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terror flickers across her face, a brief apprehension that crosses features even mortality couldn't dull. satisfaction twists cruelly beneath his ribs, and guilt curls in after. he thinks of this face, tear - stained and screaming, desperately trying to comprehend a betrayal written in the blood of her ascension, and almost as soon as he feels them, those warring emotions calm to nothing. no guilt, no satisfaction. just the simple fact that she remains scared of him.

she would be foolish to not be. he is a killer, a liar, a nightmare made dead flesh. he is hungry shadows and blood in the water, a tale told to send shivers down spines and scare children away from dark shores at night. he is her brother's murderer — he is her would - be murderer if only her years of attention hadn't stilled his hand.

it's not too late. he could reach for her now and wrap bony fingers around her neck and press until her spine snaps, drive a hand through her breast to puncture her heart and feel blood pumping beneath his nails, curl a fist deep into her tangled hair and pull until muscle and bone give way and her head is tossed aside. like brother like sister. he stands, hands at his sides. lightning illuminates his looming figure for just a moment, but all he sees is the flash of brilliance across the underfed lines of her face.

she trembles in the cold, she masks her obvious fear, her eyes shimmer in the way that speaks of restrained tears, and still she is playing a game with him. and still he plays along.

   " have we ? " he says in the same dismissive way he used to utter an annoyed ' are we ? ' in response to an indignant ' aren't we friends ? '

   ( have they met ? have they met, really ? shi qingxuan does not know he xuan. she knows a mockery of ming yi. she knows black water sinking ships at his most vengeful. she does not know he xuan.

but, oh, does he xuan know shi qingxuan. )

   " it was easy to follow you here, " his tone is dark, pressing in that silent way so characteristic of him, asking for something he's not asking for in words. this is your last chance to run. this is your last chance to push me away. if you're not scared enough to want me gone, then what else could i do but stay ?

   " or do you not make it this easy for any old ghost that stalks you ? "

     ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ──  He speaks, and the skies weep as though to spare her the disgrace of crying too soon. Her heart, treacherous thing that it is, strains against its confines, first away from the terror before her, then towards the one person she has so selfishly wanted ( and wants still, because she never learns her lesson, does she? ), beats like a fist against a locked door: let me in, let me be, either kill me or tell me to leave but do not abandon me to wander this ceaseless twilight in which you are nothing but a shadow that disappears every time I look over my shoulder.

     "Yes, that would make sense, wouldn't it?" she hears herself laugh in that mortifying way she always does when scared out of her mind. And oh, how impressive it is that she sounds only entirely mad rather than utterly incomprehensible! That she does not simply scream and scream and scream! "What I know is-- that is to say, in my own experience-- I... I..."

     She knows what she would say a lifetime ago: Ming-xiong, don't speak in circles! Just ask me what you want to know plainly. We're friends, so let's talk like we are. What could she say to him now? What is it he wishes to hear from her? She, who despite all he has shown her, still knows nothing?

     Her gaze drifts upward ( yet another ascension she is unworthy of ), takes in the severe slant of his jaw, the downward turn of ashen lips, gaunt skin of a veritable corpse unable to rest in its premature grave, and oh god, oh god, it really is him.

     Her brother's killer. Everything she has ever feared, ever will fear. The monster she reaches for in bloodsoaked nightmares, crying for it to please, please help her even as it slips claws sharp as sudden death between her ribs. The man who, no matter who vies to claim consequences for which sins, she killed.

     Habit, as it is so wont to do, makes a fool of her. Raises maimed hand forward as though to fuss over errant strands of hair, prelude to asking if he's eaten yet ( he is hungry still, isn't he? ). Snatches it back, redirects stiff fingers to scratch the back of her head. Jagged fingernails reopen a half-healed scab, and how vile of her to bleed in front of him, even if he is none the wiser to it. She presses her fingertips against it to staunch, and it's as though she has pushed a missing puzzle piece into place.

     "To tell you the truth, my memory's not what it used to be, hahaha."

      In the distance, thunder rumbles like the warning growl of a great beast. She shivers. Doesn't stop shivering.

      "That said, I don't recall saying I was the one who was haunted. Gongzi, you're very perceptive. Or have we met before?" Here, she looks up. Here, she dares defy Black Water's final verdict. Here I am, she declares with everything but words, here I am before you. You can no longer pretend. Searing heat pushes against the back of her eyes, tears unshed blurring him to an inky stain. She will not cry. Not yet. She's shown fear before him too soon once before, cried before it was time for bitter weeping. She will not make that same mistake twice.

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to return to mount taicang felt almost like a joke. the silhouettes of the mountain peaks were familiar, but there was nothing else to suggest the import of this place to mu qing's past. the scarlet maple groves, the spiritual fruit orchards, the sprawling sect grounds... it had all been burned in the riots following the fall of xianle eight hundred years ago, and the royal holy temple had been left as a nothing but a memory for a few of the oldest gods. but mu qing's keen memory could pinpoint approximately where he'd been when he'd first nervously spoken to xie lian, where he'd been pushed over amidst the cherry trees, where the winding paths he'd follow every day on his errands for the prince had been. it was here that everything had begun, and it was here that mu qing was reminded what it felt like to be powerless.

he was no stranger to pain nor injury. he was a martial god, and he was one of the finest, which meant he'd pointed his blade at countless ghosts, demons, and monsters over the centuries — and in turn those ghosts, demons, and monsters had given him all they had as they hopelessly fought a god for their disgusting excuses of lives. he knew broken bones, stab wounds and cuts, blunt force trauma, even other burns. but with the high - quality healing elixirs he always kept on him on missions followed by a swift return to the heavens to replenish what spiritual energy he'd spent in battle, he'd gotten very good at concealing the worst of it from all other officials — his own juniors included. a martial god could not appear weak, after all.

but when his head deputy announced her presence at the tent in which he had been bedridden like a sick, helpless child, he was given no choice but to submit once again to the humiliation of allowing her to see him in his current state.

with the heavens being still under repair from the battle with jun wu, there was nowhere to go to quickly regain the power that had been stolen from him by the cursed shackle, and with both mortal faith in the gods having been shaken somewhat in the immediate aftermath, and the severity of his injuries, the most he could really do was sit and meditate in between visits from the few medical officials he would let in, a sad but friendly xie lian, or the only member of his palace he allowed to see him.

he turned his gaze to her, and a familiar discomfort bled through his chest. she was here to assist him, but she took after him too well, didn't she ? she was injured as well, bandages concealing her own burns — including on her face — and yet here she was, standing tall without giving away how much pain she must be in. mu qing hadn't even seen the extent of the damage the fires had done to her, while he was forced to allow her to see the bloody and burnt flesh on his arms and legs. it was a role reversal he was severely uncomfortable with.

   ( he could take care of himself. he always had. except that he could still hardly stand without his legs giving out on him and he had to grit his teeth through something as menial as picking up a brush and writing. he'd never been in so much pain for such a prolonged period of time, but while he loathed having to be in the care of his head deputy, at least he wasn't stooping to the level of having to be carried on feng xin's back again. )

   " they better be good updates, " he muttered with an irritable click of his tongue. not being able to personally oversee reconstruction of his palace was eating him alive, but at least dissecting every mistake that was possibly being made served as distraction from his injuries. embarrassment heated his face, but he extended an arm in the direction zhao xiang knelt and firmly ordered, " get this over with. you can report while you do it. " he'd already been scolded by many ( by her, by xie lian, by more than one medical official... ) when he'd expressed no desire to have anyone change his bandages for him and insisted he would do it himself, so he'd accepted by now that all he could do was be vulnerable, weak, and ugly in front of another person. it was the smallest bit of solace that he at least trusted her most with this — she of all people wouldn't talk about his current state outside of this tent.

@riwrite // plotted starter.

       bandages, dark circles, and clammy skin defined her now. tugging on her outer robe every morning felt like climbing the tallest, most treacherous mountain. the muted deep browns and blacks of xuan zhen palace still carrying the scent of embers and sea water despite a thorough scrubbing and hasty mending looked more put together than the head deputy herself. the standards she committed to memory over three centuries persevered over all else. she barely allowed herself rest, committing every waking moment to the survivors, the reconstruction, and, most importantly, tending to general xuan zhen himself.

       never in three centuries had she bore witness to such injuries on her god. general xuan zhen, wielding the imposing zhan madao, was one of the strongest martial gods in the heavenly court. he returned to the palace time and time again with perhaps only scratches. never has he needed such attentive care.

       ( she still remembered how the blood drained from her face when she first saw his burns. for the first time, she felt a deep fear and worry for her god that etched itself into her bones. )

       yet never would zhao xiang turn away when her god needed her. even if the weight of her responsibilities and the brambles of grief, shame, and guilt threatened to crush and suffocate, she bore it all without complaint. she only took a page out of her god's book: she donned a mask. she buried it all, knowing that if she allowed her pain to breach her defenses for more than a moment, she would crumble. 

       ( her pain could wait. the still-healing burns under bandages 'round part of her face that hurt whenever she tried to smile for her god, for her fellow deputies could be tended to in the evenings out of sight. the still-healing burns under robes that protested when she stretched her arm and back too much could wait until the evening. the guilt and shame at surviving when others in the palace did not could wait. her grief could wait ).

       in the crook of one arm, she cradled scrolls and rolls of bandages while managing to hold onto bottles of medicine. the sun was high in the sky over mt. taicang, where heavenly officials established their temporary capital following jun wu's defeat and imprisonment. despite the circumstances, middle court officials worked tirelessly to answer prayers.

       xuan zhen palace, in particular, had much to catch up on, given the abrupt cessation of all activities while their god was under investigation. ( she still seethed with fury at the thought of those horrendous, baseless accusations. just as she still boiled in anger over jun wu's betrayal ).

       zhao xiang entered his tent with only a brief announcement of her presence. at the doorway, she took a moment to attach a silencing talisman to the fabric entrance with her free hand. even if she couldn't spare her god from the disgrace and the vulnerability of needing help from his head deputy, she could at least spare him the humiliation of others overhearing.

       ❝ general xuan zhen, ❞ she abandoned the scrolls on his makeshift table. her visible eye was a molten brown pool of concern as she knelt by his bedside, yet she respectfully kept enough distance to not corner him. ❝ general xuan zhen, it's time to change your bandages and check your meridians. i've got more updates for you about the reconstruction progress like you asked. ❞

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oh btw his dad might not be around anymore but happy late fathers day to the entire cast of m.dzs this kid's uncles

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got sidetracked writing the reply im working on by thinking about how interesting mq's feelings about xl are........

like. he loves him. he's jealous of him. he admires him. he resents him. he thinks he's a naive idiot and at the same time he thinks he's the most brilliant person to walk the earth. everyone was dazzled by the crown prince so why would he be any different. he dared to want to be friends with him when they were master and servant but wasn't stupid enough to voice this. he gets excited when he learns that xl supposedly did things that're wrong because there's something thrilling about finally getting to see him stoop to such a low level. he stretched himself thin trying to keep xl and his parents alive and together while they were on the run despite getting nothing out of it, because he cared about him that much. he wanted to protect him the second he ascended again but was too proud to not do it in disguise. xl himself is suspicious of him at multiple points but mq's loyalty never wavers despite himself and despite their past. he even tried to sacrifice himself for him

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from @starwonderz. " TOYA! " Tsukasa's voice reached from across the courtyard, his energetic steps following in tow. He waved a hand to and fro, as if his volume wasn't enough to catch the younger boy's attention. He skidded to a halt and clasped Toya's shoulder, pulling him into a hug. Tsukasa held him for a few moments before pulling away, big grin splitting across his face. " a - ha, i am sure you weren't expecting that! a gift from Saki and yours truly! it has been awhile since we've crossed paths at the school like this ; one cannot let such a precious occurrence go by without due recognition! you've been practicing quite hard lately, no? are you having any trouble? " He patted his shoulder.

toya's isn't the only head turning towards the loud voice booming across the courtyard, but he is the only one melting into a gentle smile rather than morphing into annoyance, exasperation, or amusement. " tsukasa - sen— " he begins to greet as tsukasa approaches, but he's cut off in surprise, not expecting to be pulled into a tight and enthusiastic hug.

he has a bit of an odd relationship with hugs, but ultimately enjoys the pressure and warmth, from being pulled against akito's side in a moment of excitement to this, being held for a moment or two by his brother in all but blood. it takes a second for him to process, but then he's hugging back, his own embrace far more gentle but no less affectionate, letting the faint scent of his childhood home - away - from - home that clings to tsukasa spread calm through him. then, it's over and tsukasa breaks away, and toya takes half a step back, still smiling.

   " yeah, " he acknowledges with a nod, then shakes his head in response to the last question. " it's been going well, we've been making great progress. what about you ? how have your shows been ? "

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delta'd rune....

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a ghost is an obsession. it is resentment tangled upon resentment until there is nowhere to go but obsession. life so desperate it refused to leave when its body did, rotted claws digging into and tearing the fabric between life and death and saying not yet, not until all is done right by me, and he xuan has always been stubborn. his becoming a ghost was not inevitable, once upon a time, but there was no choice in it. his heart, dead and unbeating, still bleeds for his mortal family, but the starvation for revenge for their undue deaths was supposed to be sated.

it was supposed to be over.

a god's head lies discarded in his manor, a bloody trophy he loathes too much to display. another god now walks the mortal realm, stripped of her golden divinity. yet another god's corpse lays decayed where it was falsely worshiped. there is nothing left for him here. there is debt, and there is hunger, and there is nothing to avenge.

he is not prone to fits of rage, rather tending instead to bouts of depression, but he had nearly torn down an entire wing of nether water manor when faced with the reality that there was no moving on for him. waves had crashed tall and angry on the shores of his desolate island, his dragons writhed in the dark waters in tandem with their master's turmoil, and screams of half - dead madmen echoed through haunted halls from their miserable cells.

it was not out of regret — no, nothing in all the realms can make him regret the murder of the water tyrant. the wet splatter of divine blood across cold stone, the splintering crack of immortal bones, all while the little sister brokenly calls for her big brother and best friend —

he is drawn to her. just as he always has been. inexplicably, like tides are pulled by the moon. centuries he spent in her glow, the void left in the space by his side making his world tilt at a different angle. he couldn't kill her. it would have been kinder to, he thinks, but black water sinking ships is not kind. ( ming - xiong, she had cried the name of a dead man, over and over, as though the recitation would bring him to his senses. not even in those final moments, when the thread she perceived as their friendship finally unraveled to nothing, could she have seen him for who he is.

choose me, he had begged in all but those words, before the reckoning had arrived. choose me, just once, instead of the thief and murderer you call a brother. he gave her chance after chance, a test she didn't know she was taking. how selfish is it to wish to hear his own name — the one they share — from her lips ? how selfish is it to wish to have both his revenge and her ? )

the mortal realm is no place for the dead, but he is powerful enough to pretend. he crafts new skins every time, to minimize the chance of recognition, but they're not skins he puts much effort into. they are all too thin, their skin pulled tight on their bones, skin too pallid and eyes too dark. traits of his true appearance he hadn't cared to completely erase. no one pays attention to the poor, gloomy scholar hanging back from the crowd.

why he does it, he xuan himself doesn't have an answer. he does not presume himself allowed to miss her, of all things, but maybe it's more a morbid curiosity. the person she is now is but an echo of the beloved lord wind master. where there was once the finest silk is now rough linen, patched and resewn where the old seams popped. her hair no longer gleams beautifully under the heavenly sun, now uncombed and tangled and messily pulled out of her face. she can't move with all the grace of the wind anymore, instead left to limp with her cane for support. and every time he sees her, he is struck by the realization that the life she has left will be gone in a blink. she is mortal. anyone touched by godhood cannot reenter the cycle of reincarnation, and in just a few short decades she will be gone.

so really, hasn't he killed her after all ?

but those eyes — they still gleam with all the brightness of a god, but he is far too cowardly to meet them, even as he stands face - to - face with her now. a ripple of understanding passes between them. she knows who he is. he knows she knows who he is. this is a reunion under the pretense of a first meeting.

   ( how stupid he is, to think she wouldn't know him when she saw him. did he want to be recognized ? )

rain makes the pieces of hair free from his disguise's topknot stick to his face like curling paths of black ink, his dark robes growing ever heavier the longer he stands unmoving. it does not bother him, the chill of water is unable to disturb the dead.

   " then tell me, " his voice is barely different than his own, though it hardly matters. it is not worth putting effort into something not meant to be used. " what you know about hauntings. "

the haunter prods for weakness from the haunted, the ghost torments his victim, the stalked does not turn to face the shadow that stalks her. but here she is. haunted from birth, but she still stands proudly before the horror that follows her.

   " a former god must have been skilled at ridding themself of ghosts. "

[riwrite]

worlds gloomiest most depressing pride flag for the worlds gloomiest most depressing ghost

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happy pride from your resident dyke who is so so bad at being online and also every single one of my muses <3

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are conventions like. cursed this year or smth. anyway i survived the cheesecake factory fire AND hyatt gas leak at sakuracon this weekend 👍

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really liked this message i sent to my roommate

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go to pinterest and type in your muses name core aesthetic and create a moodboard using nine images.

tagged by: @lanctiflora ty!! <3 tagging: @deiscension, and whoever else wants to!!

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funny to me that i think a lot of people forget that hx's pets are dragons actually

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ive been reading jwqs and......qi yan was made for me a little bit i think

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@roscvcins.

nerves thrum beneath mu qing's skin, an anxiety he loathes but knows well — though he hasn't felt it quite like this in eons, and it has him internally cursing himself for acting like a fool in even the privacy of his own mind. xie lian somehow always drags emotions to the surface he would otherwise be capable of burying, bringing pieces of the desperate teenager he'd been when they met out of a proud god, and above all else it's embarrassing. general xuan zhen, mighty protector of the southwest, made nervous by the idea of spending time with a friend — downright humiliating.

he huffs lightly to himself, head raising in pride despite the lack of observers as he approaches the little old shack xie lian calls home in the mortal realm. why he would willingly spend so much of his time here is beyond mu qing, whose lip curls in disgust at the mere thought of sleeping someplace like this ever again. but, well, the xie lian of now is not the xie lian he once knew, and he's still grappling with that reality. he's still uniquely naïve, at least to mu qing's eye, but the weight of eight centuries has clearly matured him past the idealistic prince he'd once been.

   " dianxia, " the title slips from him unbidden, out of surprise when he sees a familiar figure all in white already waiting for him outside. those eyes, so kind and so earnest, which saw something in mu qing no one else did... he pretends they don't still see right through him. he clicks his tongue, covering his surprise with a cold affectation. " why are you sitting around out here ? it looks like it's going to rain soon. "

[riwrite]

itty bitty baby starter call.....i probably definitely owe things from before i disappeared but i think i can safely say they wont be happening at this point 😔 but i want to come back so!! hi please like this for a lil thing if ur interested

[riwrite]

i like mq a normal amount,