the quiet music of the petals guided them.

Outside, dusk deepened to indigo, but inside the glow remained—soft, steady, blooming in the curve of Isabel’s smile and the quiet certainty of Jing Yuan’s arms.

Nine flowers lay on the table.

One breathed in his embrace.

And together, they completed the bouquet the world had been waiting to see.

carved names upon the storytree: @dawnsigil , @milk-violet , @lexisism , @angeliyuu ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

in lands where sandal breezes blow, bharat's warm sun cast an amber glow. a sacred flame in hush did rise, to mirror stars in dusky skies.

he, on his brow saffron's grace, a calm resolve upon his face. she, a lotus bathed in dawn, in silks of blush finely drawn.

the saptapadi — each vow a binding, golden thread: “to nourish, honor, strive and stay, as breath to breath, as night to day. i take your hand in mine this day, to walk with you — the dharma way.”

a little something by me, for my star ♥︎ this is a very important piece to me– please do not save, thank you. love you ! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)

[irisunderglass]

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you?

🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

i didnt know who to answer these for so i went with kazuha, lyney and jing yuan !!

also ps this got super long im sorry /lh

kazuha;

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

It was gentle. So impossibly gentle, like he was afraid I’d vanish the moment our lips met. We were both quiet, almost reverent in the moment, as if speaking would ruin the fragile little world that bloomed between us. I remember the way the wind softened around us, how his hand cupped my cheek with such care—like I was something precious, something fragile, and he didn’t want to break me. He leaned in slowly, eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes and back again, giving me every chance to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn't. And when we finally kissed… it wasn’t fireworks. It was peace. A kind of stillness I’d never known before. And when we pulled apart, he whispered my name like it was poetry. I think that was the moment I fell in love all over again.

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you?

He loves slow mornings with me. The kind where sunlight spills lazily through the curtains and we don’t have anywhere to be. He’ll lie on his side and trace invisible shapes along my arm while I rest against his chest. Sometimes we go on walks—no destination, just the rhythm of our footsteps and the way he’ll squeeze my hand when the wind picks up. He loves listening to me talk, even if it’s about the tiniest things. And when it rains, he’ll pull me close and recite verses while the world fades behind the sound of water and his voice. With Kazuha, even silence feels full.

🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

He’s a gift-giver that pays attention. He once handed me a folded paper crane made from a leaf he picked up during our walk, and inside was a tiny haiku he wrote just for me. Sometimes it’s a pressed flower, sometimes it’s a ribbon he thought would look pretty in my hair. Nothing loud, never grand. Just quiet, tender tokens that tell me he’s always thinking of me. As for what I’d give him... a scarf. One I made myself, even if the stitches aren’t perfect. Something warm he can take with him when he travels, with colors that remind him of home—of me. I’d tuck a letter inside the folds, too. Something he can read when the road feels long, reminding him he’s never alone.

lyney;

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

He kissed me like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. I remember the way his hands trembled—just a little—as they cupped my face, his gloves brushing my cheeks like they were something sacred. He had that look in his eyes, the one he usually gets right before he performs something dangerous onstage—equal parts excitement and terror, but focused only on me. No one else. Just me. He said my name like a question, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. I barely managed a breath before he leaned in and kissed me, sudden and full of longing, like he’d been waiting his whole life for that exact moment. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was real. And when he pulled back, his thumb lingering near my lips, he smiled that crooked little smile I adored and I was a goner. I was still catching my breath when he asked if he could do it again. I said yes. I think I’d always say yes.

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you?

He likes turning even our free time into a kind of performance, but only for us. He’ll pull me onto the rooftop of the Opera Epiclese late at night, just to show me card tricks under the stars. Sometimes, when it’s quiet, he’ll sit behind me while I play music, resting his chin on my shoulder, humming along in that soft voice he only uses when he’s relaxed. He enjoys making me laugh most of all—silly sleight-of-hand, dramatic reenactments, even poorly-done impersonations of his siblings. But when the masks are off and the lights are out, he loves just holding me in bed, his arms snug around my waist, whispering secrets he wouldn’t dare tell anyone else.

🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

He’d gift me something hidden inside a magic trick. Like, I’d pull a ribbon from behind his ear and it would turn into a bracelet he’d made—something delicate with little charms shaped like doves and roses. Or he’d take me to the Opera Epiclese, pull a curtain aside, and reveal a painting of me he commissioned without telling me. He loves the surprise, the thrill of my wide eyes and shocked laughter. I’d get him something he couldn’t sleight-of-hand away—a memory. A scrapbook, maybe, full of little photos and notes I’d snuck in over time. Each page a reminder that he’s more than just the showman. That he’s loved, deeply, fiercely, beyond the spotlight. Maybe I’d even hide a pressed card in there from the first time he performed for me… because I kept it. Of course I did.

jing yuan;

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

It was slow. Thoughtful. Like he was savoring something he'd waited a very long time for. Jing Yuan isn't a man who rushes, not with things that matter—and I mattered. We were sitting beneath a tree in the courtyard, late afternoon sun painting gold through the leaves, and he’d been talking about something mundane in that warm, low voice of his… until he stopped mid-sentence. He looked at me. Really looked. Like whatever he’d been about to say had vanished the second his eyes found mine. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. I laughed—embarrassed, flustered—and that’s when he leaned in, slow as the turning seasons. His lips brushed mine like a question. When I didn’t pull away, he kissed me fully, deeply, with a kind of reverence that made my heart ache. And when he finally drew back, he touched his forehead to mine and whispered, “Finally.” Like the wait was over. Like he'd come home.

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you?

He likes peace. Quiet, shared peace. Days off are rare for him, so when they come, he wants them spent doing nothing—and everything—with me. Reading beside each other with our legs tangled beneath the blankets. Napping together with one of his hands resting on my waist. He likes brushing my hair out of my face while I talk, even if I'm rambling about nonsense. Sometimes he brings me into his garden. We’ll drink tea, and he’ll tell me stories from long ago, always with a smile, always watching me out of the corner of his eye to see how I react. And sometimes, when he’s feeling playful, he’ll pull me into a slow dance under the moonlight, no music but his humming and the sound of our laughter. He says time with me is the only kind he wishes would never end.

🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

Jing Yuan’s gifts always feel like whispers rather than declarations—quiet, intimate things that speak volumes without ever needing to shout. He’d give me a hair ornament: something elegant, carved from ivory-white jade, with tiny golden accents in the shape of clouds and lions. Not flashy, not extravagant—just beautiful, refined, meant for me. And he’d say something like, “This reminded me of you the moment I saw it. So I had to bring it home.” He also likes giving comfort. I know he’d have a thick, soft cloak commissioned in my favorite color, lined with silken fabric, heavy enough to keep me warm on the coldest nights—something I’d wear while waiting for him to return. Something that smells like cedarwood and his cologne after a while. And me? I’d gift him a small, handmade tea set. Each piece different but part of the same whole, glazed in hues of warm gold and storm-gray. Something imperfect, personal, uniquely ours. I’d tell him it’s so we always have reason to sit down together, to slow the world for a little while. He’d smile, lift one of the cups in that lazy, amused way, and say, “Then I suppose I’ll be drinking nothing but your tea for the rest of my life.” And he’d mean it.

[irisunderglass]

misc. selfship asks ❤︎

thank you for 400! <3 answer these asks however you'd like, but please practice reblog karma if applicable! 💌

🧸 - how would your f/o try to comfort you if you were upset? 🦢 - what's a petty argument you'd have with your f/o? 🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other?

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

🪺 - describe your f/os perception of you before you got together, compared to what it is now! 🪷 - if the roles were reversed and your f/o was the one selfshipping with you, what would their blog look like?

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally?

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

💍 - how do you and your f/o feel about marriage?

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order?

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you? 🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o?

🪼 - what’s your favorite way to feel closer to your f/o?

proship/comship/neutral dni

[irisunderglass]

✧ hearts entangled: jing yuan x isabel ; isayuan

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: isabel is having trouble falling asleep.

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: none.

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: this was also entirely self indulgent. i actually fell asleep at like 4 am today so the struggle is still fresh. literally all i could think about was "jing yuan would make it better" so here we are.

shout-out to mirei for enabling me at 2 in the morning. also it took me for-fucking-ever to find the header pics yesterday i'm not changing them.

The night had long since settled over the Luofu, shrouding the city in a silken hush. Lanterns glowed faintly in the streets beyond the windows, but within their home, all was still. The bedroom was cloaked in shadows and soft warmth, the air thick with the scent of jasmine tea lingering from earlier and the quiet lull of sleep just beginning to take hold.

Jing Yuan lay back against the pillows, one arm curled gently around Isabel as she rested against him, her head on his chest, tucked beneath his chin. The rise and fall of her breathing was slow, even, but not quite asleep. He could tell—he always could. There was still a slight furrow in her brow, a faint tension in her limbs. The kind that came only when the day hadn’t quite let go of her, when her thoughts were still quietly echoing in the spaces between heartbeats.

So, he held her closer.

His hand was splayed across the curve of her back, and with a featherlight touch, he began to trace slow, steady shapes. Circles, spirals, the gentle path of a cloud rolling across the sky. There was no pattern, really—just soft movement, just care poured wordlessly into every stroke.

“You did well today,” he murmured, his voice so low it almost melted into the quiet. “Even if you think you didn’t. I know you did.”

Isabel made a small, sleepy sound. She shifted, pressing her nose lightly to his chest, and he felt her shoulders slowly begin to loosen beneath his hand.

“Do you remember the café near the harbor?” he murmured, pressing his cheek lightly to her hair. “The one with the terrible chairs, but the fluffiest almond cakes in all of Xianzhou?”

She didn’t answer, but her fingers twitched slightly where they rested near his ribs.

“They burn the tea every time,” he said, lips tilting into a faint smile. “But you keep going back. Claim it's for the view.” He paused, glancing down at her. “I know it's for the old woman’s cat. The one that keeps jumping into your lap.”

A soft exhale left her. It wasn’t quite a laugh—but close. Jing Yuan’s hand never stopped moving, painting weightless shapes into her back, easing her into stillness.

His fingers glided up to her shoulder, then back down the slope of her spine. His touch was the consistency of rain against paper—light, rhythmic, persistent. The kind of affection he gave only when there were no eyes watching, when it was just her and the moment and the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Sometimes I think you don’t even realize the way you carry people. The way you take the weight and keep walking anyway.”

He paused, brushing his lips against the crown of her head, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. Her breathing had slowed, her lashes fluttering softly against his skin. Still awake, but drifting. He continued, softer now.

“I wish I could take it from you. Every worry, every shadow that tries to follow you home.” Another shape traced between her shoulder blades, this time a slow, lazy figure-eight. “But I’ll settle for this. For holding you until they fade.”

Outside, the wind stirred gently through the trees, rustling the leaves with the sound of whispered secrets. Mimi let out a soft huff from the foot of the bed, shifting her enormous paws before resettling with a low, content rumble.

Isabel let out a slow, sleepy breath.

He smiled.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” he said, not because she needed the reminder, but because he needed to say it. “When you open your eyes. When you stretch and yawn and try to pretend you didn’t drool on my chest.”

That drew a faint hum from her, the tiniest twitch of her lips against his skin. Jing Yuan laughed, quiet and fond.

“Caught you,” he teased softly, running his hand down her back one more time.

His fingers stilled when he felt her breathing shift. Long and steady now. Deep. Her brow was smooth, her lips parted just slightly. The last traces of tension had melted away, replaced by the heaviness of real sleep.

He stayed like that for a long moment, simply watching her. Letting the warmth of her soak into him. Letting himself marvel at how lucky he was—how soft the world could be, in her arms.

Then, very gently, he leaned down, lips brushing her forehead.

A kiss—quiet, reverent, full of everything he couldn’t say while she was awake to hear it.

He lingered there a moment longer before pulling back, his breath slow, content.

“Sleep well, Isabel,” he whispered. “My heart.”

And with one last curl of his arm around her waist, Jing Yuan let his eyes close too, finally surrendering to the stillness of the night, wrapped in the only peace he ever needed: her.

carved names upon the storytree: @femivi , @milk-violet , @lexisism , @floraldresvi , @unriding ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

✧ hearts entangled: jing yuan x isabel ; isayuan

✧ a glimpse through the storyglass: isabel falls asleep with mimi while waiting for jing yuan to come back.

✧ beware the thorns beneath the roses: none.

✧ scribbles from the dreamweaver: this was entirely self-indulgent, i've been really sleepy lately. and i have a smaller mimi to keep me company when i nap haha

also i'm aware lions cannot purr. let me live my dream.

The key clicked softly in the door, but Jing Yuan didn’t step inside right away. He stood for a moment on the threshold of the home he shared with Isabel, eyes closed, exhaling the weight of the day.

The Luofu had felt longer than usual. Reports, meetings, endless questions that required precise answers—and smiles he didn’t entirely mean. It all melted away as the familiar scent of home greeted him: warm tea, fresh linen, the faintest trace of candle wax and something sweet that always lingered after Isabel baked.

He finally entered, careful to shut the door behind him quietly, as if not to disturb something sacred.

"Isabel?" he called softly, voice low and warm, but there was no reply.

His brow furrowed slightly—not with worry, but with curiosity. The house was unusually quiet, and yet... still alive. Slippers sat by the shoe rack, and one of her hair ties had been abandoned on the entryway table. The lights were dimmed in that soft, deliberate way Isabel always set in the evening, casting a golden glow across the floors and walls.

He moved slowly through the house, unhurried, taking in the little signs of her presence like they were drops of water after a long drought. A blanket tossed over the couch, one of her mugs still faintly warm on the coffee table. The smell of tea drifted faintly from the kitchen.

Jing Yuan’s steps carried him toward the bedroom—and then he paused.

The door was cracked open just slightly. Enough for warm light to spill through, and just enough for him to see a large, unmistakable tuft of white fur peeking out.

A low, rumbling purr met his ears. It shook the doorframe faintly.

Ah. So that’s where they were.

He pushed the door open gently, a smile tugging at his lips—and there they were.

Isabel lay fast asleep atop the blankets, curled like a cat herself, one arm draped across the enormous, slumbering form of Mimi. The lion had taken up nearly half the bed, white mane fluffed like clouds around them both, her tail lazily flicking near Isabel’s feet.

Jing Yuan’s heart melted in a way he didn’t think it was physically capable of doing anymore.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment, drinking it in. Isabel’s face was tucked gently against Mimi’s side, peaceful, her breathing even. One of her hands was fisted loosely in the lion’s fur, as though she’d fallen asleep mid-pet. Mimi’s paw—larger than Jing Yuan’s head, and armed with claws that had once terrified entire battalions—was draped protectively over Isabel’s back.

It was ridiculous. It was domestic. It was everything.

Jing Yuan didn’t dare speak. He just stepped forward quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the two of them breathe together, side by side. He leaned down to press a kiss to Isabel’s hair, brushing her cheek softly with the backs of his knuckles. She stirred, just a little, murmuring something incoherent as her nose wrinkled.

“Shh,” he whispered, smoothing his palm down her arm. “I’m home.”

Mimi huffed, opening one eye. Her ear twitched at him before she let out a deep, rumbling yawn and laid her head back down.

“Good work, Mimi,” he said, voice low and amused. “As fierce a guardian as ever.”

The lion gave a purr in reply and nuzzled closer to Isabel, satisfied.

Jing Yuan chuckled under his breath. Slowly, carefully, he lay down beside them, tucking himself into the small remaining space between you and Mimi’s massive, warm body. He could feel Isabel’s breath against his collarbone now, her hand unconsciously shifting to rest against his chest in sleep.

She was still wearing one of his old robes—too long for her, the sleeves always falling past her fingers—and he could feel his heart squeeze again at the sight of it. She always claimed it was “because it’s soft,” but he knew better.

He curled an arm around her waist, thumb stroking lazy circles into her side.

He had fought battles, led armies, faced chaos, and endured centuries—but none of it compared to the quiet triumph of this. Coming home to Isabel. To Mimi. To soft warmth, and a bed not made for one.

His eyes fluttered closed as the rumbling purr returned, deep and steady beside him.

This was the reward, wasn’t it? Not glory, not power. Just this. Just the softness of Isabel’s breath, the tickle of her hair against his chin, and the gentle weight of her resting so easily against him.

Home.

carved names upon the storytree: @femivi , @milk-violet , @lexisism , @floraldresvi , @unriding ♡︎ Please let me know if you'd like to be added or taken out !

@irisunderglass. do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media, do not feed my works to ai.

[irisunderglass]

HI HI

isayuan + forever maybe?

original ask game 🎠 -> isabel x jing yuan [ promise ]

they spoke of forever beneath a sky that did not listen. hands clasped in defiance of time, as if love could carve permanence into dust. but stars fall, and vows fade. one will wait in silence, while the other forgets the sound of waiting. still — in the sharpest hour, when the world forgets their names, a breath, a memory, a feeling lingers: not enough to hold, but too much to let go.

[irisunderglass]

I mean this very genuinely: please tell me about your self ships!! :3

hi buggf !!! IM SO SORRY I GOT TO THIS LATE BUT ID BE HAPPY TO YAP TO YOU ABOUT MY ONLY WELL DEVELOPED SELFSHIP SO FARRR ( psspspsppsp @nervocat @dewberrydusk @lexisism )

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR AMPHOREUS UTC‼️‼️‼️

✧ ── YUADEI ⊱

I am a professional artist in Okhema from a remote frontier village, Aedes Elysiae—the same village as Phainon! Both of us are Chrysos Heirs, but only Phainon is actively participating in the Flame-Chase Journey; I don’t really plan on becoming a demigod anytime soon and I’m content with that. Aglaea and Tribbie understood, only the three that I just mentioned know that I have golden blood — no one else.

I officially met Mydei through Phainon, but I have heard of his name in passing from the citizens of Okhema! We only exchanged brief pleasantries at that point in time, but we started seeing each other more at my close friend Isabel ( @dewberrydusk )’s bakery. At some point, after seeing my art, Mydei took an interest in me and began to make a conscious effort to interact with me more. I wasn’t all that interested at first, but as I got to know him more, I started to admire him a lot…

I am someone who’s generally aware of my feelings and all, so it didn’t take me very long to realize that I was starting to fall in love with Mydei. But I was also aware of the our current statuses and the state of Amphoreus as a whole. Mydei was a Chrysos Heir, I was not. Mydei was a prince who was fated to take up the coreflame of Strife, I was not. I knew that. I didn’t want to be setting myself up for more heartbreak when the day eventually came for Mydei’s ascension to demigodhood, so I started avoiding him day by day, telling myself that it was for our own good. Even if it hurt me to do that to him.

Mydei noticed my changing behavior towards him pretty quickly. He may be unwilling to admit it, but seeing me avoid him at every turn made something ache badly in his chest. He’s grown fond of me when we started to talk more, and my behavior really made it feel like we were back to square one. He’s not one to beat around the bush, so one day in the Garden of Life when it was just the two of us, he pulled me aside before I could slip away again and confronted me about my behavior. There was no point in being stubborn when I was quite literally cornered, so I ended up telling him everything, from the reason why I was avoiding him to the way he makes me feel by just being in my presence.

He understood; my worries weren’t unfounded, and there was essentially little way to squeeze in a romantic relationship in a dystopian world that was already full of destruction and suffering. But he also told me that he was willing to make this work between the two of us — if I was willing to have him. And if I didn’t, that would be just fine with him as well — sure, it’d hurt ( a lot ), but he cares about my comfort and well-being more than he cared for his own. But ultimately, despite knowing that this relationship may end up in flames ( not by our own fault ), I chose to love him, just as he chose to love me.

The start of our relationship wasn’t as smooth-sailing as others may expect it to be; we had to compromise a lot for each other ( especially when it came to our busy schedules ), and both of us each had our own emotional baggage that we were unwilling to dump unto the other, but in a few months’ time, we learned how to work our way around that and learn how to love each other fully. After all, love isn’t just about being affectionate with one another, it’s also about being there for each other when the times are difficult and rough.

Now, this is Amphoreus spoilers from here on out.

After Mydei claimed the divine authority of Strife and planned to depart from Okhema to return to Castrum Kremnos, I was the second to last person he said goodbye to. Over the years, I’ve grown used to goodbyes, but this was always the goodbye that hurt the most — not because it was unexpected, but because I knew it was only a matter of time before it happened. I nearly “shut down” on Mydei when he told me that he was planning to go back to his “home.” At that moment, I didn’t say anything, didn’t cry, didn’t plead for him to stay — just… quiet resignation and acceptance. It broke Mydei’s heart to see me in that state once more, but duty called. He gave me one last goodbye hug and kiss before he left. ( Bonus: before leaving Okhema, Mydei had asked Phainon to look out for me while he was gone. Phainon merely chuckled, answering with a, “I’ve been doing that way before you have, y’know.” )

For the next several weeks after Mydei’s departure, I wasn’t really the same. Sure, I still interacted with others, engaged in playful, witty banter with Phainon and all my other friends, but on the inside, I was still feeling the heavy heartache that arose when the one I loved left me. I knew it couldn’t be helped, it was all for the Flame-Chase Journey, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. There were even times where it was just too much and I ended up crying for hours in front of my brother figure, Phainon. I was almost inconsolable. I did get a bit better with time, but I still thought about Mydei everyday.

Then, the citizens’ assembly regarding the continuation of the Flame-Chase Journey was just around the corner. I never mentioned this to anyone, not even the person closest to me at the time ( Phainon ), but I felt myself being followed, their presence consistently weighing heavy in the back of my mind. I thought it must’ve just been my paranoia ( something I developed over the years since the destruction of Aedes Elysiae ). After the conclusion of the citizens’ assembly, I travelled to the “Abyss of Fate,” Janusopolis, in search of inspiration for my next artistic piece. That’s when my stalkers struck —

I was ambushed by “The Cleaners” — a group of assassins who are tasked with killing those with golden blood, AKA Chrysos Heirs, for the Council of Elders. I was pierced through the heart by one of their daggers — the same way Aglaea was murdered by the Cleaners. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry for help. For who would come to my aid in a place as barren and abandoned as the Abyss of Fate? I died a secluded death; no one noticed. I died knowing no one would come to save me, knowing Mydei wouldn’t save me as he’d done numerous times before.

“I hated… that the last memory… I have of you… is your final goodbye to me…”

Mydei never found out. He never found out that I was killed. He never found out that I had golden blood. He never found out that I died thinking about him. When darkness befell Okhema after Cipher’s death — Kephale having long since stopped shining their light upon Okhema — he thought that I already evacuated along with the other Okheman citizens. He didn’t think that I died with a lonely smile on my face, didn’t think that he would possibly outlive me. When he failed to distract the Flame Reaver for long, the consequence of his failure being his own death, his last thought after Phainon… was me.

“Even if I die… at least… she gets to live another day…”

[irisunderglass]

you’re still the ending i never got right.

HAILING ALL YUADEI SHIPPERS !!! @milk-violet @lexisism @dewberrydusk @nervocat @floraldresvi i sacrificed my screentime and my sanity for this.