#he doesn’t worship frivolous gods — he’d worship *you*

[ghost-proofbaby]

everyone sleeping? perfect. time to put some secret soft scenes between aruna and astarion on the dashboard.

[fullmetalpotterhead]

I think there is a cruelty in expecting your idea of a happy ending is the one a person wants for themself and I think it’s an idea we see within tgcf AND within the fandom treatment of the characters.

(Warning below cut for novel spoilers and also the fact some of you may get defensive. Absolutely enjoy fandom the way you want I just think narratively and analytically it feels hollow).

FX and MQ struggle with who XL has become because they believe they understand who he is supposed to be. They believe they know best the happy ending he is supposed to want. Their idea of a happy ending for him does not include scrap collecting or ghost husbands. It does not include roaming around the mortal realm. And so it is hard for them to fully face who XL is and the fact he can be happy in a way that is different from this preplanned scenario for him. (One that admittedly a younger him would agree with! Their belief is well founded, it’s just misguided.)

And mostly, I see fans understand this. That XL’s happy ending is the soft epilogue of a quiet life not caring much about heaven or important events but doing what he wants to spread kindness and enjoy love. But sometimes still I see fans who talk about how perfect he’d be as the new heavenly emperor and I wonder “don’t you get it? Don’t you see that he doesn’t want that?” The responsibility of that. The burden of managing heaven like that. It’s not what XL has ever really striven for even when he was more “ambitious”. He’s the kind who likes to go down and get his hands on things, not sit back and take this mantle of ultimate authority that ties him up in buerocratic red tape. He’s never wanted to manage the gods, that’s not the kind of power he sits happiest in. He could be happy in spite of being given such a role, but when I see fans give him this they pose it like a gift. Like an honor. It is neither of those things to a man who genuinely does not even care anymore about being seen as a god by anyone but his husband.

And then I see Xuan Ji. A ghost who lingers in obsessive, crazed love-hatred. And when she fades, it is because she has finally let go of her attachment to PM. She’s at peace. She can rest. Her reason for lingering isn’t like HC’s, it was never a happy thing. She lingered in traditional ghostly fashion as a sick twist against nature and when at last she was settled she could finally move on to let her soul continue to her next life instead of being trapped within her crazed grief. So it’s important she fades. It’s important she finally gives up and rests. To linger any longer isn’t her happy ending. To let go is to move forward for her. It’s not that her happy ending was dying— she was already long dead. All that remained was unwell. It’s not the same as killing her off, she’s not human. MXTX is giving her a chance at rebirth by letting her fade.

The one I see the most is SQX. I see many fans want SQX to ascend again. Many fans write and talk as if in a few years SQX could ascend on their own merit and return to heaven with grace and that would be their glorious happy end. But such an end… it really feels against the spirit of SQX’s own wishes. SQX lives as a beggar with other beggars in repetenance for what his brother did. He finds new friends and new joy among his fellow beggars. He is resolved and ready to eventually die a mortal death. His brother, his closest family, is now gone and he himself has lived centuries of a very good life. Lived far beyond the years of the average happy mortal. (SWD, in trying to bait HX points it out: they’ve already won. They lived worshipped and comfortable for centuries as gods.)

To ascend again is, for one, not something SQX was ever capable of himself which is part of the point, but second of all… to what end would he ascend for? To what purpose would he desire immortality? His family is gone. His worldview is drastically changed by what he’s gone through. Could he happily return to a frivolous life in heaven? Should he go through the gossip that would no doubt follow him in heaven regarding the circumstances of his first ascension and fall forever? Why? What does heaven and immortality give him that he is lacking in his end now? It doesn’t offer any more family or stability than he’s already found for himself. He’s carved out his happy ending with a family of beggars and he’ll carry the weight of what his brother did and one day he’ll die a mortal death. As we all will. That’s not a bad thing. That’s not an unhappy ending.

XL’s happy ending was not found in heaven, but heaven will forever be part of his reality. Many fans seem to understand this. So I don’t understand why that logic doesn’t follow SQX. To return to heaven doesn’t feel like properly facing his character arc to me. It feels like the same thing FX is trying to do in believing XL’s happiest ending is fixed to the picture perfect ideal. Happy endings are personal things that should suit the one who earned them. And this is the one SQX has crafted. I think he’s done a rather beautiful job.

[rosewaterandivy]

Award season starts tomorrow and I can’t help but think of actor Steve and rockstar girlfriend attending all these award shows. And the public isn’t aware of their engagement until they hit the red carpet at the golden globes and anytime a reporter asks about the ring they both act coy 🥹

You are so right for that baby!

Regardless of the awards show, the prep remains the same: Steve doing fuck-all until the last possible minute, while you get poked and prodded within an inch of your life for the majority of the day before getting quite literally sewn into a gown for the rest of the evening. And he feels for you, really he does because it’s not fair that you’ll be raked over the coals for the slightest perceived misstep— choice of designer, amount of jewelry, hairstyle, makeup, etc.— while he can just show up in a Thom Browne suit and call it a day.

As much as he’d like to whisk you away, back to the cosy mountain chalet and honeymoon engagement haze (he very much misses the days of you running around an oversized cashmere sweater, illuminated by the lights of the Christmas tree— even better were the times when you were wearing the engagement ring only), awards season beckons. And you take it all in stride, god does he love you for that.

Vickie had absconded with you not long after breakfast and Steve hasn’t seen or heard from you in hours at this point. It’s torture and he finds it’s something he’d rather not take part in again. Robin is doing what she can to keep him occupied, going over upcoming projects and reminding him of his schedule while he idly sips from his drink. He half-heartedly keeps up with a texting conversation with Eddie, speculating on the ridiculous red carpet interview questions and whether or not you’ll be wearing something that will make Steve weak in the knees.

The answer is always yes, and Ed’s got odds in favor a brief exit during the awards ceremony that will have Steve returning slightly flushed with a dazed look in his eye.

“Rally the troops,” your voice startles him from the entryway. “Harrington, let’s get this show on the road!”

Robin shoots him a knowing smirk and follows him into the foyer. Vickie stands behind you, her hands full with her clutch and yours, free hand carrying the excess black fabric of your gown.

And holy shit, Steve is in for a rough evening.

Hasn’t even gotten to the venue yet and he’s already slipping. Robin claps a hand on his shoulder with a wicked grin, “Deep breaths Steve, keep ‘em coming.”

He doesn’t know where to look first— your tits pressed against the black fabric, looking as if they could spill from the corset any second now, the high slit of the skirt showing an expanse of your thigh bracketed by a black garter and stocking drawing the eye down to an impressive heel that makes your legs look positively delectable, or the prominent gleam of the sparkler on your ring finger affixed over the black sheer opera gloves on your arms.

Steve wants to fall on his knees to grovel and beg you to skip the ceremony and let him worship you for hours instead.

The man is simply not going to make it.

When his eyes finally make their way back to yours, he raises a solitary brow as you wiggle your fingers in the gloves. “Yeah?” He asks with a nod to the ring on your left hand.

You smile so sweet and he swears he’s falling in love again.

Christ Harrington, get a fucking grip.

“Yeah,” you say, soft and low, extending your hand to fall into his. “Always.”

_

The Golden Globes was always fun.

Drinks and carousing, an atmosphere of humor and frivolity. Plus, Eddie always managed to sneak his way to Steve’s table with his screenwriter girlfriend in tow. He’d have you snickering and laughing more than the host could ever hope to, making it a boon for the camera operators to zip by for a shot of your table. Steve, ever the professional, had honed a poker face over years of these events. You, however, had decidedly not and, as a result, various memeable moments had occurred thanks to yours truly.

Eddie had one as your contact photo, as a matter of fact.

Before you can relax and settle in for the show, the red carpet had to be walked. In years past, Steve had braved it alone and done the perfunctory interviews, graciously dodging any inquiries about your relationship per the PR team’s advice. And you had done the same for the AMAs and Grammy’s. It was a good system and it worked a treat, occupying the media outlets with soundbites and quotes while one of you walked in after last call and bypassed the entire circus.

But this year…

“Steve! Cherry!”

A cacophony of voices calling your names as you step onto the red carpet and stand for photo call. As you exited the car, Vickie all but threw the black clutch at you, waving her left hand all the while. Now, the supple leather was safely in your grasp, effectively blocking your left hand from prying eyes. Steve’s arm winds around your back, settling his large hand at the small of your back.

His thumb moves in soothing circles against the fabric, pulling you close as the flashbulbs fire. “You look down right evil tonight,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, breath fanning against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Anything to say for yourself?”

You smother a laugh and look back over your shoulder, spotting Eddie. “I plead the fifth.”

As you wave him over, Eddie wolf-whistles loud enough to wake the dead. He cackles and drags his girlfriend over by the hand. “Damn girl, can I call you sometime?”

Rolling your eyes, you tug him into the photo. “Edward, you know I cannot be held responsible for the varied ways in which Steve will kill you.”

His girlfriend huffs a laugh, “That makes two of us then.”

A few photos are taken of the four of you before the handlers single out Steve. He parts from you reluctantly, dropping a kiss on your brow before he leaves. “You’re paying for that later, y’know.”

“Sure, honey,” you brush him off with a smile, “We’ll see if you can walk the talk once I’m through with you.”

He nearly stumbles at that, earning another laugh from Eddie.

_

“Steve!” The reporter crows into the mic, waving him over, “So good to see you, thanks for stopping by.”

“You as well, and thanks for having me.”

Steve hates this part. Well, truthfully he loathes most of his charade, but he’s not about to bite the hand that feeds him. Give a little, get a little, or so his publicist says. She prattles on about something or other— his nomination or upcoming projects, he’s not really sure— and turns back to him.

“Congratulations on your nominations tonight, but are additional congratulations called for? Maybe for you and certain Grammy award winning artist?”

“Oh thank you very much,” he effuses with a smile. “You mean Eddie over there?” He glances over his shoulder, finding the long-haired man easily. “I mean we’ve been buddies for a while—“

The reporter laughs, “Not exactly, but it is nice to see him here supporting you.”

Steve refrains from rolling his eyes, “He’s supporting Liz Finch. She’s nominated for best original screenplay, but I’m sure you already know that.”

You slowly turn, catching the last part of Steve’s clipped response, eyes narrowing. ‘Be. Nice.’ you mouth at him, knowing he should’ve eaten something before you left the house.

“Of course, my apologies.” The reporter has enough sense to look abashed, “I just meant that it’s nice to see the four of you together, supporting one another.”

He hums in assent, eyes trailing you as you chat with a few friends making the rounds. Their eyes generally fall to your left hand, still hidden behind the clutch you’re carrying, curious as you exchange pleasantries.

Steve does his level best with the remaining interviews, but they always try and cajole a confirmation from him either about his relationship with you or a potential engagement. Little do they know that behind that little black bag, nestled just underneath your engagement ring, sits a wedding band.

To his mind, it really doesn’t matter if he comes home with a Golden Globe tonight because he’s already won something better than another statuette or accolade: a rockstar wife.

[cha-melodius]

#14 with lokius!

(You were so fast with this one! 14. “Are you telling me we’re stranded?” and this is actually canon-verse and Christmas-themed. Ah, the joys of the multiverse.)

Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Read it on AO3 (G, 1.3k)

As soon as they step through the time door, Mobius knows something’s wrong. Perhaps it’s the way that they’re supposed to be arrive in the middle of summer, and the temperatures they’ve walked into are currently sub-freezing. Maybe it’s the sad chirp his tempad gives before it displays an ominous message he's seen only once before, then shuts down.

“What do you mean, we can’t leave?” Loki says, his voice high and strained, when Mobius explains the situation. Bugs happen in any code, and his tempad just needs to undergo a hard reset and it’ll be good to go. Too bad that usually takes a minimum of six hours. “We’re stranded?”

“Well, that’s putting it a little dramatically,” Mobius tries. “It’s more like a… temporary setback. Anyway, there are worse places to get stuck for a few hours.” He looks around at the surroundings in which they find themselves: a small city, somewhere in southern Germany by the locals’ vernacular, approximately the mid-1990s, and apparently midwinter. Well, not just midwinter. Mobius smiles. “Kinda festive, really.”

“I’ve no interest in frivolous Midgardian religious festivals,” Loki sneers dismissively.

“Why, ‘cause they’re not worshipping you?” Mobius counters.

“If they were, they’d throw a better party than this.” Loki frowns at the little wooden huts, each festooned in lights and garland, peddling food and handcrafted gifts. “Where’s the wine? Where’s the orgy?”

Mobius splutters through a laugh, feeling his face heat despite himself. It’s not like he hasn’t seen what Loki used to get up to when he’d deign to grace some Norse bacchanal, but honestly, some days it’s hard to believe this is the same man. God. Whatever. It’s different now that he really knows Loki, is all.

“Can’t help you with the latter, but former…” Mobius gestures with his head down the first aisle of the Christkindlmarkt. “Follow me.”

Loki does follow, but not without further protest. Much protest. Can’t they go somewhere else, why can’t someone from the TVA come get them, it’s getting dark out, it’s snowing, and most of all, it’s freezing.

“You know, I never understood that. Shouldn’t you be immune to the cold?” Mobius asks as they walk.

“Not in this form,” Loki huffs, cupping his hands in front of his face and blowing on them.

“Well it’s not going to get warmer any time soon, so you better conjure yourself something.”

Loki harrumphs at that, but a moment later, after eyeing a group of bundled up Germans, he shrugs a massive puffy coat in an eye-searing shade of green into existence around his shoulders. About the nicest thing Mobius can say about it is that it does fit in with the fashion of the time pretty well.

“What about you?” Loki asks suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together in the middle.

“I’m touched it occurred to you, but I’m fine,” Mobius answers. “I run warm.”

“Hmm,” Loki hums skeptically, then holds one hand out in front of him and twirls the other over the top of it, conjuring a thick, wooly scarf. He reaches out, tugging Mobius to a stop by the arm, and loops the scarf around Mobius’s neck before stepping close to weave the ends together securely.

“Uh, thanks,” Mobius says, relieved that the cold has already rendered his cheeks quite pink. “C’mon, the wine will help too.”

As predicted, it doesn’t take long for them to come to a stand selling steaming mugs of glühwein. Mobius fishes around in his pocket until he finds some TVA-issued AllCash—guaranteed to take on the appearance of the local currency where you find yourself in the timeline—and hands over some of what are now Deutschmarks to the vendor. When he turns back, Loki is cradling the mug in both hands and taking a tentative sip. For a moment he looks utterly delighted, until he sees Mobius looking and tries to school his expression back to something a lot more indifferent. It’s too late, though, Mobius saw him, and he can’t help but laugh.

“That good, huh?”

“It’s adequate,” Loki sniffs.

They kill a fair amount of time just wandering around the market. Despite his professed lack of interest, Loki has a lot of opinions on the various shops, predictably favoring those offering shiny baubles and glittering jewels. As the evening goes on he starts running off for stretches of time, distracted by this and that, sometimes returning with some kind of snack; Mobius doesn’t ask how he’s paying for them. He should probably be more concerned about the disappearing act, but Loki has proven himself time and time again, and Mobius trusts him even if he shouldn’t. This break might have been instigated by external forces, but he’s going to enjoy it nonetheless.

On one of Loki’s excursions to who knows where, Mobius comes across a little snake tie pin with emerald eyes, finely wrought in gold. He barely stops to think before he’s buying it, even though it certainly does not qualify as a justified use of AllCash, even though he has no idea when he might give him such a thing, even though it’s probably highly inappropriate. He must be smiling to himself as he slips it into his pocket, because Loki notices when he returns a few minutes later.

“What are you grinning about?” Loki asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Mobius says quickly. He narrows his eyes at Loki in turn, who’s sipping yet another mug of glühwein. “How many of those have you had, anyway?”

Loki shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Mobius wants to say yes, but he’s hard pressed to care at the moment. Especially when they stroll down another lane of the market and Loki loops an arm through Mobius’s seemingly without thinking about it. It’s fine. It’s just the wine, loosening him up and making him a little more affectionate than he’d normally be. That doesn’t mean Mobius isn’t going to enjoy it while it lasts, as questionably selfish as it might be. That goes double when they end up standing by the massive Christmas tree at the central square, admiring the twinkling lights and shining garland. The wind has picked up now that the night has finally settled in, and Mobius can’t quite suppress the shiver that works its way down his spine. Loki notices that, too, though Mobius hadn’t really expected him to.

“Stubborn man,” Loki mutters from behind him, and then abruptly Mobius is being enveloped in Loki’s massive coat, with Loki still inside it. Loki hooks his chin over Mobius’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around his waist, pressing against Mobius’s back, and the sudden warmth is so welcome that Mobius briefly forgets to feel overwhelmed by the physical contact and the fact that Loki is currently wrapped around him like a blanket.

“How are you so warm?” he mutters.

“I’ve been wearing a coat,” Loki retorts. “Maybe you’ve heard of them? They’re quite useful in winter environments.”

“Quiet, you.”

Loki laughs quietly, his warm, wine-spiced breath washing over Mobius’s cheek, and Mobius tries very hard not to feel entirely too much about all of this. That’s a lost cause when he turns his head, which is definitely a mistake, because it brings their faces entirely too close together. This is definitely inappropriate, especially when Loki’s eyes drop to his lips and he somehow manages to sway even closer.

Then the tempad chirps in his pocket, and Loki jerks away, taking his tempting lips, his coat, and all his warmth with him. Mobius sighs. “Reset’s done.”

“Oh,” Loki breathes. “Already?” Mobius might have laughed at his 180 in attitude not long ago, but now it’s just kind of depressing. He forces a smile and makes sure their destination is input properly into the device before he manages to look up at Loki again. “We’re back in business,” he confirms. “You ready to get out of here?”

He must be imagining that Loki looks like he wants to say no, because a moment later he dissolves his coat into the ether again and tugs on the front of his TVA-issued jacket to straighten it. “Of course.” He pauses, like he wants to say something else, then shakes his head. “Back to work?” “Back to work.”

[jessamine-rose]

✿ God! Leona Kingscholar:: AU Lore and Worshipper! Reader ✿

Author’s note:: This is based on a self-indulgent AU created by me and @lovee-infected​ <3 I’d like to give full credit to @twstsauce​ since this AU would not have existed if I hadn’t read their post featuring another God! Twst character Σ੧(❛□❛✿)

The following headcanons are a combination of God! Leona lore and God! Leona x Worshipper! Reader content. This is rlly just me simping for Leona but I hope that all of you can enjoy this!!

T/w:: divine punishment, hopefully this post is in-character

♡ God! Leona is the primary god worshipped in the temple of Savanaclaw. Despite his own immense magic abilities and widespread popularity, he ranks lower than Farena and Malleus who have more worshippers and greater control over magic. So yeah, expect a few myths about their fiery conflicts--but also some wholesome myths detailing his softer, merciful side reserved for Cheka and weaker “herbivores” (such as Epel) ꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱

♡ He doesn’t bother with any complicated rituals or rules for his followers. He desires the best offerings, though, such as high-quality meat and valuable sacrifices. The temple statues and tapestries usually highlight his physical prowess as a god, though many also depict his intelligence and passiveness. You might even come across a few images of his Overblot form because honestly, what is more regal and magnificent than THAT ꒰ლ✘ㅿ✘ლ꒱

♡ Compared to the other dorm leaders, Leona is more passive. He rarely visits his temple except for divine interventions and big celebrations. In fact, he doesn’t even do much as a god--he’d rather rest than be overly concerned with frivolous issues. Internal and external conflicts among followers are usually resolved by Ruggie and Jack (the minor deities who are also worshipped in Savanaclaw) or by the other temple gods :>

♡ Nevertheless, if he does show up, everyone should be prepared. He’s going to appear in all of his glory, standing on the highest point of his temple with ominous green smoke and shadows and everything. Expect him to wear regal clothes, too, mainly Afterglow Savannah robes and gold jewelry and expect me to simp in the background  ⊂（♡⌂♡）⊃

♡ Honestly, you must really admire and understand Leona if you choose him as your god. He’s not the kind of god who responds to blind praise or needy prayers. That being said, he does know how to be a leader and he’s impressive when he wants to be. His tenacity, strength, and Savanaclaw values also make him quite the remarkable and venerable figure >:0

♡ Given his pride and superiority, it’s not a surprise that Leona is rarely swayed by his own worshippers. But let’s say that you’re different. A loyal follower who worships him, not out of blind faith but because you truly believe in him. Someone who holds a greater sense of respect and understanding for his personal complexities. And if you even go as far as to loyally pray for him and to give him your all.....well, you must be quite the special herbivore to catch his eye, aren’t you?? (°◡°)

♡ Leona is still an incredibly proud person, though, so don’t expect him to just mindlessly act on his feelings like some depraved god. He doesn’t want to be the subject of a great  love story or tragedy; he’d rather take his time. So he does just that. Has he been visiting his temple more often?? Tsk, this place is dedicated to him so he doesn’t need a reason to check on his worshippers. Is he spending time with a certain herbivore?? Just shut up and serve him. Huh, are you suddenly on the receiving end of respect and temple privileges?? It’s your herbivore imagination =3=

♡ At the end of the day, however, Leona is still selfish and possessive to a fault. So don’t blame him if he becomes a bit jealous of the herbivores with the audacity to act overly close to you within his temple. In fact, don’t try to act innocent when he asks about your brief visit to Malleus Draconia’s temple. He doesn’t care if you were just checking out another temple; he’s not going to lose his most important follower to some glorified lizard. He might just become serious and give you a divine punishment to make you remember who you devoted your life to 〣( ºΔº )〣

♡ Aaaahhh well, that punishment is up to your interpretation~ Whatever happens, be it an innocent nap or a kinky scenario, you’re never going to forget how enraged Leona was. He's your god, after all, and he’ll even elevate your status if it means spending his eternity with his favorite herbivore. So keep praising him, okie?? Continue worshipping him and let him know just how important he is to you. Your reward will come soon  ೭੧(❛▿❛✿)੭೨

♡

.......AHAHAHAHAHA GOD! LEONA YOU’RE SO HOT AND POWERFUL PLS STEP ON ME ALSDNFELFNFFEE  I AM BUT YOUR INFERIOR FOLLOWER WITH A HEAD FULL OF DUMB sksksksksksk TwT

Tag a Leona simp!! @twisted-crumpets @theblackbirdsgemimagines​ @leonameowzz​​@tsunonotarou​ @jangmi-latte​ @leviskokoro​ @aivy-saur @yandere-wishes​​

[pengiesama]

Panopticon (Fic, TGCF/Coraline AU, HC/XL)

Title: Panopticon Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian, Jun Wu & Xie Lian, Jun Wu & Mei Nian Qing

Summary:

Jun Wu has built a very splendid home for Xie Lian, with gifts and friends and wondrous sights just for him. He will be very happy there.

Xie Lian won't take this house arrest lying down.

(Inspired by the book/movie Coraline, by Neil Gaiman.)

CONTENT WARNINGS: Horror, Body Horror, Psychological Horror, Gore, Bittersweet Ending

Link: AO3

Read on Tumblr!

Eight hundred years ago, there was a kingdom known as Xian Le. 

--

--

“Why does she want me?” Coraline asked the cat. “Why does she want me to stay here with her?”

“She wants something to love, I think,” said the cat. “Something that isn’t her. She might want something to eat as well. It’s hard to tell with creatures like that.”

– Coraline, Neil Gaiman

--

 Eight hundred years ago, there was a kingdom known as Xian Le.

The kingdom had four treasures: beautiful women, music, riches, and its crown prince.

 “And this is…”

Forgetting himself in his excitement, Xie Lian took the sword down from where it was displayed on the wall to examine it more closely. He turned it this way and that, examining the pommel, spying down the length of the blade to see the fineness of its edge.

“…jingeom, Four Dragons!” Xie Lian exclaimed. “Unmistakably! A Four Dragons blade can only be crafted once every twelve years, you know, and only by the finest blacksmiths.”

“Just so,” Jun Wu confirmed. “Foreign pieces often find their way into my collection. I don’t discriminate when it comes to quality.”

Nor did Xie Lian, but it was nigh-on impossible to keep his attention on a single dazzling artifact when he was surrounded by hundreds more. Xie Lian had already handed off the blade to Feng Xin, and was back to eyeing up the rest of Jun Wu’s collection. Jun Wu laughed; a warm, delighted sound.

“Xian Le is so knowledgeable! But so hard to impress.”

He was clearly amused, but Xie Lian would hardly deny the sentiment. He was Xian Le’s crown prince, after all – he’d seen the best, thought he could do it better, and then proceeded to do so. It was simply the natural way of things.

Xie Lian had already stacked more discarded legendary swords into Feng Xin’s arms like so much firewood. (Feng Xin’s soul had long since left his body at the sight of Xie Lian’s shameless behavior in the Heavenly Emperor’s own household, and he simply stood there like a statue, numbly accepting whatever Xie Lian handed to him.) Xie Lian squinted at the blade he currently had unsheathed, frowning slightly.

“This is…a fortune-telling blade?” Xie Lian inquired aloud.

“Ah, yes, that old stick,” Jun Wu said dismissively. “I don’t put much stock in that sort of thing. Lovely craftsmanship, though.”

“Mm,” Xie Lian agreed, re-sheathing the sword and handing it off to Feng Xin. He, too, cared very little for fortune-telling; much to the chagrin of his teacher. But the fact that Jun Wu shared his opinion made his heart buoyant with pride. “Neither do I. I wish you’d been around to get me out of all those dull divination lectures, before I ascended…”

Even so, seeing that blade in front of him, he found himself trying to recall those lessons…though he could now confidently proclaim that fortune-telling was a frivolous pursuit, he was admittedly a little curious to what that reflection was trying to indicate. Butterflies, dancing on that gleaming surface…

Jun Wu made a sympathetic noise, and reached out to pat Xie Lian’s back. “Dreadfully dull indeed – and wholly unsuitable for Xian Le. What a waste, to have you cooped up indoors staring at star charts instead of cultivating your swordplay! It truly speaks to Xian Le’s innate talents that he was able to ascend so soon despite these obstacles.”

Xie Lian bubbled with happiness at Jun Wu’s words; at his agreement and praise. Even that touch to his back didn’t feel as overly-familiar as it should – he supposed if anyone was permitted to pat Xian Le’s crown prince like a child, it would only be the Heavenly Emperor himself.

“In any event, Xian Le doesn’t have to worry about any of that silliness anymore. And if that Head Priest of yours still tries to lecture you for falling behind in your lessons, just call on me.” Jun Wu leaned in, his expression comically grave. “I’ll give him a lecture he won’t see coming.”

Xie Lian laughed at the very thought of Jun Wu scolding Head Priest. Perhaps he’d have him write lines, just as Head Priest had assigned Xie Lian when he outsmarted those silly riddles of his!

He reached for another sword.

“At this rate you’ll have gone through my whole collection before the sun rises!” With a flick of Jun Wu’s sleeves, the swords in Feng Xin’s arms rose up and re-arranged themselves on the walls. “I’ll have to work hard at adding new pieces, so Xian Le always has something to see when he visits…”

At long last, Xie Lian had found a sword that piqued his interest. He went through a few practice poses with it as Jun Wu spoke; testing its balance, testing its reach. His skillful feet, his step as light and spritely as a deer’s, barely made a sound on the polished floors. His robes billowed and swirled with his graceful movements, blooming about him like the petals of a heavenly flower. The blade sang like a bell as Xie Lian sliced at the air.

Jun Wu circled him, evaluating his form. He reached out and gripped Xie Lian’s elbow, tilting it up just a bit to straighten up the point of the blade. The adjustment was slight, so slight that even a trained eye could hardly see it. But it resulted in a form so perfect, so divine, that it looked like a statue formed at the hands of a heavenly architect.

“I should fetch you a flowering tree branch,” Jun Wu said. “Then you’d be fit to for mortals to paint. Though I don’t think your shrines can hold any more icons of you…”

Xie Lian puffed out an annoyed breath. “They can just use my other statues and murals for reference. I have more than enough, and they can make do. Even when I was small I loathed sitting for portraiture.”

It was such a waste of time, standing still for hours while a royal painter squinted and sketched. A true artist would only have to see him once!

“They truly don’t understand you, Xian Le,” Jun Wu murmured. “Don’t worry. Now that you’re here, you don’t have to concern yourself with any of that, anymore. You’re beyond what they could ever comprehend.”

Jun Wu’s hand came up to pat his head, to stroke his hair.

“Shall we retire to my study? You must be in need of some refreshments.”

“No, thank you,” Xie Lian said, and it was the truth – he never was a big eater, and it was something of a relief that the worship he received now was nourishment enough. “I should go back to my temples and address prayers. The Mid-Autumn Festival is coming soon, and I wish to give a strong showing.”

Gods did have duties, of course, and Xie Lian did have so very many prayers to answer. All the same, there were few among gods, ghosts, and mortals who had such confidence that they could rebuff an invitation from the Heavenly Emperor himself.

But Xie Lian was the one and only crown prince of Xian Le.

Jun Wu laughed again. “Xian Le is truly hard to impress, indeed. I wish him luck. But please, don’t hesitate to come calling whenever you wish. I promise to show Xian Le many more splendid things.”

 --

 Eight hundred years ago, there was a kingdom known as Xian Le.

The kingdom had four curses: idleness, corruption, excess, and its foolish prince.

 “I must say that I didn’t expect Xian Le to drink down the wine during our game so readily. And that play – the human realm is so full of wild ideas!”

Xie Lian tittered a nervous laugh at the mention of the play. “Y-yes, um. That play was…truly something.”

After the Mid-Autumn Banquet concluded, he’d been unexpectedly invited to the Great Martial Palace for after-dinner tea. The sky was still ablaze with lanterns, and Xie Lian was still too dazzled and dazed by the sight of them, and the thoughts of the person who’d sent them heavensward, to give much thought to refusing the summons. And so here he was, having tea and sweets with Jun Wu in his personal study.

It brought back old memories – of himself as a foolish seventeen-year-old, rattling off the history of every weapon mounted on Jun Wu’s walls, as if the Emperor wasn’t aware of their properties and lineage! Such arrogance he’d shown, back then. Lecturing for hours, talking his ear off. But Jun Wu had stood and listened to him go on and on, a fond smile crinkling his eyes and mouth. Truly, the Emperor had always been so kind to him.

“Do you know that it’s a tradition for the runner-up of the Lantern Battle to host dinner for the winner?”

Xie Lian blinked and tilted his head curiously. “No? That seems unfair, though. Like salt in the wound.”

Jun Wu chuckled fondly, as if he’d expected such a response. “Yes, well. Being that I usually win, most of the other gods leap at the chance to host me at their palaces. It’ll be me doing the leaping this year…and my leaping muscles are so out of practice! Xian Le has given me a splendid chance to exercise them. It will be an event you won’t soon forget.”

Xie Lian was suddenly exceedingly thankful that Hua Cheng had sent up so many lanterns. Even if it was just on a whim, a second-place finish would have had him hosting the Emperor of Heaven at his Puji Shrine! He could not have borne up under such shame.

It was as though Jun Wu could read the thoughts flitting through his mind. “Shall I pay a visit sometime? To this shrine of yours that I’ve heard so much talk about.”

“Ah—”

How to respond? His little shrine was much too humble to receive the Emperor himself, no matter how well Xie Lian swept its dirt floors! He knew he shouldn’t have put off fixing the roof for this long. And he’d been meaning to mend the curtains he’d salvaged, but with his sewing skills, they would likely look better if they stayed torn…

“It—it may not be to your lordship’s liking. It’s quite cramped, you see; I’ve been hosting – many visitors lately—”

“Surely proof that Xian Le is a gracious host, and all the more reason for me to come calling.”

Xie Lian shifted uncomfortably. He had no face to lose, honestly. Less than a year ago, he had been sleeping on the streets; having even a leaking roof over his head was an improvement. But to allow Jun Wu to see the state in which he lived – his tiny, tattered little home, with bare cupboards and junk piled in every corner – filled him with an acute sense of shame. The Emperor had always been so kind to him, thought so highly of him. And his pathetic state was all that came of that trust. The shackles on his skin prickled uncomfortably, like marching, biting insects.

Jun Wu smiled magnanimously. “Well. I hope you’ll receive me, one day. Perhaps in the home I built for you here.”

To his further embarrassment, Xie Lian often forgot the Palace of Xian Le even existed. He could only nod, further shamed by his own careless, ungracious behavior.

“I suspect that it is not to your liking.” Jun Wu leaned his head on his hand, and regarded Xie Lian with an air of gentle concern. “You seem to prefer a shabby little hut in the human realm to the comforts I’ve provided. I personally designed it. I personally funded it. I sent word to you when it was finished; I would have liked to spend an evening in your company, to catch up on all these years. I waited for days for you to finish whatever business kept you in the human realm. Days into weeks. And now, here we are at the height of autumn, and you still haven’t spent a single night there. You must understand my confusion.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks flushed hot. “I’m…it’s—”

“The pantry is always full of the finest produce from Heaven’s trees and fields.”

“I—”

“I’ve filled your wardrobe with many fine ensembles. Windmaster, too, has sent over piles of clothing that he must think suits you. He seems so terribly fond of you.”

“That’s—”

“Is it perhaps that your neighbors have been discourteous and unwelcoming? Excepting Windmaster, of course. Understand that the stars in the night sky must not concern themselves with the jealous sputtering of an innkeeper’s candles.”

“It’s…it’s just—”

“If Xian Le would prefer, I could make whatever arrangements necessary to make him feel more at home. He need only ask.”

The generous grace being shown to him was so utterly undeserved that Xie Lian could never dream of accepting it. He was not the spoiled little prince that Jun Wu remembered – so full of promise and potential, so desperately foolish. He preferred to live as he was now – busking on street corners, gathering scraps, washing the same two pairs of robes in the nearby stream. Chopping wood for the fire, chatting and laughing as Hua Cheng helped cut and gather and carry. Cooking the vegetables he’d been offered as thanks for helping in the fields, and eating with Hua Cheng by his side as the fire crackled into embers.

(It went without saying that Hua Cheng would not be a welcome guest in the land of the gods. This, too, was something that could not be overlooked.)

A life holed up in the Heavens, in a sumptuous palace, far away from the troubles of the other two realms. Perhaps it suited the other gods, gods that were greater than him. But it did not suit Xie Lian. Not anymore.

He was at a loss on how to explain his feelings.

“I…I can’t stay tonight,” Xie Lian said. “I’ve been looking after two human children. And dealing with my cousin.”

Jun Wu gave a sympathetic wince at the mention of Qi Rong, and the sight of such a silly, human expression on the Emperor’s face made Xie Lian give a brief titter of nervous laughter. “Ah. Xian Le has always leapt headlong into trouble. He needn’t worry tonight about moving house, but one hopes that he’ll consider sometime in the future, once his various errands have concluded. I look forward to being your guest.”

With that, Jun Wu lifted his head from his hand and saluted Xie Lian, allowing Xie Lian to return the salute and beat a hasty retreat to his humble home.

It would not be the first time he’d disappointed someone who had faith in him, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

 --

 Two thousand years ago, there was a kingdom known as □□□□□.

The kingdom had four treasures: beautiful women, music, riches, and its crown prince.

 “I waited for you, after the Mid-Autumn Banquet. I would have known the moment you set foot in this palace that you’d come. But you never did.”

“…”

“I built this palace especially for you, Xian Le. Do you think I do that for every god that comes through the heavenly gates?”

“I never asked you to,” Xie Lian spat.

“I wonder who taught you to be such a scornful child,” Jun Wu sighed. “All those years in the mortal realm have taken their toll on your manners. Or perhaps it was the company you’ve kept, recently. I think some time for reflection in your quarters is in order.”

Jun Wu stopped at the door to the Palace of Xian Le, and waited for Xie Lian to trudge up before he continued speaking.

“Not that I was asked to, but I’ve taken the liberty of making some adjustments to make you feel more at home. I want this to be a place you’re comfortable in. A place you can while away many happy years, a place where I can always come calling and see a smile on Xian Le’s sweet face.”

Jun Wu briefly stroked a hand over the fall of Xie Lian’s hair, down his back. The old, sick memory of White No-Face’s tender embrace flared in Xie Lian’s mind, and he whirled away; nearly falling down the stairs in the process.

“Careful,” Jun Wu chided. “Clumsy.”

Xie Lian choked as he was pulled out of his freefall by Jun Wu’s grip on the shackle about his neck. He clawed at his throat, gasping for air. Jun Wu opened the door of the palace, and dragged Xie Lian inside; dumping him unceremoniously on the floor at his feet.

“Welcome home,” Jun Wu said gently, warmly.

“Welcome home!”

“Welcome home!”

“Your highness!”

“Your highness!”

The palace of Xian Le was the palace of Xian Le.

“Lianlian,” his mother said, approaching him with the warmth and carefree joy he remembered from his earlier years. “I made us dinner – your favorite! You must be so hungry from training all day!”

The fine porcelain bowls lined up on the table were filled with discolored, rot-smelling sludge. This was, in itself, not cause for special concern, or something particular to this nightmare that Jun Wu had thrown him into. While it was not Xie Lian’s “favorite”, he could recognize it on sight (and scent). Taste, too, most likely. It had tasted the same going down as it had coming back up on that morning when he’d dined next to his parents, while they dangled from the ceiling by their necks.

His father – hale and healthy – chuckled. “Don’t worry, son,” he said in a stage whisper, winking as he did. Xie Lian could not remember the last time he saw the king act so jovial, so warm to him. “There’s plenty of fresh meat buns from the cooks in the kitchen.”

“Your highness!” Feng Xin and Mu Qing said in unison, then startled theatrically at that fact. They harrumphed dramatically, and crossed their arms, determinedly not looking at each other.

“I’ll get you a change of clothes—”

“He needs to have a bath first, idiot!”

“He can change his clothes and then have a bath! Then change his clothes again!”

The palace of Xian Le was the palace of Xian Le and the palace of Xian Le was filled with the people that Xie Lian remembered so well even after so many years. They should have been dead. They should have been dead or should have drifted so far away that Xie Lian could hardly recognize them anymore. But here they were, as they had been. Exactly as they had been, save for one fact: every familiar face was grotesquely twisted into a half-smile-half-frown. There was not the courtesy of masks, just flesh and sinew rearranged into an impossible expression of despairing bliss. Heart in paradise.

Xie Lian began to tremble.

Jun Wu leaned down to whisper into Xie Lian’s ear. “There’s a swingset in the back garden,” he said. “Your mother told me how much you loved to swing when you were a little one.”

“She didn’t tell you anything.” Xie Lian’s voice was tremulous with fear and fury. “She’s been dead for eight hundred years. Because of—”

Jun Wu cocked an eyebrow. “Because of me?”

“Because of me,” Xie Lian snapped. “Don’t interrupt.”

Jun Wu’s eyes went soft. He knelt and helped Xie Lian to his feet; his touch and voice filled with compassion. “It’s not your fault. Oh, it’s not your fault, Xian Le.”

He pulled Xie Lian into his warm, unrelenting embrace. His heart beat under Xie Lian’s cheek, steady and strong. Thump thump, thump thump.

“The frailty of others is not your responsibility,” Jun Wu said. “Xian Le should not blame himself for others’ shortcomings. For others’ failures. The burden is not his to bear up under. This is a lesson that I’ve tried so hard to impart to you, and save you further pain.”

Xie Lian wished he could flay off his own skin, and grow a suit of new pink flesh that wouldn’t bear the memory of this touch. He felt a nudge to the back of his knees, and a head pressing itself to the underside of his palm; like a dog begging to be petted. He looked down, slowly, dreading what awaited him.

The sight of Qi Rong gazing up at him adoringly struck Xie Lian with a nostalgic vertigo that threatened to make him vomit even more than the smell of his mother’s stew had managed. He wore the face of the innocent child he once was, before grief and loneliness and madness had warped his mind. The smile-frown on his face was present, but his mouth was sewn shut with dark thread. Qi Rong could only make small, animal noises from the back of his throat as he continued to bump against Xie Lian’s palm; finally taking his hand and pressing it firmly to his head.

“I thought it would be best for everyone if I took care of that vile mouth of his,” Jun Wu explained. “Less noise. Less spitting. Better diet regulation. He’s much more manageable now, don’t you agree?”

Qi Rong nodded in agreement, and continued to pet himself with Xie Lian’s hand. Xie Lian yanked his hand away, finally, and stumbled out of reach. Qi Rong made an awful squealing noise at the loss, like a starved pig denied a bucket of scraps. He toddled after him in hot pursuit. Xie Lian could hardly hold himself back from kicking him clear across the room.

“That’s quite enough,” Jun Wu scolded. He brought his boot down on Qi Rong’s back with a sickening-sounding crack. The pig-squealing doubled in volume. “Ugh. Well, if he was completely manageable, I suppose this home of yours wouldn’t quite feel as it should. Still, I’ll have him taken away and trained a bit more.”

Obeying this implied order, the shadows on the floors shivered, and dozens of rats scurried forth to collect Qi Rong and drag him away to parts unknown. Xie Lian immediately recognized them as the rats of the ruined city at Mount Tonglu and heard their whispers as they went. your highness your highness your highness your highness your highness as your highness commands

“It’s late,” Jun Wu stated. Feng Xin and Mu Qing both stepped forward in unison, and stood at Xie Lian’s sides, ready to escort him to his chambers. “But I hope you’ll find your new home comfortable. I’ve made sure to stock and staff it with everything I remember you adoring.”

But there was a notable face absent.

“Your memory must be going, then,” Xie Lian said. “Someone’s missing.”

Jun Wu’s eyes narrowed. “Do tell. Who could I have forgotten? I know Xian Le very well. Who could Xian Le possibly care for so much that I don’t know about?”

Jun Wu stepped forward. Xie Lian stepped back, but did not break eye contact. Feng Xin and Mu Qing obediently kept step with Xie Lian, strolling backward with his every move.

“Is it perhaps the former Windmaster? No, Xian Le did not even care enough to search for him. Perhaps if he did, then he would have retained the use of his limbs. The two little children he cared for in his earthly hovel? No, hardly a thought spared for them when it wasn’t convenient. Sealed that snake priestess into a pickle jar and set her on his shelf to forget about...even though Xian Le seems to like children so much, he does not seem to be especially good at caring for them.”

Xie Lian’s back hit the wall. Jun Wu stepped into his space, leaning in close, until they were nearly nose to nose.

“I wonder what happened to that filthy urchin you stopped my parade to save?” he quietly asked.

He reached up to tug aside the collar of Xie Lian’s robes, to expose the silver chain there, and –

“I meant Head Priest, you old bat,” Xie Lian snapped.

And he did, in fact, mean to refer to his old teacher. He tugged the collar of his robe back into place, and tried to will his heart from hammering its way out of his ribcage.

Jun Wu smiled, and gave Xie Lian back a modicum of personal space.

“Ah,” Jun Wu said. “Xian Le is correct, how silly of me. I’ve been having some…difficulties with your teacher. He doesn’t seem to want to join us in this happy home of ours quite yet. But he’ll be convinced soon, just be patient.”

Convinced? Xie Lian was certain that he was surrounded by illusions; mindless shells painted to look like the people he remembered. They were merely empty vessels for Jun Wu to puppet as he pleased. They did not need to be convinced of anything. They were not who they looked to be. They were not his long-dead parents, they were not two long-lost friends, they were not a child long-lost. Xie Lian was certain of this. He was certain.

Jun Wu gave the order for Feng Xin and Mu Qing to take him away to his chambers and get him ready for bed, and gave the order for his parents to remain at the dinner table to keep the food and company ready for Xian Le when he was ready for it. The king and queen simply bowed their heads at the order, and sat dutifully in their seats, idly stirring the foulness in their bowls.

“We’ll be waiting right here, Lianlian,” his mother said. “I’ll leave a midnight snack out for you.”

 --

 Eight hundredHUNDREDfourHUNDRED years ago, THERE WAS a kinngdom knnownn as □□□□□.

The kinngdom had four TREASURES: □□□□□, □□□□□, □□□□□, and its crownn prinnce crownn prinnce crownn prinnce CROWNN PRINNCE.

 Xie Lian walked on his own, flanked by Feng Xin and Mu Qing, and was led into a bathing chamber to be scrubbed down. The bath was pleasantly warm, scented with fragrant herbs, and big enough to swim in. Ruoye shifted on his person, clearly wanting to swim around and wash up, but unwilling to leave the safety of his master. Xie Lian patted him gently, bidding him to stay put. The reflection of heavenly light on the crystal-clear surface of the water hurt Xie Lian’s eyes; he would not be able to keep track of the white silk under these conditions. Thankfully, he was still so filthy from the volcanic ash at Tonglu that the bathwater turned black in short order.

He knew he’d had a long day, but…it made Xie Lian flush a bit. Hua Cheng was so generous to have allowed Xie Lian to embrace him when he looked like this! And not just embrace, but…Xie Lian flushed harder and brought a hand to his mouth, huffing into it to check how his breath smelled.

“If his highness would tip his head back,” Feng Xin said.

Xie Lian tilted his head and allowed his hair to be rinsed clean. He eyed Mu Qing from this position. Mu Qing was folding and re-folding every piece of fabric that he saw, making unintelligible noises of displeasure as he worked. Indeed, a quite perfect likeness of the Mu Qing he knew. What was quite unlike the Mu Qing he knew was this…complacency. It would take more than threats from a mad god-emperor to make Mu Qing placidly march in lockstep alongside Feng Xin. Likewise, to make Feng Xin sit and wash hair like a docile housewife while Mu Qing sighed and complained in his vicinity.

An idea came to Xie Lian’s mind.

“Feng Xin, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian said. “I have a joke for you both.”

“Yes, your highness,” they said in unison.

“A horse walks into a teahouse, and says to the owner, ‘I’ll have a pot of tea and a plate of candied almonds.’ The owner says back, ‘By the gods! A talking horse!’”

Xie Lian finished speaking, and waited for a reaction. Feng Xin and Mu Qing both laughed in delight, laughed with their distorted mouths.

“Your highness’ sense of humor cannot be beat,” Mu Qing said.

“Yes, his highness is as talented in words as he is in the blade,” said Feng Xin.

The last time Xie Lian had told them that joke, Feng Xin shattered a rib from laughing too hard, and Mu Qing was so incensed at the noise of his horrible bleating that he broke a chair over his head. It went without saying that Mu Qing did not find the joke funny at all.

Convinced. Jun Wu only phrased it like that to rattle him. These were simply soulless magical constructs, of that Xie Lian was sure – quite sure. But this did not answer the question of why Jun Wu had not simply made a construct of Head Priest to round out this vile little stage play. It was not a matter of power – the Emperor of Heaven himself had more than enough of that, enough to create walking, talking copies of two heavenly officials. Creating a copy of a cultivator – no matter how ageless and immortal – would have been child’s play in comparison. It didn’t make sense.

Xie Lian was old enough to know when to lay low, when to wait for an opportunity. He allowed the puppets of his friends to finish washing and dressing him, to turn down his bedsheets and stoke the brazier beneath the bed. He allowed them to close the curtains, put out the lamps, close his door. He was not locked in. This was, of course, his new home. He had no thoughts of escaping; if there was a way to escape this realm of Jun Wu’s own making, Xie Lian had yet to think of it. And so, he lay in bed, to think.

Tap, tap.

Tap.

Tap, tap.

Xie Lian wearily turned his head towards the tapping noise. A full-length mirror was set into a large wooden vanity, and in the mirror, he saw his room reflected. The high ceilings, the carved jade pillars, the swooping silk canopy of his bed. He saw himself, sitting bundled in the sheets. He saw a hunched figure, standing just behind the glass, peering around the side of the mirror as if they were a prowler peeping at an inn window. The figure was wearing a half-smiling-half-frowning white mask.

Xie Lian rolled his eyes and sighed. Honestly, hadn’t Jun Wu had enough of trying to scare him today? He was trying to sleep. He made a big show of yawning and rolling over, hoping he’d get the message.

Tap, tap.

Tap.

…But, just in case he didn’t…

“Fuck off, old man,” Xie Lian shouted over his shoulder. “Go get eaten by those rats of yours.”

The tapping stopped briefly as the figure behind the glass pondered these words.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Xie Lian flew up, worried that the glass would shatter and he’d have to fight in his nightwear. Ruoye roiled around his limbs, distressed at the noise but ready to fight for his master’s sake. The figure stopped pounding at the glass with their fist, satisfied that they finally had Xie Lian’s attention.

With a bit of spiritual energy, they frosted the window glass in a thin sheen of ice, and began to write to him with their fingertip.

The characters were mirrored, of course; backwards and tricky to parse. But Xie Lian knew that elegant handwriting well.

“Head Priest,” Xie Lian said.

Mei Nian Qing quickly brought one finger to the mouth of the mask he was wearing, and Xie Lian immediately fell silent. This message was easy enough to translate: be silent and wary of eavesdroppers. Xie Lian nodded, and waited for him to finish writing.

Heavenly Capital locked down. No way in or out. You are well?

Xie Lian wrote back with his own finger.

Been through worse. Where are you? Why is Head Priest wearing that unsightly mask?

Mei Nian Qing was still for a long moment, then turned his head to the side to show Xie Lian the truth of it. Xie Lian choked back the panic that threatened to tear a scream from his lungs.

A line of black stitching attached the mask to his face. The stitching itself told the story far more succinctly than a finger on iced glass: at his chin, forced and sloppy, with torn skin and fingerprint bruising. Evening out as it proceeded, ending with a stitch so fine that a god of embroidery would praise it. The skin there was unbloodied and worked so finely that it was as though the needle used was spun from a fairy’s whisper. It was clear that Mei Nian Qing had stopped struggling, towards the end, and Jun Wu had rewarded him with tenderness. Or what passed for it.

Mei Nian Qing wrote a simple phrase in the ice:

I’m sorry.

He let the characters hang there, frozen in frost and glass, and stared down at his lap. Xie Lian was not about to let this conversation end like this. They were alone here, and they would band together, and flee together. He wrote phrase after phrase, insistently, even as Mei Nian Qing continued to sit there motionlessly.

Where are you?

Are you alone?

Is someone watching you?

He’s made copies of my mother and father.

Mei Nian Qing’s attention appeared to be drawn to the last phrase. He stared at it, the mask hiding whatever expression it had stirred. After a few moments, he began to tremble. He crumpled in on himself, clutching his head and tangling his hair in his hands. A sob tore from his throat, causing Xie Lian to startle as the sound shattered the silence.

“I knew it’d made him angry,” Mei Nian Qing sobbed. “I knew he’d thought me pathetic. But I was alone for so long, you have to understand. I needed – I needed them – I needed them to play cards with— I didn’t mean it as an offense. Your highness. Your highness, please, you have to understand, I’m so sorry…”

“Head Priest! Teacher!” Xie Lian whispered frantically. “It’s fine, I understand! None of this is your fault! Just tell me how to get to you, I’ll come find you and cut that ugly thing off your face!”

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Mei Nian Qing continued to sob, babbling to himself in increasing hysteria about solitude and cards and your highness, your highness, your highness. Xie Lian leapt to his feet, his martial god brain taking over. A person trapped behind glass: the simple solution was obvious, and that simple solution was to smash the mirror with his fists.

“Hold on! I’ll be right there!”

Not even needing a command, Ruoye wrapped around his hands and wrists to protect him from the soon-to-be-shattered glass. He flexed his fingers, readying himself to strike.

your highness

Xie Lian’s fist stopped mid-swing.

your highness your highness your highness

bad ungrateful awful I’m telling

Xie Lian recognized that raspy sound. He whirled just in time to see a rat scurry off; out the door and into the halls. Whatever that rat wanted to “tell” Jun Wu, it couldn’t be good. There was little time for Xie Lian to make assurances to Mei Nian Qing that he’d be right back, or to stay put or hide himself or just try to stay alive. The most he could do was close the door of the wooden vanity, hiding the mirror from view, and race after the rat down the hall.

The rat was smaller than the others he’d seen at Tonglu; suitable for reconnaissance, and fast enough that even Xie Lian’s fleet feet had trouble keeping pace. It also made a small enough target that Ruoye couldn’t strike true. He lashed out over and over, like a lunging snake, and each time was thwarted. All the while, the rat chittered in its awful voice:

your highness your highness yourhighnessyourhighnessYOURHIGHNESSSSSSSSSSS AWFUL AWFUL AWFUL THEY CALLED YOUR BEAUTIFUL MASKS UGLY—

The rat’s tattling cut off with a garbled shriek.

Xie Lian finally caught up, and found that the rat had met its end at the claws of a sleek black cat. The cat stood poised over its kill like a beckoning statue, washing its ears and purring so loudly that Xie Lian could hear it from ten paces away.

Briefly pausing its bath, the cat looked at Xie Lian. It winked its single eye at him slowly, continuing to purr. A red ribbon was tied around its neck.

“San Lang.” Though he was tearful with relief, the words felt punched out of Xie Lian’s heaving lungs. He collapsed to his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Th…thank you…”

The rat’s corpse dissipated with just a flick of Hua Cheng’s tail. Hua Cheng trotted over immediately, and before he even could think about hesitating, Xie Lian scooped him up and bundled him close to his chest.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng said, low and soft. The sound of it alone was enough to soothe Xie Lian’s frayed psyche. “You’re unharmed?”

Xie Lian nodded. Hua Cheng’s fur in this form was so silky soft, so pleasant to bury his face in. So much so that Xie Lian almost forgot to question the why of it.

“…you’re a cat,” Xie Lian finally noted aloud.

“Yes indeed,” Hua Cheng agreed.

Oh, Xie Lian could almost see that bratty little smirk on his face. Hua Cheng patted his paw against the pout of Xie Lian’s mouth, playfully.

“If gege wishes for me to explain myself: I came here in disguise and found myself…temporarily locked into this form, for the time being. Nonetheless, as a cat, I enjoy many benefits in a situation that calls for stealth. It becomes all the more simple for me to slip into places unnoticed, unseen, unheard. Such as into this palace, or into gege’s sleeves with his Ruoye, to fly out with claws bared at a moment’s notice.”

Ruoye swirled around Xie Lian’s arms, clearly miffed at Hua Cheng for inviting himself in to Xie Lian’s sleeves without consulting their current resident. It wouldn’t do for them to be cooped up in there together – how could Hua Cheng do any clawing, or Ruoye any whirling, when they would have to jostle around each other? There was only one solution.

Hua Cheng let out a startled mrrp! as Xie Lian stuffed him into the breast of his robes to be carried there. It wasn’t an ideal solution – he was in his nightclothes, and the lack of layers made hiding him difficult. Though Hua Cheng was small in this form, he was still large enough that there was a noticeable bulge. Xie Lian arranged him this way and that, until he was mostly hidden in the wrap of his sash around his waist. Hua Cheng’s soft fur tickled his bare skin.

“I’m sorry. Please bear with it for now,” Xie Lian said apologetically. “Once I’m dressed, we can find another way.”

Hua Cheng was silent for a long moment.

“…of course,” he finally managed.

Eavesdroppers everywhere, Xie Lian belatedly remembered. The bedroom was hardly better than an open hallway, but at least there was the illusion of privacy in the former. He and Hua Cheng could discuss what to do next, there…how to free Head Priest, how to escape from this place, then came the matter of how to escape from the Heavens themselves next, then…Jun Wu surely wouldn’t take any of that lying down, so, then…

Then…

The thought of taking the head of the man that had done so much to him, done so much to so many others, should have filled him with glee, or at least some sort of righteous thrill of justice. But there was nothing but a cold sense of duty, tempered by a pathetic little whimpering at the corner of his mind. The Emperor was always so kind to me. The Emperor always believed in me. The Emperor has always showed me heavenly grace and compassion even when I’ve done nothing for eight hundred years but disappoint him.

And? So what?

What’s your point?

Eight hundred years had given Xie Lian plenty of time to disappoint a lot of people and none of them had reacted half as badly as this.

“Gege is being very quiet,” Hua Cheng said. He squirmed a bit, and Xie Lian suppressed a giggle as his whiskers tickled his skin. “One hopes that he’ll tell this San Lang his thoughts.”

“It’s nothing,” Xie Lian said.

“Forgive my insolence, but I sense that’s not the truth.”

Eight hundred years of humiliation and regret and shame. Xie Lian thought he was used to it, by now. It was painful enough to disappoint someone he once considered an idol, a father figure, a beneficent authority. Xie Lian once thought that if he could live through that, he could survive anything the world threw at him.

But…then he’d met Hua Cheng. Hua Cheng, who was always so kind and generous, who believed in him no matter what and smiled at him like he hung the moon and stars.

I’ll just wind up disappointing him, too.

He’d survived so much. But he couldn’t bear the thought of the sadness and pity in Hua Cheng’s eyes when he eventually found out the whole of the crown prince he’d carved in a thousand perfect images.

Xie Lian set his hand on the bedroom door, and quietly replied:

“It’s not. I’m sorry.”

Maybe one day he’d be brave enough to tell Hua Cheng the full truth of himself. He doubted it.

He opened the door and saw Jun Wu sitting on the edge of his bed. Jun Wu smiled at him.

“Xian Le is up past his bedtime. He won’t be at his best if he doesn’t get a full night’s sleep.”

“If anyone needs beauty rest, it’s you,” Xie Lian snapped. “Aren’t you sleeping for four?”

Jun Wu’s expression darkened. “That was very rude.”

“Is that the group consensus?” Xie Lian was pushing his luck, but he could feel Hua Cheng purring against his skin, encouraging him. He gestured to the door. “Get out if you want me to sleep so bad. Go bother someone else.”

Jun Wu rose off the bed. Hands resting behind his back, he strode over to where Xie Lian stood at the door. He was so much taller than him. Even now, bolstered by fury and Hua Cheng’s closeness, Xie Lian could not help but feel small.

Jun Wu wore a tired, sad expression.

“Does Xian Le always treat the ones that love him with such cruelty?” he asked. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. Whether his noble parents or the lowliest of ghosts, he awards devotion with the heel of his boot.”

Xie Lian went pale. Jun Wu stroked his hair, moving his hand down to cup Xie Lian’s cheek and tilt his face up to look at him.

“But I still have faith that he can be made to see sense, to be a grateful and dutiful child. Eight hundred years I spent refining you, so you could direct that boot of yours where it belongs – onto the backs of those who caused you so much misery, those common folk you wanted to save so desperately.”

“Go bother someone else,” Xie Lian hissed, again. “Just leave us be.”

Jun Wu’s eyes went dark, like those of a predator who’d scented blood. “‘Us’? Who could Xian Le be referring to?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Xie Lian stepped back, trying to reclaim some breathing room. “You know what you did.”

Jun Wu’s eyebrow raised. “In this instance, Xian Le really has to be more specific.”

Incensed, Xie Lian stormed over to the wooden vanity.

“Sewing one of those ugly masks of yours to Head Priest’s face and throwing him into this mirror, how’s that for specifics—”

Xie Lian nearly tore off the door of the vanity when he opened it to reveal…

…a completely normal mirror.

Xie Lian barely had a moment to process when he found himself roughly shoved to the side by Jun Wu. He couldn’t find his footing quickly enough, and fell to the floor hard. He only just managed to avoid landing all his weight on where Hua Cheng still wrapped around his middle; instead feeling the impact spark pain up his hip and spine. Jun Wu paid him no mind; instead, he clutched the sides of the mirror, white-knuckled. He wore the expression of a madman – wild-eyed and furious.

Without a single word, he pulled his fist back and brought it down upon the glass. A single flick of the pinkie from the Martial Emperor was enough to topple fortress walls. But the mirror did not crack.

Jun Wu’s jaw tightened enough that Xie Lian could hear his teeth grinding, like two swords against each other. The skin of his face was rippling and shivering like a disturbed pond, and – suddenly, horribly – the flesh of his cheek opened into a mouth; bursting forth with tongue and teeth.

“MURDERER! BLACK-HEARTED SINNER!”

Xie Lian had seen the Human Face Disease progress to the point where the lesions could shriek, to where they could babble nonsense. This, however, was the most erudite subject he’d ever encountered.

Jun Wu turned away from the mirror, and reached his fingers up to his cheek. He felt about blindly for the thrashing tongue, then grasped hold of it; only narrowly avoiding getting bitten in the process. He then pulled. The wet sound of tearing meat filled the room, punctuated by the sound of garbled shrieking from the bloody, toothy carbuncle on Jun Wu’s cheek. Jun Wu himself made no sound. He worked his jaw a few times, as if checking to make sure he hadn’t ripped out a tendon in the process, and tossed the tongue to the side. It splatted against the floor, still twitching.

Jun Wu composed himself. Spiritual energy crackled around him, healing his wound and re-applying the glamour that hid the curse and kept him pristine.

“Don’t let me see you out of bed again tonight,” Jun Wu said. “We’ll talk about your behavior in the morning.”

With that, he strode out of the room. The bedroom door did not slam, but clicked shut quietly. The rats scurried out of the shadows and greedily grabbed up the tongue, darting back out of sight.

“Gege. Look at me. Gege!”

Xie Lian blinked. How long had Hua Cheng been perched on his chest, staring at him and papping his nose with his paw?

“Sorry,” Xie Lian said. He picked himself up a bit, wincing as the motion sent more pain through his bruised hip. He settled Hua Cheng in his lap. “I…I shouldn’t have said anything about Head Priest…”

“Dianxia is not the guilty one in this situation,” Hua Cheng said in a deliberately measured tone. The fur along his back was raised, and his tail thrashed slowly but furiously. “This one should have not hid himself like a coward. If he lays hands on you again then his life is forfeit.”

“San Lang doesn’t need to fight this battle on my behalf,” Xie Lian said. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to pop out then, anyway. We still need to lay low and find a way to get Head Priest, and make a break for it…”

“Can dianxia please explain the situation with his teacher?” Hua Cheng asked. He tucked his tail under his paws, unable to keep it under control. “I’m afraid I was not present.”

Oh. Xie Lian felt a little foolish. He’d gotten so used to Hua Cheng being by his side all the time, that he…forgot that he sometimes wasn’t. So Xie Lian explained; or explained what he knew, which wasn’t terribly much. But Hua Cheng sat and listened, curled on Xie Lian’s lap, allowed him to smooth down his fur.

“…so, not a prison, but a hiding spot,” Hua Cheng observed. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

Xie Lian smiled wryly. “That excuse only goes so far. I have no choice but to get Head Priest out of here, no matter what.”

“As his highness commands,” Hua Cheng replied. “I will follow you no matter what.”

Xie Lian did not doubt his sincerity. But he wondered if he’d still say that, knowing the whole of him.

He thought of his various failures as a son; how he drove his parents to humiliation and poverty, how he couldn’t spare them any kindness the night when they finally took their own lives. He thought of how Mu Qing and Feng Xin suffered and suffered until they could take no more and left and were immediately better for it. He thought of all he didn’t do for Qi Rong, and what he’d become.

He thought of the devotion of a masked ghost, and how he’d met it with nothing but coldness and disdain. He thought of how he’d forced him to sacrifice his very being to pay for his own sins. He thought of the white flowers he’d ground under his heel.

He was often staggered by his own capacity for cruelty. In this, Jun Wu spoke true.

 --

 Six hundred years ago, there was a kingdom known as Long An.

The kingdom had four treasures: brave heroes, epic tales, splendid banquets, and a mysterious ancient coral pearl.

 Dressed, ready, and with Hua Cheng re-stuffed down the breast of his robes, Xie Lian was ready to march out his bedroom door and start knocking on every mirror in the household to track down Head Priest. But the moment he flung open the door, he found himself facing not a long, dark hallway, but a quiet night garden.

“I should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy,” Xie Lian sighed.

Hua Cheng arranged himself so he could peer out from the collar of Xie Lian’s robes, and eyed their surroundings critically.

“We’re not alone,” he said.

Indeed, they were not. The false Qi Rong – the one wearing the face of his child self, mouth stitched shut – stared at them from behind a tree with an expression that could only be deemed as hungry. Xie Lian stared back, debating on whether it would be best to simply run away and do his level best to find an exit that would lead them back into the palace. Before he could make a break for it, false-Qi Rong pointed to the swing hanging from the tree.

Xie Lian’s heart twisted, despite himself. This wasn’t real. This was nothing but a puppet.

“…I’m sorry, I can’t right now,” Xie Lian said. “I need to go back to the palace.”

False-Qi Rong pointed at the swing again, insistently. Xie Lian steeled himself and began to walk away, but was stopped in place by a sharp squealing cry. He whirled around and saw false-Qi Rong tearing at the stitching around his mouth; his efforts doing nothing to break the thread, but succeeding immensely in bloodying his skin.

“Stop! Stop it!” Xie Lian rushed over and pulled his hands away. “San Lang, can you cut that stitching with your claws?”

Hua Cheng stretched out a paw from over Xie Lian’s collar, and extended his nails. “As gege commands. Bring him close and keep him from squirming.”

Hua Cheng’s claws were sharp, and made short work of the thread. False-Qi Rong patted his face with his hands for a few moments, not daring to speak just yet. Then, that half-smile-half-frown twisted in glee.

“…he told me to stay out here in case cousin crown prince wanted to swing,” false-Qi Rong said. “I stayed awake all night in case cousin crown prince wanted to swing.”

“I can’t right now,” Xie Lian said. “I need to get back to the palace.”

False-Qi Rong positioned himself behind the swing, waiting not-patiently. He tugged insistently at the braided silk ropes.

“Cousin crown prince said that I could always push him,” false-Qi Rong said.

“Another time,” Xie Lian said, before he rose to his feet.

“I’ll scream if cousin crown prince doesn’t get on the swing!” False-Qi Rong had already spiraled into hysterics, which was very much in line with the real Qi Rong. “I’ll scream and then he’ll come out and see that you’re out of bed!”

There was no question about who “he” was. Perhaps earlier, Xie Lian would have steamed on ahead; heedless of the threat. But right now Jun Wu’s temper was…unpredictable. And with Hua Cheng here to be protected, he could not take any chances.

Xie Lian stiffly sat down on the swing, and allowed false-Qi Rong to push him. False-Qi Rong, just like his true self back then, was not very good at pushing. Instead of giving measured pushes with his arms, keeping him on a steady straight path upward, he simply rammed his entire body into Xie Lian’s back, sending Xie Lian swinging in random directions. Occasionally, he’d fling his arms around Xie Lian’s middle with a joyful cry of “cousin, cousin!” and be dragged along the ground behind him as the swing whirled from the momentum.

How could eight-hundred-year-old memories still be so painful?

It didn’t take long for the false-Qi Rong to tire himself out. He dangled limply from Xie Lian’s waist, his arms locked there tight. Xie Lian twisted in place, looking down to see those massive dark eyes and eerie, twisted smile staring straight back at him.

Out of all the puppets, Jun Wu seemed to have the least control over this one. Moreover, Jun Wu himself seemed…like he might be otherwise occupied right now.

“Thank you for pushing me,” Xie Lian said. “Have you seen Head Priest around?”

The false Qi Rong smiled even wider.

“Pat my head. Pat my head and I’ll tell cousin crown prince what happened to that moldy old man.”

Xie Lian lowered his hand and began to stroke the puppet’s hair. The false-Qi Rong made a blissful noise, and pressed his head up desperately into Xie Lian’s half-hearted pats.

“Gege,” Hua Cheng said quietly. “I understand your motives. But tread cautiously.”

“Of course,” Xie Lian said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Gege, you know full well that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what I meant,” Xie Lian countered.

After a few more strokes, false-Qi Rong finally spoke, no louder than a whisper.

“He got mad at that sad look. Your old teacher wouldn’t stop with his sad faces. He got so, so mad. He sewed a mask on him so none of us would have to see.”

“…and then?”

“Then your stupid teacher ran away and hid. He got even madder. Then he went to go see cousin crown prince. Now he’s even more mad.”

The false Qi Rong shivered. Xie Lian felt a twinge in his heart. This was nothing but a puppet, enchanted into existence by a man hellbent on breaking his mind. All the same, Xie Lian couldn’t help but feel compassion for it. A puppet in the shape of a child he once knew, a child who Xie Lian once felt responsible for, once upon a time. Brutalized, terrorized, forced into the garden at night like an unloved dog.

Slowly, Xie Lian bent down, and wrapped his arms around the false Qi Rong. He felt him stop shivering. He felt him go completely still. He felt his small hands creep up to his sleeves and fist there.

“I love you, cousin crown prince,” the false Qi Rong whispered. “Can’t you stay here with us? I’ll stay out here and I’ll push you whenever you want.”

“I’m so sorry,” Xie Lian said. “I can’t.”

“Then I’ll leave with you. It’s so scary here.”

Xie Lian closed his eyes. A single thought from Jun Wu would cause the enchantment to dissipate and these puppets to dissolve into dust. He had no spiritual energy of his own, certainly not enough to support a being like this.

But he couldn’t live with himself for the next eight hundred years if he didn’t try.

Xie Lian moved from the swing to kneel on the ground, putting himself at eye level with the false Qi Rong. The false Qi Rong wiped his damp face and nose with his sleeve. Still had those awful habits of his.

“Do you know how to get out of here?” Xie Lian asked.

False-Qi Rong gave a shaky sigh and nodded, but was otherwise silent.

“You can’t tell me, can you,” Xie Lian observed. “He won’t let you.”

Another nod.

“Well,” Xie Lian said. “You can meet us there, then. Go wait by the way out. I need to find teacher first, then I’ll come find you. I’ll find my way there and we’ll all leave together.”

The false Qi Rong gave a loud snorting sniffle, then wiped at his face again. “I can leave with cousin crown prince?”

“We can try,” Xie Lian said. “You might not…be able to last long on the outside.”

“I know,” the false Qi Rong said. “Some of the other mes and the other others before us tried to run away. I’ve seen what happens. But they didn’t have cousin crown prince with them.”

Xie Lian was silent. Finally, the false Qi Rong disengaged his grip on his sleeves, and hesitantly moved a few steps back.

“Cousin crown prince is the best,” the false Qi Rong said. “I’m really happy that I could meet him.”

With that, the false Qi Rong bolted into the bushes like a fleeing animal. Xie Lian called for him, and heard no response.

The palace loomed over the garden’s tree-line.

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said. “Is it possible that…those puppets are truly acting on their own?”

Or is it just another one of his head-games, was the unspoken but obvious addition to that inquiry. Luckily, as always, Hua Cheng understood him.

“Puppet magic seems to be quite popular with those of his generation,” Hua Cheng noted. “But there’s such a thing as being too skilled. Perfectly imbuing them with all the memories and mannerisms of a person, then hooking them up to a spiritual energy source of that magnitude…it’s not surprising that they’ve started acting out.

“In addition, there’s the matter of the personality they’ve been assigned. A construct modeled after your cousin should be expected to be especially disruptive and unmanageable.” Hua Cheng gave a heavy sigh. “Ah, but gege must never let his real cousin know that I ever implied any compliment.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Xie Lian assured him. “He wouldn’t believe us even if we told him.”

 --

 Fifteen hundred years ago, a new and glorious Heavenly Kingdom was founded.

The kingdom had four curses: idleness, corruption, excess, and its two-faced emperor.

 Leaving the garden was so simple: simply opening the elegant doors back into the palace brought him back to where they left off. They found themselves in a hallway, meticulously decorated with all manner of things that Jun Wu was so certainly convinced would suit Xie Lian’s tastes. That being: swords. Swords, swords, swords. Vases of flowers with arrangements of colorful spring blooms; none of which included the tiny white flowers Xie Lian adored the most. Then more swords.

“It’s like he thinks I never matured,” Xie Lian griped. “Even when I was seventeen I had other interests!”

Hua Cheng was on guard again; tense and ready to pounce. He eyed every sword warily as they passed, as if they’d spring off the wall at any moment.

“…San Lang’s home is much more tastefully decorated,” Xie Lian said, hoping to soothe some of the tension.

Hua Cheng did give a brief huff of laughter at that; or a chuffling noise that passed for laughter.

“I can assure dianxia that ‘taste’ never factors into the equation when it comes to my approach to home décor.”

They did not have a chance to continue the discussion. They both fell silent as their ears caught the sound of Jun Wu having a furious one-sided argument, just a hallway away. Xie Lian looked around for a good hiding spot, and, in a split-second decision, he settled upon one of the vases with the garish blooming arrangements. He wriggled his way into the tall vase, and stoppered it back up with the flowers to complete the ruse.

“Gege does manage to find creative solutions.” Hua Cheng seemed to be holding himself back from laughing, despite their situation.

“If San Lang was bigger, I would have needed to be even more creative,” Xie Lian whispered back.

The vase allowed them to hide, and also allowed them to eavesdrop. Xie Lian strained his ears, trying to determine who Jun Wu was arguing with, to determine who had made him so furious.

“…you think you can just stay in there forever, don’t you. It’s all you know how to do. Run and hide. Thought you could just run and hide forever and that I’d forget. That I’d just forget! As if I didn’t recognize you the instant you came to tutor my Xian Le. Did you think I’d let you hurt him the way you all hurt me? And you did. You did! His world fell apart and you just judged and lectured and ran away again! Imagine how much kinder the world would have seemed, if his beloved teacher had stayed by his side in his time of need. I should have struck you down the moment you set foot on those temple steps. But my Xian Le needed a good education, needed the best. He needed to cultivate and ascend. There was no other way; by my side, I could protect him from the world. From you.”

It sounded like Jun Wu smashed one of the floral vases. His heavy breathing was so loud that it seemed to echo through the halls. After a long moment, he continued in a carefully measured tone.

“What bliss it must be, to be able to consider the time we spent side-by-side nothing but ancient history…to play the role of wandering cultivator, to make little dolls of our brotherhood and play with them all day. It must be so much more pleasant, without me to intrude on the four of you. You want me to just forget! It’s so easy for you to just forget! Do you think it’s that simple for me, or Xian Le!? He still freezes up like a frightened little bunny at the very thought of my creation, even after eight hundred years. And after two thousand years, the hatred you all have for me is still carved upon my face.”

It seemed like an eternity before they heard Jun Wu’s steps trudge down the hall; crunching on the shattered vase pieces before disappearing out of earshot. Xie Lian waited a few more minutes before moving to peek out of their hiding spot, and then, carefully climb out, supporting Hua Cheng with one hand the whole way.

“Are you alright?” Hua Cheng asked quietly.

“He’s getting senile in his old age if that’s how he remembers things,” Xie Lian said. “‘Freezes like a bunny’. I kicked him into a tree! And I’d like to understand how he thinks a bunny could control a statue the size of a mountain—”

“Gege! Stop joking around!”

Hua Cheng’s tone was so frustrated, so serious, that Xie Lian was taken off-guard. Hesitantly, he looked down to meet Hua Cheng’s gaze.

“If you’re hurt, if you’re scared, if you’re sad, if you’re angry, please, tell me properly,” he said. “You saw the cave, and you now understand my feelings towards you fully: I love you, no matter what. I am truly a simple man when it comes to this.”

Xie Lian was silent.

“Do you believe me?” Hua Cheng asked.

“…I believe San Lang loves what he knows of me,” Xie Lian finally said.

He loved the dazzling prince that saved him as he fell, he loved the steadfast warrior that descended in a futile attempt to save his country, even if it ended the way it did. He loved him so much that it built the foundation of his continued existence in the world. This, Xie Lian believed.

He did not know of the fallen wretch that became the White-Clothed Calamity. He did not know the cruelty he was capable of. If he ever found this out, Xie Lian knew the consequences: Hua Cheng’s love for him would evaporate, and with it, that foundation…and then…

“I love the whole of you,” Hua Cheng said. “There is nothing, nothing, that could change this.”

“Thank you,” said Xie Lian, for he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I feel the same,” he said, because it was the truth.

They came across a spot in the hall strewn with broken porcelain and crushed flowers. A mirror hung on the wall. Clearly, they’d happened upon the spot from where Jun Wu had just departed. Hesitantly, Xie Lian peeped into the mirror.

“…Head Priest?” he whispered.

There came no answer, and there was no sign of him in the glass. There were, however, several fist marks in the glass, and spindling cracks like spiderwebs. An entirely ordinary mirror, holding no Head Priest, and wholly vulnerable to the misplaced fury of a ranting madman.

“Lianlian?”

Xie Lian felt his blood go cold at the sound of his mother’s voice calling for him.

“Lianlian? Are you out there? I heard you. Your mother’s here with your supper still.”

Slowly, Xie Lian walked toward the source of the voice. He peered into the room from where it had called him, from where she was still calling. Lianlian, Lianlian, it’s getting cold.

It was the room he’d seen when he first entered the palace; the grand receiving room, where his false parents had sat with their twisted smiles and empty black eyes. They still sat, exactly where he’d left them. The bowls of rotten-smelling sludge still sat, exactly where he’d left them. His false mother tittered in excitement at the sight of him.

“Darling! Darling, wake up. Lianlian’s here again.”

His false father was sleeping, face-down in his bowl. His snores blew bubbles in the sludge, sending more foul smells airborne as they popped. His false mother giggled; one voluminous sleeve over her mouth, as befitting a refined lady.

“Oh, your father’s always so hard to wake up. But he’ll be so excited to hear that you came to visit!”

Xie Lian took one step forward, then another, making his way to sit at the table with his parents. He stroked Hua Cheng’s furry head, silently pleading with him to trust him. Hua Cheng silently understood.

His false mother happily pushed over “his” bowl, and, with a proud flourish, plucked a flower from the table centerpiece and placed it atop the mountain of sludge.

“Presentation is important,” she said. “It’s called ‘The Reflective Pond That Allows One a Glimpse of the Heavens’.”

The flower was dissolved by the sludge in a matter of seconds, sending up green smoke and a burning smell. Xie Lian idly wondered what his false father’s face would look like right now, if he were to wake up.

“Thank you,” Xie Lian said. “How long has he kept you here?”

“It’s been eight hundred years since then, Lianlian. You should know that, silly thing.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Xie Lian kept his voice deliberately even, calm. “How long has he kept you here?”

His false mother’s smile faltered, if only for a second.

“I don’t know what you mean,” his false mother said. “Eat your supper, Lianlian. It’s getting cold.”

“You’ve been here longer than the others,” Xie Lian observed. “Long enough to know things. Long enough to know that playing along was your only option.”

His mother was always the picture of courtly grace. She knew how to entertain guests, how to comfort her husband, how to pamper her son. She knew how to read a situation, how to be spared as a target by the backstabbing Xian Le court. She knew how to play dumb.

It did not surprise Xie Lian in the least that she was the longest-lived of the puppets here.

“It’s getting cold, Lianlian,” she said.

“Do you know where Head Priest has hidden himself?” Xie Lian asked. “Once I find him, I’m going to get us all out of here.”

“It’s getting cold, Lianlian,” she said.

“I’ve already told…my cousin to meet us at the exit,” Xie Lian said, not quite ready to call the false Qi Rong by that name, not yet. “You’re welcome to join us. My father, Feng Xin, Mu Qing; they’re all welcome. I…I can’t guarantee that any of you will survive out there, not for long, but it’ll be better than living like this…”

“It’s getting cold, Lianlian!” his mother nearly shrieked, grabbing onto his hand and shoving his spoon into it. “Eat it before it’s cold!!”

Baffled by this outburst, Xie Lian stared at the spoon, then his bowl. The sludge looked…odd; odder than normal, anyway. It looked like someone had buried something underneath it.

Xie Lian dug away a little pit in the center of the bowl; moving the gelatinous goo around until he saw a reflective, shiny surface. A hand mirror. And clearly one that was enchanted heavily enough to keep it pristine against the onslaught of the stew that hid it.

Xie Lian carefully pulled the mirror out, and wiped it down with his napkin.

“—your highness!” wheezed Mei Nian Qing. He gasped for breath behind the glass. “Thank goodness. I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted…”

“Good to see you well, Head Priest sir,” Hua Cheng greeted him warmly. “I will be happy to remove that unsightly mask for you, if you’d take a moment to come out of that mirror.”

Although his expression was obscured by the mask still sewn to his face, Mei Nian Qing’s confusion was clear in the tilt of his head.

“Lianlian never said anything about wanting pets,” his false mother said at the sight of Hua Cheng poking his head out of Xie Lian’s robes. “Does Lianlian remember his fourth birthday? He’d been given a pure white pony of the finest pedigree, with a golden saddle and bridle, and little bells to jingle when it pranced. The moment we put Lianlian in the saddle, he cried and cried…”

These puppets having the memories of their true selves was essential to breaking free of Jun Wu’s control, but perhaps there were some drawbacks. Oh, how he hoped Hua Cheng would forget about that little anecdote. But he knew he wouldn’t. Xie Lian felt his ears burn.

“This…isn’t a pet,” Xie Lian finally said. “Head Priest, this is San Lang; he transformed to sneak inside, and then got stuck…”

Xie Lian caught Mei Nian Qing up on all that had happened in the past few hours, told him of Jun Wu’s increasingly erratic behavior, told him of his plans. When he finished, Mei Nian Qing remained silent.

“…they won’t survive outside of this home,” Mei Nian Qing said quietly. “Please trust in my experience on the subject of puppets. Even if your…gentleman ghost friend…were to support them with all of his considerable spiritual power, it would not be compatible. They would fall apart like clay.”

Xie Lian’s fingers stopped brushing through Hua Cheng’s fur.

“…I thought that might be the case,” Xie Lian replied. “But…”

“If we escape, he is certain to destroy every last one of them in his rage,” Mei Nian Qing said. “Whether they colluded with us or not. Die inside, die outside. Unless we consent to be jailed here for the rest of eternity, their fate will be the same.”

A heavy weight pulled on Xie Lian’s heart. More deaths. More deaths for people who committed the crime of having been associated with him, once upon a time.

“Your cat. Is he handsome, when he is in the form of a man?”

Xie Lian stared at his false mother, trying to parse her question. She gazed at him evenly. Even with those black empty eyes and twisted smile, she seemed tender and sincerely curious.

“…yes,” said Xie Lian, finally. “He is.”

“Gege flatters me,” Hua Cheng said. “I am nothing in comparison to his beauty, I assure you, my lady queen.”

“Does he take care of you?” his false mother asked, voice soft and urgent. “Does he speak to you gently, and support you no matter what?”

Xie Lian clutched Hua Cheng closer and closer with every phrase.

“Yes,” he said.

“And I will continue to do so,” Hua Cheng said. “For eight hundred years and many more.”

His false mother nodded.

“I…know I’m not your true mother,” she said. “But I have her memories, and I love you as she did. And I think…for her, it would be enough to see you one more time, and to know that you have someone who loves you so completely. Knowing that, I could…I could…ccccc…ccccccccc…”

His false mother’s jaw suddenly went slack. It went slack, then drooped, and drooped; until it dropped from her face and fell into her supper bowl. She stared at it for a moment as it dissolved there, then turned to look once more at Xie Lian with black, black eyes. They could still shed tears.

“…uvvvvv…annnnn….”

She began to melt like clay, like mud. Xie Lian wailed in dismay, lunging forward to try and hold her together with nothing but his embrace. It was over in seconds. His false mother was gone. His false father, melted into his soup. The false Qi Rong…the false Qi Rong…

“I told Xian Le that he wasn’t allowed to leave his room again. What a mess he’s made. I think I stepped in his cousin on the way here.”

Xie Lian’s fists clenched at the sound of Jun Wu’s voice. Jun Wu strolled into the room, tsking his tongue in disappointment.

“I made them so you’d have someone to love you, even when I was away,” he said. “And all you can think about is how to best kill them. I can’t imagine what they thought of you, hearing you talk like that about them.”

“Fuck you fucking gutter pig,” Xie Lian spat.

Jun Wu frowned. “I was going to make you some fresh ones, but if you’re going to curse at me, then maybe you need some time alone for a few months.”

Jun Wu moved to grab Xie Lian’s arm. Xie Lian wasn’t fast enough to take a swing at him before Hua Cheng lunged out of his hiding spot in the breast of his robes.

Jun Wu stumbled back with a shout. As if part of a coordinated sneak attack, Ruoye whipped out of Xie Lian’s sleeves without being directed, and wrapped himself around Jun Wu’s wrists to bind them behind his back; allowing Hua Cheng to flay apart Jun Wu’s face and eyes with abandon. Xie Lian leapt to his feet, joining the fray with a windup kick to the gut. Ostensibly the goal was to aim for his meridians to block his spiritual energy, but there were few things more satisfying than knocking the wind out of someone you really, truly disliked.

Even as a spiritual weapon, Ruoye had limits. Xie Lian felt him begin to tear. If he tore, there was no one to repair him, and – and Hua Cheng – he had to think fast.

“San Lang, get away! Ruoye, return!”

Coordinated enough to sneak attack, but not coordinated enough. Perhaps Ruoye was too swift in his retreat, perhaps Hua Cheng was too slow in his. Regardless of the cause, the result was Jun Wu seizing Hua Cheng by the scruff, and hurling him across the room hard enough that he crashed into the jaded ornamentation on the wall. Hua Cheng slumped to the ground, unmoving.

“San Lang!” Xie Lian cried.

“Inviting friends over without asking me first,” Jun Wu snarled. His face resembled bloodied, butchered meat; both his eyes were utterly mangled and sightless. “Horrible little Xian Le. What does he think of you now, seeing all you’ve done tonight?”

It was hard to tell, amidst the damage already done, but three more mouths had appeared on Jun Wu’s face. Mouths and eyes and tiny arms and legs; sprouting from his wounds like little flailing worms.

“MURDERER!”

“BLACK HEART!”

“SINNER! LIAR!”

The mouths screamed and cursed and screamed.

“WHAT WILL HE THINK OF YOU, XIAN LE? SEEING YOU AT YOUR WORST?” Jun Wu shouted, trying to make himself heard above the chorus. “Your dear teacher saw me at my worst and fled, fled for twelve hundred years, acted like we’d never known each other! Acted like we never meant a thing to each other! That’s our fate, Xian Le, that’s what happens to us! Abandoned and forgotten, until we force them to remember!”

Xie Lian cradled Hua Cheng’s tiny, bloodied body, fully ready to defend him with his very life.

“You’re a monster who ruins lives,” Xie Lian spat. “Of course no one would want to stay with you.”

Jun Wu laughed, and laughed, getting louder and louder by the second.

“I’m the monster? I’m the monster that ruins lives?” he asked. “Have you told your sweet Crimson Rain about your tenure as a Supreme-to-be?”

With a wave of his hand, Jun Wu conjured another puppet:

A puppet of a young man, clad in black, with a smiling white mask.

Xie Lian froze in place. He could barely hear anything over the hammering of his heart.

“Go ahead, Xian Le,” Jun Wu said. “Treat him as you did. Call him worthless, call him useless, crush his offerings under your heel. Offer him your hand to kiss and then use it to strike him across the cheek. Order him to sacrifice himself to atone for your own sins. This is the great god you worship, Crimson Rain.”

Here he was, standing before him. The reminder that he was a failure in all things: a failure as a god, a failure as a demon, a failure as a decent human being. Here he was, standing before him, the truth of what he really was; laid plain before Hua Cheng.

The jig was up. It was finally over, and it was just as painful as Xie Lian feared.

Perhaps Hua Cheng would hate him less if he was forthcoming with an explanation. It was worth a shot. Xie Lian squeezed his eyes shut, took a shaky breath, and began to explain.

“San Lang…back then, after Xian Le fell, I…I was so hateful and bent on revenge, and I made a pact with a ghost—”

“I was…taller…than that…”

Hua Cheng’s voice was more resonant, now; richer. Xie Lian looked down. Hua Cheng, human and handsome as could be, smiled up at him. Smiled like…

Smiled like…

With effort, Hua Cheng slid off Xie Lian’s lap and slowly made his way over to where the puppet of that nameless ghost stood; silent and motionless. Hua Cheng looked it over, critically, and plucked the mask from its face. There was nothing beneath it but blank blackness – of course Jun Wu did not know his face, for the ghost had never removed his mask, even for Xie Lian. Hua Cheng put the mask on his own face, and turned to show himself.

“I love you, no matter what,” Hua Cheng said. “Do you believe me?”

“San Lang,” Xie Lian said, wretchedly.

“I’m here,” he said.

“I’m so sorry for everything, back then. I didn’t deserve your love.”

“I love you, no matter what. God or demon, prince or pauper. Enshrined in the heavens, cast down into the dirt. ‘Deserving’ or not. The point of it is that it’s you.”

Hua Cheng went to his knees in front of Xie Lian, hand to his heart.

“I’ll say it as much as you need to hear it,” Hua Cheng said. “And then more, for my own pleasure. I love you, no matter what. Life into death and far beyond.”

Xie Lian flung his arms around Hua Cheng, dragging him in for a kiss.

Jun Wu was not the type to allow these interludes.

“Isn’t Xian Le lucky, to have such a faithful believer?”

Xie Lian drew back from Hua Cheng’s mouth, glared hatefully at the monster still lurking in their midst.

“Xian Le is so…dreadfully…horribly…lucky…” Jun Wu hissed, stumbling blindly forward. His face was still a jumbled mess of flesh; sporting eyes and mouths that were not his, arms that tore fresh wounds and tore at his eyes just as quickly as Jun Wu tried to heal himself. “Do you think…if I had a believer half as faithful, for all those lonely years…that things would have turned out like this?”

Xie Lian couldn’t answer. Jun Wu laughed quietly at the silence.

“Ah, but you wouldn’t be able to relate. I suppose we aren’t quite as similar as I once thought.”

Jun Wu stumbled into the dining table, adding bruised shins to his list of injuries. He toppled to the ground, and lay there, still; allowing the wretched carbuncles to tear at his face.

There was a great and terrible silence.

“I’m so tired, Xian Le…it’s been a very long night. Your host needs to rest a while. Can I trouble you to adjourn to your Puji Shrine?”

It almost seemed too good to be true. Xie Lian cautiously rose to his feet, helping Hua Cheng up in the process. Jun Wu twitched his fingers against the floor, and a door appeared; inlaid into a previously-blank stretch of wall. The door opened to show the streets of the heavenly capital; being cleared of Jun Wu’s supporters by an army of sentient farm produce in war armor. They saw the Rainmaster pass, atop her ox, with Ling Wen hogtied behind her.

Xie Lian turned to look briefly back at Jun Wu. Once his idol, once a mentor, once someone who cared.

“I won’t be coming back,” Xie Lian said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Jun Wu said. “I don’t think I was a very gracious host today. Farewell, Xian Le.”

Before he turned to leave, Xie Lian gestured at the silent figure standing over Jun Wu’s prone body.

Head Priest? he mouthed silently at him. Come on. I don’t think he knows you’re here.

Mei Nian Qing smiled faintly. The mask was off his face, now; set carefully on the dining table. The remnants of the stitching were still visible on his skin.

He saluted Xie Lian.

Farewell, he mouthed back.  

“Your highness,” murmured Hua Cheng.

Xie Lian nodded, and returned his teacher’s salute. With that, he walked out the door with Hua Cheng in tow. The moment they set foot outside, the palace door clicked shut with an air of finality.

When they looked back, it was gone – gone, as if it had never existed at all.

 --

 Two thousand years ago, there was a kingdom known as Wuyong.

The kingdom had four treasures: beautiful women, music, riches, and its crown prince.

 “Your highness. I hope this teaches you to use puppet magic more cautiously. It’s very exhausting to one’s spiritual energy reserves, even for one like you.”

Mei Nian Qing touched his arm, just lightly enough to let him know where he was.

“…Nian Qing,” Jun Wu said. “I can’t see, so you’ll need to tell me. Crimson Rain was that ghost?”

“It seems so.”

Jun Wu snorted a brief laugh. “He was that street urchin, he was that soldier, he was that ghost fire, he was that ghost general…honestly, you’d need to be a fortune teller to predict such a thing.”

“Mmm.”

“And I haven’t had one of those by my side for years.”

“If you’d ever listened to my lectures, you would’ve been able to do it yourself.”

“Oh, for the clarity of hindsight.”

Heedless of the blood, the flailing limbs and spitting mouths, Mei Nian Qing reached to touch Jun Wu’s chin.

“Your highness,” Mei Nian Qing quietly said. “I think it’s time for us to rest. Both of us.”

Jun Wu covered Mei Nian Qing’s hand with his own, and tilted his head towards the warmth he felt, radiating from Mei Nian Qing’s thigh. He heaved a heavy sigh, and was then silent.

 --

 Four hundred years ago, there emerged a dazzling city in the realm of the ghosts.

The city had four treasures: freedom, riches, gourmet soup, and its beloved king.

 “San Lang,” Xie Lian said flatly.

“Her name is Porkbun,” Hua Cheng said, referring to the white pony that he had allowed onto their bed. “Does gege like his anniversary present?”

For the first time in their new life together, Xie Lian considered divorce.

[wickedlittlecritta]

Gonna steal the 17 questions and 17 fun facts from @edderkopper!!

Nickname: Steph

Sun sign: Sagittarius babyyyyyyyyy

Height: 5′3″-ish. A teacup human

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Last thing I googled: Heelys

Favorite musicians: Several! Fall Out Boy, Hozier, Florence + the Machine, and the Glitch Mob have been some of my favorite to see live.

Song stuck in my head: This one

Following: 220

Amount of sleep: 8 at least

Lucky number(s): 3

Dream job(s): Novelist. If it wasn’t so expensive I’d also love to go back to school, get an advanced art history degree, and then become an art restorer or something. Become an expert at some obscure bit of art history.

Wearing: When I started it was pajama pants, oversized t-shirt, and the sons of anarchy hoodie I found on the side of the road. Now I’m in my skeleton t-shirt, jeans, and my little brown combat boots.

Favorite songs: This is an impossible question, but I’ve loved this song since i was very small (and it’s probably a weird song for me to have liked as a child???)

Instruments played:  None! I own a tin whistle and a harmonica and have made attempts to teach myself both, but I’m not great at music and should probably take lessons sometime

Something that I’m not good at but thoroughly enjoy: Horseback riding!  I did it for ten years fairly intensively and sucked pretty badly even at my best, but it’s fun.

My favorite Halloween costume ever: I went as Dodger from Oliver and Company one year. 

My favorite myth of the god(s) I worship (if doesn’t apply, your favorite folk tale): I’m going to pick folk tale, because have y’all read Teague O’Kane and the Corpse? You should read Teague O’Kane and the Corpse. It’s festive.

Fun Facts!

1. I have never broken a bone, despite the fact that I have been thrown from a horse several times.

2. I am about to do nanowrimo for the fourth time!

3. I only like coffee if it’s iced. 

4. I think I know what I want my first tattoo to be but it’s BIG and I’m POOR. Also it’s a reference to one of my oc’s because of who I am as a person.

5. My mom actually bought me a pony when I was eleven. He decided he’d rather be her horse and he’s a spoiled old man now.

6. Despite living near the Canadian border my whole life, first near Quebec and now near Vancouver, I have never actually been to Canada.

7. I don’t drink because I’m very sensitive to the taste of alcohol and it tastes like cough syrup?? I hate it a lot. The only thing that I’ve tried that doesn’t taste disgusting are long island iced teas and Moscow mules, because apparently I like vodka??? Also these were sips of other people’s drinks and I’m the driver when we go out, so I’ve never had enough to see what my alcohol tolerance is like.

8. I am working on inheriting the good baking juju from the Leavitt family, because one of the cousins needs to get it and I already have the cookie recipe, I have a head start.

9. If I received a lot of money and had to spend it on something frivolous for myself I’d get a bespoke floral suit. Or a Subaru STI. Depending on how much money.

10. I have undiagnosed dyspraxia, and it’s most prominent going down stairs. I used to be real bad about doorways and would walk half into the door jamb.

11. I have a boating certificate for the state of New Hampshire. 

12. I like horror but I’m very particular about it, and tend to prefer short stories to novels, and I generally don’t like horror movies at all.

13. I call my preferred aesthetic “rococo daymare” but it’s not really related to the rococo period beyond being extra as fuck. It’s just maximialism with a pastel and gold veneer. A fondness for the handmade and the overdone and the tacky and the dramatic. Layers! Bold suits! Floral prints! Military jackets! Embroidery! A side of ethical hedonism! I’m going to make Oscar Wilde proud of me and lounge! 

14. You know that weird girl who was obsessed with horses in your fourth grade class? That was me. I grew up to be a weird car boy. I just like things that go.

15. I lost part of my hearing after an illness/fever when I was five-ish? It was after the critical language acquisition period, which means that I never had a problem with  pronouncing words, but it meant that being in a mainstream public school was challenging. I’m still salty that no one ever presented going to a Deaf school as an option for me. I could be fluent in ASL and part of the Deaf community, but NO!

16. I still have a little bit of a New England accent after three-ish years on the west coast, and it strengthens every time I have a phone call with my mom. I don’t think I’ll ever say certain words without an accent--does chowdah even really have an r in it?? Sounds fake.

17. Despite loving art I never took any art classes in high school because I strongly disliked the art teacher. I took woodshop instead and did a lot of intarsia pieces. I’d like to get a jigsaw if I ever own property with a garage or shed and do it again, I think.

Tag yourself if you want to play!!

[ladyramora]

Hello! (2nd) Father Headcanons for the elf husbandos - still worshipping your writing u writing god _(:3」z)_ In time for Valentione’s, your Harem AU story is one of my absolute favorites~ May I request that you continue it yet again? I know it may take some time to see, so how about some Valentione headcanons! How would the elf husbandos (& maybe Zenos too) celebrate, or how would they react to getting a card or chocolate from their favorite WoL?

Alphinaud

For him? Big blue eyes, blushing ears and cheeks. You sure know how to make a Leveilleur swoon. Embarrassed because you did it in front of all the Scions. Has something prepared for you, but isn’t in the valentione theme. As if he’d been planning to for a while.

Aymeric

That shocked open mouthed smile. The breathy laugh. Peeking at you through his lashes as he ducks his head. Of course he has something for you! He had hoped, of course. Did not dare expect anything in return. (Which why. He’s dazzling.)

Estinien

Achievement unlocked -You have flustered the Grumpy Azure Dragoon. Blushing and grumbling. Did not even realize what day it was. Did not have your gift because of this. What do you mean does he really have one? Of course he does! Tch! …Yeah, you still get your present.

Haurchefant

Ee! For him?? You shouldn’t have, teehee! Shows everyone. Everyone. Look! The Warrior of Light is his Valentione! You get an absolute hoard in return. There is no way for you to carry it all by yourself. Valentione level? Far too much.

Zenos

Ohh? For him? How very humorous. Fordola warns him it may be poisoned. Or booby trapped. Zenos doesn’t care. You probably won’t like what he sends you in return. Zenos does not know much about this frivolous holiday. Hearts, right? Flowers. Candy. Zenos can do that. Hearts.

[meaningfound-blog]

THEATER CLASS CHARACTER ANALYSIS:

Oftentimes I find that acting has many similarities to writing good characters, so I decided to create a characterization guide modeled after one used in my theater class. Fill this out with your character’s information. COPY, PASTE, AND REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG.

Original template found here:

( Cutting this post because it turned out SUPER long, so the whole thing is below the cut for those interested! )

Character name: Ego the Living Planet

Character age: Unknown even to Ego himself, but he’s been around for several millions of years. He typically takes on the physical appearance of a man in his early 30s or his 60s, depending on the timeline.

My character’s objective is: Ultimately, Ego’s goal is to find whatever meaning in his life that he’s constantly searching for. Everything that he finds never quite seems to live up with what he builds it up in his mind to be, so he’s always left with that empty feeling again and has to turn back to square one, back to finding his purpose again. At first, he believed it was to simply find life beyond his own, but when it turned out that life is imperfect and unpredictable, he grew disenchanted with the idea and created a new goal for himself: to interconnect all forms of life with himself. In his mind, only then could everything be truly as he wished it to be. His meaning, his objective, is to become one with the universe.

My character’s motivation is: Much as he hates to admit it, the thing that motivates Ego the most ( other than pure selfishness ) is how completely and utterly alone he feels in the universe. His first memories are of loneliness, floating in the vacuum of space without anyone to explain who he is or what he’s meant to do with the life that had been granted to him. He flaunts his power and thinks of himself as greater than those around him, and yet the idea of wielding that power all by himself intimidates him on some level. He’s always searching, always trying to convince himself that the companionship he’s denied himself for so long is nothing more than a distraction from his greater purpose. As long as he believes there’s a higher call in store for him, he doesn’t have to accept that loneliness.

My character’s obstacles are: Ego has come to view love as his greatest obstacle. His own growing feelings for the Earthen girl, Meredith Quill, as well as the familial connections he’s established by giving her a son, Peter, are emotional hindrances to him. As long as he continues to love her, he knows that he’ll never be able to go through with what he views as his greatest work; he’s given several chances to choose love over ruling alone, but in the end, he unfailingly chooses to serve his own selfish needs every time.

Their strategies are: First and foremost, emotional manipulation of the highest degree. Although Ego possesses incredible physical strength, he’s the sort that prefers to remain relatively neutral until someone strikes a nerve and makes him particularly angry. Rather than get his hands dirty, he knows how to dig deep to a person’s insecurities and use them against them. He makes a point of coming across as charming and friendly to build trust, and then when it suits him, abandons all pretense of kindness and acts in his own interest. 

The stakes are: For him, the biggest stake is losing his immortality and being “just like everybody else.” Throughout the years of his existence, he’s convinced himself that he’s special, above everyone else, and to lose that part of him would, in his mind, be the worst fate imaginable. Additionally, in order to achieve his goals, Ego was willing to sacrifice the only woman he ever truly loved, as well as her son; instead of seeing this as the selfish act that it truly was, he views it as the highest honor for both of them, a way for everything to come full-circle, in a way.

The outcome is: In the end, Ego dies for his own arrogance and self-centered choices. The plot he’d been trying to drive forward crumbled right before him, and just as he always feared, he became mortal, susceptible to harm just like everyone else.Not only this, but he loses whatever chance of being remembered by his son as a good or benevolent figure in his life that he ever might have had.

My character moves this way: Ego takes big, confident strides, walking heavily and taking up space. It’s not always an outright show of bravado so much as it is the fact that he’s lived alone all his life, with the exception of Mantis, and is generally more accustomed to using up as much room as he needs, rather than having to shrink for anyone else’s comfort.

My character’s voice sounds like: He speaks in a tenor-baritone range, with a tone that generally remains fairly even. His voice is naturally rough and a bit gravelly with age -- much smoother when he takes his younger form -- and carries with it the slightest southern twang, a leftover remnant from the time that he spent with Meredith Quill on Earth. The southern accent comes out more when he’s angry, as his voice naturally pitches itself slightly higher when he becomes indignant.

PERSONALITY: Mental and emotional characteristics: On the outside, he comes across as very friendly and quick-witted, if not the slightest bit introspective. Guarded, enigmatic, and often hesitant when it comes to approach the subject of emotions, Ego’s biggest shortcomings are that he simply doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings. In his mind, those things are typical of mortals, but for Celestials, they’re only weaknesses, nothing worthy of being trifled with. Why bother with love, especially, when in millions of years, none of it will matter? In spite of all this, he has a magnetic, larger-than-life personality, and tends to dominate most conversations.

Spiritual Belief: As a Celestial, Ego considers himself all-knowing, and believes in achieving true balance with the rest of the universe that expands around him. The truth is, though, he doesn’t know quite as much as he thinks, and there is much out there that he’s yet to discover. But he doesn’t adhere to any particular religious belief, other than perhaps a vain worship of himself.

Deepest Secret: Perhaps his deepest, darkest secret is that he actually did, at some point, fall in love with the girl from Earth -- and in the end, he did something terrible to her. The girl who taught him all the songs on the radio and looked at him like he hung the moon, who continued to love him even long after he’d afflicted her with a terrible illness and left her behind to suffer alone. Throughout the years, he learned to live with the guilt and convinced himself that he did what was right, removed himself of an obstacle that stood in the way, but as a younger man, it did haunt him.

Social Status: Material belongings and social status mean little to him, as he lives alone on a planet of his own creation. Very few know of Ego’s existence, and those who have met him generally regard him as a complete and utter asshole. This has earned him a reputation as something of a “vengeful god” figure among those who do know of him.

Level of Education: N/A

Family Upbringing: N/A

Hobbies: Though he doesn’t allow himself much free time, he enjoys anything that stimulates or challenges the mind, such as reading or chess. Tending to the floral life that grows on his planet is a relaxing pastime, as well, though he sometimes tends to get distracted and ends up creating new things entirely while he’s taking care of the old ones. His mind is constantly turning, so anything creative, especially art mediums, he loves.

Manner of Dress: As much as he likes to consider himself a godlike entity, he dresses a bit more humbly than his title might suggest. He’s a fan of golds, greens, and browns, and tends to be seen in leathers tough enough to act as protective clothing. Usually, he wears a sweeping dark green cape slung over his shoulder.

Any Other Details: You’ll never get him to admit it, but he still jams out to the music Meredith showed him once, despite his insistence that those are frivolous human things.

Tags, if you would like: Thanks to @worldoftheskeptic for tagging me! I’d like to tag @patient02, @ofst4rs, @ofeterniiity and whomever else would like to do this!

[ehyde]

What We Make (8/8)

Words: 2008 (this chapter) Characters: Yon-hi, Hiryuu, Shuten, Abi, Guen, Zeno, Ju-nam, Il, Yuhon, original characters Pairing: Yon-hi/Hiryuu Rating: in the end, it only increased to PG-13 with a fade-to-black Warnings: Some might consider it age-difference shipping on account of time travel weirdness. Both characters are adults when any romance occurs. Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, ao3 link  

For Yon-hi, a young priest in training, the discovery that Hiryuu Castle contains gateways to the past leads to new friends, startling revelations, and eventually, something more.

Chapter 8: Five

She’s not going back. Not after that. But Yon-hi finds herself in Hiryuu’s mausoleum often, drawn to the memory of what she knows can never be. The palace staff and all the court leave her alone here, so although the gods give her no more peace than anywhere else in the palace, at least there is no one who will accidentally hear their words. It may be strange to mourn a man two thousand years dead, but she does, bringing flowers to lay on the cold stone. He was dead before she ever met him, and she never mourned, and she knows this is for her, not him.

One day she stumbles, and the flowers she carries fall behind the great stone sarcophagus, white petals fluttering down into darkness. She bends down to pick them up and as she does, notices the stark difference. Centuries of dust have piled up, and the stone, never polished or cleaned, is worn and pitted. Of course. Only the public image has been cared for. She begins to brush dust and cobwebs away with her bare hands, not caring that the fine silk gown she wears will be ruined. This is it, she thinks as her fingers run along the old stone. This has always been the truth, this is—wait.

There shouldn’t be a seam in the stone here.

She traces the edges, brushes dust out of the cracks. Her scattered flowers lay forgotten on the floor. The sarcophagus is made from solid, thick slabs, and this piece is barely bigger than the span of her hand. There’s no reason for it to be separate, unless—

The small stone panel is wedged tight, but Yon-hi manages to pry it free with help from a pin from her hair, revealing a small open space carved in the great stone slab. A secret compartment. Her fingers search in the darkness until they find a metal box and slowly, she pulls it forward. The etched writing on the lid is half-gone, but she traces the neatly-illegible letters. Yon—

She gasps.

Gently, Yon-hi carries the box back into the dim light. Carefully pries the lid open, and gasps again. It’s full of papers. Letters. She reaches to unroll one and her heart sinks. Though she’s careful, oh so careful, the paper flakes apart at her touch, and any ink has long since faded into nothingness. The years have silenced all of Hiryuu’s words.

There is one more item besides the scrolls. A smaller wooden box, much better preserved than the paper. She opens it and almost laughs. Many times Hiryuu had regretted he could not give her gifts. He’d finally found a way, and the gift he chose—Yon-hi had always worn her hair loose and straight, often held back from her face with simply a spare brush or pen. How many times had Hiryuu playfully replaced that brush with a freshly plucked flower? This hairpin, its enameled flowers more finely made than anything of this era, its elegance untouched by the centuries, brings those memories back as fresh as the spring flowers themselves. But perhaps he recognized the impracticality of such a gift for a priestess, for nestled in the corner of the little wooden box is a far less ostentatious—but equally fine—golden cuff. Frivolous things, both—she looks with regret at the lost letters—but they have waited for two thousand years to deliver his final goodbye.

You can see him again! Abi’s words echo in her mind once more. Had his farewell survived the centuries—or had she never found it at all—she would not need to, but now—

Yon-hi places the box back in its secret hiding place and stands up. Walks deliberately past the place she knows the portal rests. Not this one. If she’s going to do this—and it really will be the last time—she’s going to do it right.

Yon-hi steps into a crisp autumn day, bright red and orange maple leaves twirling to the ground on either side of the walkway, and though it’s going to be goodbye, it feels like coming home. If she could stay—if she could stay, and never vanish back into the future—maybe it would be.

She takes her time, savors the feel of the place. The king and his dragons aren’t in the gardens, nor the library, nor that parlor where she first met them so long ago, but walking through the familiar halls without the gods echoing in her mind is pleasant. Calm. Finally, she steps back outside, heading toward the training ground.

“Coming through!.” A man brushes past her and Yon-hi, lost in thought, almost doesn’t look up.

“Shuten!” He spins back to face her. “Shuten, it's—”

“Yon-hi? You're dressed like a lady!” His spear clatters to the ground as he claps an arm around her shoulder, and she almost smiles. “I knew you'd come back! Couldn't stay away, heh?”

“This is the last time.”

Shuten pauses. “It's been a while.”

Yon-hi would guess he's in his late twenties. Younger than her, but older than when she said goodbye. “How long?”

“Well, you showed up a few months ago, but you were just a kid then. Two years.” A pause. “Longer for you, I guess.” Which is probably the most tactful Shuten's ever been. “But, Yon-hi,” Shuten goes on. “The king’s not here.”

No. Her face falls in dismay, and she immediately starts bargaining with herself. She said it would be the last time, but if she can’t see him, surely it doesn’t count—

“He rode out to the north with Abi,” says Shuten. “They should be back by nightfall.”

A glance at the sky tells her it's afternoon. “I'll still be here,” she says, to herself as much as to him. There were times when she had stayed for days. She’ll still be here.

“Yeah, you damn well better not make me the one who has to tell him he missed you!” He bends down to pick up his spear. “I gotta put this away, but I can wait with you, or—”

Yon-hi looks up at the sky again. There isn’t a cloud in sight. Back home, it was cold and gloomy. “Shuten, take me flying,” she says.

“Didn’t—didn’t we say that’d be too dangerous?” Shuten had always scoffed at the idea of danger before, and maybe he was right, maybe there was nothing to it. Though she always returned to the present in what seemed to be the same location as the past, she’d never found herself sharing space with walls or furniture, for all that the castle had been rebuilt. Maybe appearing in the sky had never been a danger.

But she doesn’t make those arguments to Shuten. She just lets out a long sigh, shakes her head, and says “I find I don’t really care.”

Shuten gives her a long stare. Maybe he finally takes in her unkempt hair, or the fact that her gown, fine as it is, is covered in dust and cobwebs. “Yeah, alright,” he says finally, resting his spear against a wall, then lifting her into his arms. “You’re a little bigger than the girls I like to hold, you know.”

“Surely you’ve carried Guen before…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” And then he jumps, touching down only for an instant on the castle roof before soaring into the sky. He doesn’t take her anywhere in particular, but the open sky before her, the thrill of falling only to rise again, is exactly the escape she wanted.

After what must be more than an hour, as the shadows below them deepen and the wind in her face grows colder, Shuten returns to the top of the castle. Yon-hi's hair has long since fallen free of its pins, and the wind atop the tower sends it streaming out behind her as they stand side by side, looking out to the north. Shuten must have sensed Abi’s approach, for soon, two figures on horseback appear. They're cloaked, and moving at only a walk, but one leans over to the other and speaks, pointing up in her direction. Then Hiryuu spurs his horse forward, his hood hood falling back and his red hair blazing behind him like a banner as he races back to the castle. Races back to her.

She dines with Hiryuu and all four of his dragons that evening, but after, goes with Hiryuu alone. They stand together on the balcony outside his chamber, holding hands beneath the chill of the empty night sky. “Seven years,” Hiryuu says. “Your exile?”

“Was peaceful. Until it wasn’t.” Hiryuu doesn’t need to know the details of the high priest’s planned coup, but what she did to stop him— “I waited too long. I could have gone to the prince sooner, before Priest So-yun’s treason spread so deep. In the end—your temple lasted two thousand years. Until I came along. I’m sorry, Hiryuu.”

“Don’t be. A priesthood that serves neither the people nor the gods serves no purpose. I meant what I said.” Yon-hi breathes in sharply. Hiryuu’s words to her back then were spoken in the heat of passion, but he’s calm now, calm and deadly sincere. “I could—it’s too far ahead, but that history isn't written. If I knew what to change—” He looks up at the silent stars.

Yon-hi shakes her head. “A kingdom on constant guard against treachery wouldn’t be your Kouka. Besides,” she says. “Would I, in that future, ever meet you at all?” Hiryuu looks back at her, raising a hand to comb back Yon-hi’s hair—no flowers or hairpins this time, just the touch of his fingertips on her cheek. Yon-hi pushes his hand away. “The gods wanted it,” she says. “They never spoke a word to guide the kingdom while the temple stood, but now—did they only ever want blind worship?” But it’s more than that. Something changed, or something will change, there is a reason why the gods wish, now, for the temple to hold such power, a prophecy Yon-hi could reach if she tried. A prophecy she does not care to touch. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “But had I known that before, my choice would be the same. I came to see you again,” she says, “but you need to know that I have turned against the gods, truly.”

She waits for his reaction. The one she expects doesn’t come. Instead, he takes both of her shoulders, pulling her back to face him. “Yon-hi,” he says. “I made that choice long ago. Have you forgotten I am human?”

“I—” Yon-hi is abruptly aware of just how human Hiryuu is as she gazes into his violet eyes and the memories wash over her. She kisses him then, and for a moment, it’s as if no time has passed at all. Only a moment, because the truth is better: that after everything, they both still feel the same. He draws her back from the balcony, leading her inside, all the while holding her close. His hands play through her hair again and this time she lets them, lets them trace down the curve of her back and catch at her gown, and she finds that her hands, too, have strayed, working their way under the layers of his robes to feel the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yon-hi, I—”

She steps back, shrugging off the outer layer of her gown. “I missed you,” she says. “I missed everything about you. Hiryuu—”

“This was supposed to be goodbye,” she says, later, her head resting on his chest.

“...mm.” He knew. Yon-hi supposes it was obvious. “You have your own life, a new one. I want you to live it.” She hasn’t even told him she is married, the piece of her new life she understands the least. She owes him that—but not now. In the morning, if she is still here—

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says instead. “I could come back.”

“You could. I hope, someday...”

She falls asleep at his side, knowing not which dawn will greet her.

[shaydh]

I don't know if you have been asked this question before about Valdir but what are his thoughts on Lolth and the widespread worship of her by his fellow Drow? I'm curious to know about his opinion of the Spider Queen.

Sorry for the late answer!! And no one has asked me this before, so thank you!While he lived in Ched Nasad, Valdir didn't have an opinion about Lolth since he didn't know any other way. Lolth is kind of an absolute truth; saying that you don't like Lolth is kind of like saying you don't like the fact that gravity is keeping you on the ground, except it's more likely to get you killed.After spending some time on the Surface, reading Candlekeep's books and talking to Viconia about how faith works, he came to two conclusions.One: Lolth is brilliant because the way she's set up her worship among the drow gives her ultimate control over them and allows her to do exactly as she pleases. So much of their power comes from Lolth that drow society is completely dependent on her.Two: Lolth is abhorrent because she uses her followers as nothing more than puppets for her entertainment. It's not that Valdir thinks the drow deserve better, he doesn't have a problem with the idea of using people. He's just offended at the waste of potential. So many of Lolth's mandates are pointless and frivolous and designed to maintain the infighting and intrigue for Lolth's own amusement. Valdir believes if Lolth actually wanted to, she could have taken back the Surface by now.By the way, when Valdir first learned that he could become a god, he immediately wanted to because he'd been conditioned to seize any opportunity to gain power. Later on, he gets a vague notion that he wants to become one of the drow pantheon and eventually supplant Lolth. To him, none of the drow gods are using their followers to their full potential, instead miring them in dogma. Valdir thinks he can do better because he's arrogant like that.