#may edit things later

[viaetor]

#𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄: an essay on cosmic solitude, divine duty, ancient lullabies about never-ending mysteries and universe horrors wonders. inspired by the poem “𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖” by 𝘩. 𝑝. 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡, as follows: “the house was old, with tangled wings outthrown, / of which no one could ever half keep track, / and in a small room somewhat near the back / was an odd window sealed with ancient stone. / there, in a dream-plagued childhood, quite alone / i used to go, where night reigned vague and black; / parting the cobwebs with a curious lack / of fear, and with a wonder each time grown. // one later day i brought the masons there / to find what view my dim forbears had shunned, / but as they pierced the stone, a rush of air / burst from the alien voids that yawned beyond. / they fled – but i peered through and found unrolled / all the wild worlds of which my dreams had told.”

ㅤㅤonce upon a time, if time could flow for cosmic beings the same way as verses of the folk in bards’ mouths do, they were two in one. lai’methir, the magnum opus of the constellations; caelings, travellers, guardians. sword and shield, she and he. always together, never one without the other—almost as if they knew not how to exist separately. perhaps they truly didn’t, perhaps they certainly could yet they chose not to learn. regardless, such were things, and neither of them seemed discontent with being stuck to their hips—twins not because they came to be from the same stellar bosom, but due to the fact they were born in the exact planes of dimension, time-space-similarity. from their infancy as proto-stars to their most adventurous years, they’d waltz closely, reconnoitring the cosmos from tip to tip, always flying at the same pace, hands held, even if their eyes looked for different things.

ㅤㅤon the surface, they were very much one in the same, radiating absoluteness and power, carrying themselves with the same posture. but it’d only take a look deep into their shining eyes to know that they were not painted with the same hues of gold. that, however, was a secret they kept close to themselves, daring not to utter a word about it even amongst their kin. aether, the golden comet, would look for planets that held long histories to patiently unfold, fascinated even by the most broken ones. lumine, the silvery bloom, would observe the astros that were yet to be born or to wither, awed by the certainties of the laws of the universe. a crippling sense of dependency ran in their black-matter blood, inciting goosebumps on the rare occasions they lost each other during a fight. if one came to die, would so the other or would one of them get stronger by their loss? they’d rather not know. they didn't need to know. so together they always were.

ㅤㅤuntil things started to change.

ㅤㅤyou see, dear listener, the balance of the cosmos is a delicate one, meant not to be tainted by the hands of boorish gods and goddesses and their wavering greed. no. it asks for fortitude, tenacity, that is, it needs a celestial nature. therefore, for such a noble role, the universe tasks itself with giving birth to divine creatures of their own making—order-keepers, special caelings created by the astros to help enforce the heavenly principles of all worlds. that is what our dearest travellers of yore were meant to be, order-keepers caelings; executors of every command the ethereal forces whispered in their ears, saviours of cries that echoed through the vast blackness, devotees of the absolute holiness of glittering lights. from a powerful constellation they whence came, thus they were expected great things from, just as renowned soldiers are by ruthless generals.

ㅤㅤbut travelling through worlds, exploring and adventuring the complexity of life—that is a dangerous thing to do. you begin to learn, to wonder, to feel, to think, to question. and suddenly, the hand holding dimension-shattering sword prefers to touch the softness of a rose petal, to turn pages of a romantic book, to gently twirl a mortal’s strand of hair. that is, you begin to care. and that is a path you cannot easily walk away from.

ㅤㅤafter a few cycles on a void-forsaken planet, they had concluded little changes ought to be made to its ecosystem according to what the stars told them from the horizon. they never interfered with living beings’ spans directly on their volition, you see, it mattered if they spoke, barked or simply photosynthesized; it was not their direct jurisdiction unless the balance depended on it. more often than not, they’d simply alter mountains, and a planet’s core, and burn forbidden artefacts after immortalising them in their memories—simple order-keepers’ duties.

ㅤㅤalthough, this time, they were commanded to do something different—to shatter the planet’s core and kill a specific person. a youngling who would grow up to learn how to solve their homeland issues. it was an easy kill. they were far more used on slaying maddened beasts or cutting throats of far too arrogant deities. this was certainly... an odd change of pace, they thought. but they bore no complaints. how could they? they were each other’s witnesses, bearers of murderous weapons, cleaning each other of any filth that got stuck on their clothing. whatever grave sin that youngster was about to commit would be no more.

ㅤㅤwhile they finished wiping the world of any clues of their interference, aether found a brilliant gemstone in the youngling’s pocket. right next to it, was a paper with inking on top; a primitive representation of what he supposed was the tyke’s family. he crouched down, tilting his head as the mortal remains burned hot still on his cheek, taking the yellowish prism into his hand.

ㅤㅤgently rotating it, he could see all the colours of the universe through such a gem—the mixture of green and blue, just like the nebulae trails and clusters he and his sister would rest upon, the orange sounds that the stars made when they whispered them lullabies, the whitened pinks of their favourite quasars to play with, back when they were just a few hundred years old. he could see it all that he had lived, and all that he would still live. right there, on his palm. such a realisation was a strange one to him, poetics were never meant to be a part of his functionalities, after all. he found himself questioning if such a youngling had ever seen all those colours, if they, in their limited mortal eyes, could comprehend colours that didn’t yet exist in popular vocabulary. if they had lived them. and if yes, which ones? which didn’t they get a chance to experience? how about his family, the others of his kind? had they lived through such colours, the same ones he has? would they miss any tints of existence now that one of their own was gone? it was hard to say and it wasn’t as if he could get any answers from the remains on the floor. all that was left for him was to deduce using logic, but that was never his forte. he was still only a couple of thousand years old, after all, and all he needed to know was written by the stars.

ㅤㅤlumine never spoke a word during his reflections, even when she had her wings spread open, ready to depart back to the heaven above. she waited behind him, silently, like she always did. they never talked unless it was in extreme cases, their voices being strangers to each other’s senses for many years. aether didn’t need to look back to know what expression she was making—stoic, sovereign, sublime. just like always. nevertheless, he eventually did turn to face her, firmly holding the gemstone up as if that chunk was a revolutionary thing to be brought to the cosmos.

ㅤㅤhow many minutes, hours or days passed before she broke the silence, you ask? he does not remember, but eventually, she did, and that’s one of the reasons why we have this story. “i see nothing,” stated her dryly. much like him, she knew not how to wonder out loud, a warrior of the stars to her marrow, but what she truly wanted to state was an inquiry: why are you holding that?

ㅤㅤ“look closer. we can see ourselves.”

ㅤㅤ“‘tis not a mirror.”

ㅤㅤaether tilted his head, even if his face remained as expressionless as his companion. she was right. but couldn’t she see what he was seeing? then… turning the gemstone three degrees to the left so it would beam a gentle sandy glow, much like her blond hair and eyes, he continued: “‘tis you.”

ㅤㅤthis time, it was lumine who tilted her head, curious, even if she hadn’t unsummoned her weapon yet. she waited for something more, but nothing came. “a gemstone.” stated her, but this time, her tone lingered for a few more octaves than needed, a hint of hesitation with her own response.

ㅤㅤ“no, you.”

ㅤㅤ “it holds no weapon, it cannot be me.”

ㅤㅤif he knew what emotions are, he’d have furrowed his brow and called himself frustrated. but he didn’t. he remained silent and still for a while, until she spoke again:

ㅤㅤ“we’re done, then. let us fly back.”

ㅤㅤmore conscious eyes stared back at the infant they had just killed, resting there. the picture of their family that was previously next to the gemstone made him even more puzzled. was that gemstone a mere currency in this world, like coins were to some, or was it a personal treasure to that child just like that frivolous portrait? why else would they carry it in the same pocket? could people be treasures? he supposed, knowing how mortals and deities knew no bounds to their arrogance and cruelty sometimes. ah... could it be that they were different things, but equally as important? the gemstone ought to be a currency in this dried out planet, but perhaps the photo had a sentimental value. what was it that the mortals called? right, home. homes were meant to be important. home was a concept that he heard about over and over again. a place you always returned to, somewhere you belonged, a warm haven—whatever those things meant. according to many, every being had one.

ㅤㅤ“brother.” he remembers to this day, she didn’t call him by his name back then. not until they had…  well, that’s a story for another time.

ㅤㅤbut, just as freshly, he remembers this was his first question in his entire immortal life: “are we going home, to the astros?” heavy sandy eyelashes blinked far more than what a stoic face would allow, unsure of how to process. so he continued as he raised himself from the ground, gemstone still beaming through his gloves. “do we have a home?”

ㅤㅤshe looked down, pupils focused nowhere in particular. she wasn’t made for this; neither of them was. not this kind of wondering, at least. they were meant to do things as expressly told by the stars, like the obedient children that they were raised to be. but she closed her eyes, almost as if she hoped to not be perceived by the stars above—if she understood emotions, she’d say she was afraid of being judged and punished. but she didn’t understand anything of the sort, so she most certainly wasn’t.

ㅤㅤand so, she spoke again, at long last, while dissipating her galactic weapon and offering her bloody hand instead: “you have me.”

ㅤㅤand that was enough. to change their entire lives, to change the course of the universe. when their eyes met again, they weren’t the same. they knew the language of the stars, the idioms spoken by hundreds of galaxies and scriptures lost to time, but they were yet too young to know how to express the relief found in that question, in that answer. what mattered, however, was that their soon-to-be hearts knew. suddenly, the cosmos felt a bit less empty, a lot warmer, and they weren’t just one in separate bodies, but two individuals.

ㅤㅤso nothing came out of his mouth as a response to her statement, for it wasn’t necessary. joint by their hips since birth, they needed only to breathe to comprehend each other’s intentions and this fortunately was no exception. so instead of speaking, he took the gemstone with him in one hand, and his sister’s in his other, spreading his wings alongside hers. he promised wordlessly that he would take that jewel with him and show all the colours of the universe that that kid couldn’t experience —almost as an apology. to what, exactly, he’d still discover.

ㅤㅤbut within the cryptic depths of the universe, some of the elder stars knew that their obedient order-keepers would be blind followers no more. to wonder and wander by themselves was their first sin, their first break of the contract with the heavenly principles. and oh, how they would pay for it. it’d take a few eons for their transgression to burden them, but it would. for now, only the galaxies would bleed.

ㅤㅤas they flew together to nowhere in specific, thinking to themselves they’d simply wait for the next set of instructions and that nothing much had changed, aether felt something clutching in his stellar core, telling him to not look back to the planet they had just left.

ㅤㅤunfortunately, he did. he did. and oh, what a terrible mistake that was.

ㅤㅤhe learned that order-keepers are not there to follow an always righteous balance but to follow the whims of the oldest astros. for how else could he explain the monstrous black hole that blossomed from the pits of a nearby star, its abyssal tentacles embracing everything around it as the civilizations screamed loud enough for them to hear? he watched, horrified for the first time in his existence, how destructive the cosmos could be. what he could be. he knew now why the newly-born stars only whispered or shyly sung—they were ghosts too afraid of having their spirits burned again in the afterlife, for they dared to shine too bright when they weren’t meant to.

ㅤㅤand he? he was created to be one of their reapers. what a fancy name for a guardian.

ㅤㅤhe squeezed lumine’s hand tighter.

[spicycinnabun]

a continuation of fireflies 🔥🪰

~

“Gonna have to start calling you lightning bug,” Steve teased.

“Very funny.”

Eddie was about to shake them free when Steve reached out. Eddie almost flinched reflexively, but Steve only gently pushed his hair off his neck and shoulder, fingertips grazing Eddie’s skin. Eddie’s heart fluttered as the fireflies startled, scattering around them.

“Oh, look!” Steve laughed, tilting his head up to watch. His eyes shone in innocent wonder, his lips parted, and his hand relaxed, resting warmly against Eddie’s neck where Eddie’s pulse was now flying. Like his veins had grown wings and wanted to flap right out of his goddamn body.

Who exactly was the cute one here? Not Eddie. Steve was so adorable it was fucking stupid and—

Eddie surged forward and kissed him.

…He could’ve been so much smoother about it. He overshot and used too much force. Their lips didn’t line up properly, smashing together, but before Eddie could pull away in mortification, Steve made a small noise, surprised laughter this time, and grabbed Eddie’s waist so they didn’t fall backwards.

“Steady, Eddie,” he murmured, which was also so fucking dumb Eddie almost ugly snorted, but the way Steve said it made Eddie’s stomach swoop instead.

Then Steve kissed him, directed the angle of their mouths with a few fingers under Eddie’s chin like the smooth motherfucker he was, and suddenly, they were in perfect sync.

Eddie somehow ended up in Steve’s lap, straddling him with one knee on either side of his hips, cushioned by the soft plaid blanket. They’d gone from just kissing to making out. Playing it cool was nowhere in sight.

Eddie could taste the bitterness of beer and something sweet on Steve’s tongue—wildflower honey from the cookies Chrissy had brought. Steve kept laughing into his mouth, probably at Eddie’s eagerness. But every now and then he’d moan, too.

They pulled apart simultaneously to catch their breath, and between them, a tiny light flickered to life.

Steve’s eyes crossed and, finally, it was Eddie’s turn to laugh.

A firefly had landed on Steve’s nose.

[sleepinglionhearts]

New stickers! New stickers!

[u5an5]

spanish dub this, french dub that

why is no one talking about the fact that in polish dub Wade on their first meeting straight up asks him out for a date?

[lesbianrobin]

tina rowden

[cloudysarts]

this show would be good if literally everything about it was different

[floralcrematorium]

a gift for @hoasens !!

miss Vietnam was lovely to draw and I had so much fun art nouveau-ing her hair. i must do more!!!

Belarus | Belgium | Czechia | Hungary | Liechtenstein | Monaco | Seychelles | Taiwan | Ukraine | Vietnam

[sealrock]

01. steer

cw: graphics depictions of injury and death word court: 744 words

The droning blare of the car horn seeped into the darkness of his waking mind. Slowly, the boy registered intense, blooming pain throughout his body. His left eye, or what remained of it, was nothing more than an orifice for free-flowing blood, the sticky warmth caking onto his mangled, cold face.

His tongue was heavy, the taste of copper staining his teeth. A shard of glass, most likely from the windshield, flew directly at him during impact, his jerking frame landing sideways for the shard to strike him on the left side of his face, embedding itself within his young flesh. The boy could only cry out in pain the more he wiggled about, unable to free himself from this prison of metal and burning ceruleum.

It was freezing outside, the silent snowfall of the night drifting into the gaps of what was once the humble and somewhat rickety family car, a "fine piece of homemade Garlean steel," his father once quipped, meaning it was all he could afford on his meager salary. Where was he going… He couldn't remember. His nose picked up a scent of growing decay, and the boy realized he wasn't alone. In the dimly lit interior, thanks to the soft glow of blue flames from the engine, he could see silhouettes of his mother and father—their bodies frozen in place. His father, once a tall and proud man who loved to carry him atop his shoulders, lay wrapped around the steering wheel, his torso halfway through the windshield. The boy smelt the tinge of burning hair. His mother's crumpled body was stuck on the dashboard, her unbound russet locks stiff like she was.

Try as he might, the boy couldn't manage a single word that wasn't choked with pain. The right side door was busted, the lock jammed and he had not the strength to force it open. With great effort, he wriggled out of his seatbelt, not taking a moment to realize he was crawling on top of the bloodied corpse of his younger brother, the weight of his hand pressing into his pale face decorated with cuts and bruises. He looked as if he was sleeping, his dark hair tousled and spattered with blood.

His ears were ringing. His ears were bleeding. He couldn't breathe. His neck hurt. He was partially blind. He had no feeling in his legs. How long did he stay there unconscious? Why was he the only one to survive?

Falling out of the car door, the snow-covered ditch met his bruised hands first as he braced himself. Images flashed through his head then: panicked screams from his parents, the screech of the car tires as they braced for impact, the sight of the large oak tree in front of the headlights, and the explosion of glass and the sickening crunch of metal before he blacked out came rushing back to him.

On this desolate stretch of road, cloaked in darkness and blanketed in white, the boy could only stand there in shock, gripping onto his torn overcoat gifted to him by his mother as a lifeline. He caught a glimpse of his father's lacerated face, a snapshot of terror in his final moments. Eyes wide and unblinking, his jaw locked open in a perpetual scream, arms splayed atop the hood of the car. The boy couldn't look away. He wanted to. But he couldn't. Something compelled him to continue staring at the last remnants of his family, knowing that he'd never see them whole and hale again. No boy his age, just ten winters old, should witness this.

His ears picked up sounds from the main road, shuffling footsteps crunching the gravel above and the slam of car doors. Torches shone down on the wreckage, blinding his one good eye as he tried to gain his bearings. Shielding his face, he could only see outlines of bodies covered with insulated coats, the light obscuring their faces. One made his way down the ditch with little effort, and the boy could see he was a soldier. What would the military be doing out here?

Without warning, the man grabbed his arm and began leading him back to the others. Unable to form words, panicked shouts and whines fell from his mouth. He walked into the light, but it had no warmth. It wasn't gentle, it was harsh and judging. He came to fear the light since then, for all he experienced was pain.

[egregiousmeme-art]

Oh to be a little guy rotating in a grey void forever and ever and ever

[riamuverse]

If yall genuinely think the victim or media they enjoy/theme after is to blame for being groomed/abused and not the abuser/groomer then there's seriously some reflecting you need to do 😭

[ghoulodont]

Hemostatic Effect

Mushy May 2024 — first aid. Rain and Dewdrop run into each other before the show.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1.2k

Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows

Read below or on AO3

It’s just after soundcheck and backstage is teeming with activity. Crew and musicians alike scamper from place to place. Tools and equipment fill every available surface, electrical cords snake through the underbelly. It’s controlled chaos — just barely.

Rain lifts the neck of his bass, an entirely mechanical action, and pulls the strap off over his head, turning to place it on the rack behind him. He jumps in surprise when the motion is interrupted by an unexpected obstacle.

“What the fuck,” Dewdrop exclaims, apparently just as surprised. He’s stood directly between Rain and the guitar rack, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

At the same time, their voices overlapping, Rain gasps out, “Dew, I’m sorry!” He snatches his instrument away from the point of collision, holding it close to his chest.

They’re both frozen in place staring at each other, two equally startled creatures suddenly pulled out of their busy worlds. Dew’s brow is furrowed in mild confusion. A thick stripe of bright red blood emerges from his nose and streams down his face, pouring over the border of his upper lip and continuing toward his chin.

“Oh no,” Rain states dumbly.

Dew moves his hand to his mouth, brushing it inquisitively against his lips, and then pulls it back, his gaze dropping to the pads of his fingers, now coated in red. There’s a beat of stillness, a visible moment of mental gears turning, before he presses his hand tightly over his nose.

Rain leaps into motion, as if a switch has been flipped. He shoves his bass into the rack, heedless of the way the neck clatters in the slot, then grabs Dew by the arm and sets off in search of the nearest bathroom.

He can feel eyes on the two of them as they march through the curtain-lined, black painted wing and into the much brighter backstage hallway. He glances back, and Dew’s hand is still held to his face, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood. It oozes through his fingers and out from under his palm.

The hinges of the bathroom door squeal as Rain throws it open. He guides Dew up to the edge of the sink, a firm hand on his hip, and Dew leans forward over it, free hand braced against the side. One splattered blot of blood lands in the basin, then another, drops diving off of his chin down toward the porcelain below.

Rain grabs a handful of scratchy brown paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and presses them against the center of Dew’s face. Dew drags his hand out from underneath the crumpled wad of them and places it on top, continuing to apply pressure, smearing red across their tangle of fingers.

They stay like that for a long moment. Dew’s open-mouth breaths, fluttering the loose edges of the paper towels, are warm against Rain’s palm.

“I’ve got it,” Dew eventually mumbles, muffled by layers of paper and overlapping hands.

Rain eases his pressure on Dew’s nose, but doesn’t pull away completely, his fingers ghosting over Dew’s like he might need to step in at a moment’s notice.

“I’ve got it,” Dew repeats, a little louder this time, more forceful.

Rain drops his hand to his side. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Dew shakes his head. He leans forward over the sink a little further. A lingering drop of blood falls from his chin, knocked loose by the motion.

“I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t see you,” Rain frets. “I’m sorry.”

Dew shakes his head again. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dew doesn’t answer. Instead, he carefully pulls his handful of paper towels from his face, head still tipped over the sink. When the flow of blood doesn’t continue, no further sanguine drops joining the ones already oozing toward the drain, he stands upright. He brushes his hair away from his face, his one free hand dragging over the top of his head.

Rain releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He makes eye contact with Dew through the mirror. With blood smeared all across the bottom half of his face, below his nose, around his mouth, over his chin, he looks like a lion that’s been feeding on a fresh carcass.

He grins, just briefly, the lion showing its fangs, when he sees Rain’s concerned expression, eyebrows raised in worry, in regret. He turns and throws the bloodied paper towels in the trash — probably a biohazard, but this dingy bathroom has no doubt seen worse. He looks up at Rain directly, outside of the reflection.

“I’m really sorry,” Rain can’t help but repeat. He raises both hands and cups them around Dew’s bloodstained face.

Dew’s expression, his response — a small, knowing smirk, a slight raise of his eyebrows — begs a question. It feels more like Rain is the lion, now, and Dew is his prey, bloodied and enticing.

Rain leans in and brushes his lips over Dew’s. The rusted smell that fills the room is so much stronger here, so near to the source. Pressing their lips closer, he can taste it, sharp salt and metal, the juice of some aromatic fruit that he wants to devour.

But when he feels the press of Dew’s nose against his cheek, a little spark of fear jolts through his chest. He pulls himself back slightly, to the side, avoiding, places a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs into his skin.

“You won’t,” Dew assures.

Rain kisses him the way he wants to, with the intent to consume. The inside of Dew’s mouth is permeated with the same taste, more intense, closer, echoing in the cavern of airway in a way that feels obscene.

When Dew breaks away with a gasping inhale, Rain presses kisses against his jaw, lips parted to taste stray red smudges. He bends further down, nose brushing against his neck, until he can drag his tongue slowly over the skin there, licking upwards, capturing a still-wet drip that had trickled halfway to his collarbone.

Dew exhales a quiet whine at the sensation, hands grasping at Rain’s shirt near his waist. He tips his head down, seeking out Rain’s lowered face, and Rain obliges, pulling him back into a kiss, as fervent as before, the taste of blood on both of their tongues.

A knock at the door interrupts them, rapid and loud. They both jump, mouths separating like they’ve been shocked.

Dew quickly turns on the sink and grabs a fresh paper towel, falling into a charade of someone cleaning up their own blood. He splashes a little water on his face and dabs lightly at the ghost of a red rivulet, an outline where the blood closest to the edge had dried first, with no real urgency.

They share one more moment through the mirror, one more knowing glance, before Rain turns, takes a steadying breath, and opens the door.

[guqin-and-flute]

Are You Here to Stop Me? –Ch. 7 [Peony to Lotus!Verse, Yaoli]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5][Chapter 6] [First post in Peony to Lotus Verse]

[Ao3 Series]

[CW: Mention of blood, canon and era typical internalized ableism and misogyny from Yanli]

"You're sure you don't need me to get your parasol, furen?" 

Yanli opened her eyes to the buttery autumn sun and smiled up at her maid, who hovered by her elbow like a nervous bird. "A-Si, I’m fine--” she began to insist, gently.

But the girl was already spinning, hurrying away up the garden path and calling back over her shoulder; “I’d better get it, just in case! I’ll be right back!” 

With a sigh of fond surrender, Yanli settled back into her heavily cushioned chair, hands resting on her stomach. Nothing moved inside, yet, and it was no more round than it ever was, but there was life there. Wen Qing--Qing-mei, as she had begun to call her in the weeks they had spent so much time together--was certain of it.

Yanli was certain of it, now, as well. In the weeks following the diagnosis, she had felt the changes beginning, quite apart from her the recovery symptoms of lingering wet heaviness in her chest. There was the horrid nausea and sickness in the mornings, the aversion to foods she once loved, a craving for foods of a strange combination. Her belly didn’t look any different, but it certainly felt fuller. And she was so tired. Wen Qing had assured her and A-Yao that it was normal when she was recovering as well as metabolizing for 2.

And ever since the fact had “accidentally” gotten its way around to the rest of her family, as well as the Wen, the servants, and disciples, she was being treated as if she might trip and fall to pieces at any moment--treatment which she amiably bore. Even if it was excessive. Would such pampering really go on for 9 whole months? Her health had always been fragile but now, she hardly had a moment alone! 

“You’ve hardly grown at all, yet, and everyone is taking such good care of you,” she murmured down to her own belly, slowly rubbing it.

 She wasn’t certain exactly how news got out, as she and A-Yao had intended to wait the 3 customary months to announce the pregnancy--but somehow, everyone in Lotus Pier now knew. She might have suspected A-Xian, with his mischievous streak as wide as the lake, or A-Cheng, who was truly terrible at keeping any secret back from his face; but it just as well might have been given away by the fact that she couldn’t stop cradling her middle or the way that A-Yao’s doting attention on her had increased tenfold. 

Besides, A-Xian was far too preoccupied working himself ragged reviving poor Wen Ning, and A-Cheng too busy entrenched in the steps of that cutthroat political dance he must perform to gossip with anyone. It took all of their attention just to keep this whole affair afloat. 

She let out a sigh, watching her belly rise and fall with her breath, the tiny purple beads on her hanfu sparkling with every movement. They were all now in an uncomfortable stalemate—which, she supposed, was better than one of the alternatives, being outright war. From what she heard of the initial meeting, it had been tense and heavy, just barely above outright threats. Yanli was just as happy not to have been in any shape to go to Koi Tower and have to face anyone there. A-Cheng seemed incredibly stressed about the outcome, from what she had seen of him, and Yao seemed unhappy, but simply assured her that it was to be expected, assured them all that his father was keeping a wary eye on the other Sects. Jin Guangshan was too politically savvy, he said, to act purely from anger. They still had time to maneuver. And other meetings scheduled.

Even then, they had received plenty of correspondence of outrage, from rival and allied Sects alike—some even from their own people. They had not forgotten the pain of being occupied as a Supervisory Office. The wounds of the loss of all of those in the Lotus Pier compound were not even scarred over, yet, still red and furious. A-Yao was doing things behind the scenes to work on public opinion, but had once described it as carefully walking a tightrope. Yanli would agree, and secretly add that it felt as if it were one high in the air, above crashing waters and hungry mouths. The Jiang still held a strong standing in the jianghu, solid reputation held there equally by the legacy of their parents and A-Cheng's monumental success in the rebuilding of their Sect at his age.

But the children of the Jiang knew better than anyone, save perhaps the other Clans wiped out by the Qishan Wen, to never rely on that remaining true. They were not safe yet. There were miles yet to go, in this.

She wished she could be of more help, but she was still too weak to do much else besides be led about to bask in the shade, as she did now. Today was the first time in a long time she had felt well enough to consider reading, or perhaps embroidery. Maybe even cooking something simple, if she had help. And, in truth, there was not much she could do amidst the street gambler’s Shell Game they were attempting to pull with the Wen amidst the already complicated match of go they always played with the rest of the jianghu. 

And so, the leak of who told who about the pregnancy remained a mystery. It didn’t truly bother her; the excitement and congratulations, A-Yuan’s sweet, probing questions. She was just as relieved to be able to not have to keep a secret on top of the upwelling of emotions that swamped her daily. Elation. Terror. Anticipation. Pride. Anxiety. Satisfaction. And, of course, love.

Most of all love.

She had hardly been able to properly absorb what Wen Qing was saying that day, to express the elation and terror that coursed through her--and through A-Yao as well, if the shock in his pale face had been anything to go by--before Qing-mei had somehow herded him out of their room after A-yuan and closed the door firmly behind them. “Jiang-furen,” she had said, coming to sit on the edge of her bed. There was an edge of steel in her face and tone that was nowhere to be found in the gentle hands that folded around Yanli's own. “Please, speak freely. Tell me the truth. Is this what you want?”

Exhaustion had sapped into her bones, as wet and heavy as her breath. “Is…what?” she had trailed off, dizzy.

Wen Qing, seeing this, had first helped her settle back down flat onto her pillows. When the gnawing swirling in her gut and head had abated, slightly, Qing-mei continued, unflinchingly; “This pregnancy. If this isn't what you want, there are ways I can help you that no one will be able to detect. If you are being pressured by Jin Guangyao to--”

“What? A-Yao?“ Yanli had repeated on a laugh more of startlement than humor that had turned into a coughing fit. 

As it had squeezed her already sore middle, a strange, aware panic had suddenly overcome her--would coughing so hard hurt the pregnancy? She had curled around her stomach and tried to stifle them, with limited success. From now on, she would be housing another that would share in her discomforts. The thought was…unimaginable. 

When the coughing had finally passed, she had gasped, weakly, “Ah, oh no, no…this was planned, we both want to start…. I...we didn't expect...I'm just surprised, I suppose.”

The worried disbelief on Qing-mei’s face had made her close her eyes in weariness, praying for patience and words enough to convince her. She would not live through another well meaning woman trying to pry her marriage apart at the seams because they did not think he deserved her. How to explain to them a husband who laid every choice at her feet? How to properly convey just how safe she had been made to feel in her own marriage? The easiest love she had ever been gifted? “You have gotten the wrong impression, meimei, I'm delighted, I'm...I'm....” Going to have a baby. A baby! 

The thought had made her more lightheaded still, either with giddiness, terror, or a combination of the two, she hadn't quite been able to tell.

Even then, it had taken a significant amount of effort to convince her suspicious sister-in-law that, no, her husband was not impregnating her in some sneaky bid to solidify a place of power in their Clan; no, he did not scare, control, or force her; no, he had not been the one to somehow put the idea of transferring her own core to A-Xian into her head. That had been there a while all on its own.

It was still close enough to the failed conversations she had had with Madam Jin that she might have begun to feel the same helpless frustration, if Wen Qing hadn't subsided into a still suspicious acceptance of her wishes and the quickly growing whirlwind of shimmering excitement hadn’t begun swarming through her limbs as every time she said ‘my baby’ and ‘our child’, the future seemed that much more tangible.

And Qing-mei meant well, Yanli knew. Whatever she had seen in A-Yao in their time at the Scorching Sun Palace had clearly scared her deeply, and Yanli wasn't going to dismiss that. Her husband was cunning and clever, able to change faces with the ease of a passing cloud when he needed to. She had seen it herself and she could not, would not deny it. But she knew his heart, knew that he was also kind, sweet, gentle, and frightened--she loved him for all of it. That included the parts he regretted, the parts that Wen Qing hated. Yanli would never have anything to fear from him.

She could tell that Wen Qing still thought she was either helplessly hoodwinked or naive, but she seemed at least satisfied that Yanli wanted this for herself and her family and did not bring up the idea again. In fact, each new day she got to spend with the girl, she seemed to be a little more relaxed. At least she had far more color in her face and light in her eyes than when she had first laid eyes on her in that Lanling forest, looking as much like a corpse as her brother--just a walking one. Yet, even with the improvements to her health and mood, even after weeks, she and A-Cheng still circled each other warily. They practically fled the room whenever they saw that the other had entered. 

It might have been amusing if it weren’t so tragic. 

How did one matchmake a couple who was, effectively, already married? Yanli thought that she might be able to have some clue, seeing how her and A-Yao’s love had blossomed with care and time, but if the two wouldn’t even share the same air….It reminded her uncomfortably of their parents’ relationship; prickly silence and separate rooms across the Pier. It raised ugly gooseflesh down her back to think of A-Cheng resigning himself to be as miserable in marriage as they clearly had been. She might not have dared to think so as a child, but after her own delightful marriage, knowing what it could feel like…she wept for her parents and all that they had become. For what they both so clearly wanted but didn’t know how to get without sacrificing parts of themselves they refused to let go of, for better or worse.

A-Cheng and Qing-mei didn’t need to love each other. Yanli knew the seed of love was there, in her brother at least, knew that yearning look in his eye. She had seen him as a teenager eagerly waiting for her eye to turn to him--a warming Wen sun, not a burning one. Everything had become hopelessly tangled with rage and regret and duty and grief during the murder of their Clan and the war. But irreparably so? She hoped not. They didn’t need to love each other, but Yanli would have them at least comfortable in their living with each other. She would love to actually host a real wedding for them, one day, in private.

What little she could do for A-Cheng, she tried, probing him gently once in a while--when he had a spare moment to visit, which wasn’t often. She complimented the clothes he had admitted to ordering for Wen Qing; robes in a spectrum of rich plums, burgundies, and muted magentas--red the undertones of each. “Did she ask for those colors in particular?”

“No.” His whole affect always sagged, dulled whenever she gently probed him about his wife and he would stare at his hands.

“Did you choose them yourself, then?” 

“...Yes. I…Yes.”

She had been delighted to be surprised by this, though she shouldn’t have been--he had always been a smart dresser with a keen eye for color. Besides some of her Jiang shimei’s and the tailor, she had specifically sought his opinion on her own wedding outfit. He and A-Xian had been planning her entire wedding since they were 8, after all, he was bound to have opinions. And he certainly had--her wedding dress had had both of her brother’s stamps of approval.

Lately, when he came by, he was always well groomed, but could feel the stress humming through him and behind his tired eyes. He could act so prickly, she wondered if anyone was pestering him to make sure he slept well. If they would let themselves, she was sure a wife would be a perfect person to do so. Whenever Yanli tried, he would just say that she shouldn’t worry about him with everything going on with her, that he was sleeping fine, and would proceed to fuss over her instead.

“A-Cheng, what’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, jiejie.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetling.

“I don’t have the time to worry about pretending to be married, right now.”

“You could just try talking to her, you know. Just…start a conversation.”

His face scrunched up in a combination of self derision, confusion, and agony, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes. Waiting, she had stroked his hand where it lay balled up on her blanket, his knuckles a pale bite against the rich emerald and purple. “I wouldn’t know what to talk about,” he had finally said, shortly, his voice more of a mumble than the gruff dismissive tone she thought he might have been aiming for.

“You could ask her what she’s feeling, how she likes it here.”

“I don’t think I want to know.” He was staring down at her bedspread, bleakly, tight lines of worry between his brows.

When she had reached up to try to smooth them away, admonishing his doubt with a gentle, “A-Cheng--” he had caught her hand and pressed the backs of her knuckles against his cheek, eyes squeezed shut. After a sharp, indrawn breath, he had announced that he needed to go--and she needed to rest. There was nothing more she could say without making him flee faster.

What a mess all of this was.

Qing-mei was not much more of a help on that front. And Yanli was even less inclined to force her, poor girl--they didn’t have the history and she didn’t want to trap her. Every time she brought up A-Cheng or their marriage or what she felt about the whole relationship, she clammed up and grew solemn. “I’m grateful to Jiang-zongzhu. To all of you,” was all she would ever say, regarding their arrangement.

 At least Yanli had finally convinced her to stop calling her Jiang-furen, insisting that if they were going to be sisters now, it only made sense. She had confided in the younger woman that she had never had a little sister before, that she was excited to have someone to call ‘meimei’. At that, quite apart from her unflappable, self assured doctorly attitude, Qing-mei had offered, shyly, that she had never been a little sister before and that she found the idea quite odd. This tacit acceptance of the role delighted Yanli beyond words.

Qing-mei had taken to visiting her long past the time she had finished checking and treating her, taking tea and meals in her room either A-Yao came back or Yanli would, embarrassingly. fall asleep mid sentence. They hadn’t been able to visit like this very often when she had sheltered them in Yiling--Wen Qing would be called away and there had been work to be done, healing A-Cheng. Now, though, they had time and privacy, and their conversations would wander both wide and deep, over being elder sisters to trouble-prone younger brothers, about their shared time in Yiling, their mothers, their favorite books. Qing-mei was very clearly reluctant to confide her worries in her, whether in not wanting to cause her further stress or simply due to her own innate reservation, and so their conversations rarely included fears or the far future. 

But, sometimes, she would talk about Wei Wuxian’s progress and Wen Ning. “I don’t know what I’m more afraid of,” she had whispered one evening as the sun set outside, stock still next to Yanli’s bed, staring at the screen that threw spindly shadows of willow’s fingers across like thrashing ropes. “The idea that he may never come back. Or that he might…and I don’t know what he will be.” She had turned her head then, her neck and spine braced bravely, but her large, sweet eyes shining with tears in the low lantern light. “Da-gu, he’s so cold,” she had choked, barely audible. 

When Yanli had sat forward and reached out her arms, there was no hesitation when Qing-mei huddled into them, shaking silently.

Yanli herself had not yet seen what was left of Qing-mei’s gentle brother since she had landed at Lotus Pier, barely conscious herself. It hurt her heart to remember the shy, earnest boy she had seen attempting to become invisible behind his sister, despite his standing several inches taller than her at the Cloud Recesses what felt like eons ago. She hardly knew a thing about him, and all she did was through Xianxian and Qing-mei’s eyes. Hopefully there was a future possible for them to get to know each other on their own terms. 

Though she wholeheartedly believed in Xianxian’s brilliance and dogged tenacity, she had to admit…a conscious fierce corpse had never been achieved before. And the work was hard and damaging. It had scared her when she had finally seen what A-Xian had looked like after a week of what was clearly just a diet of half forgotten food and resentful energy. She had found him in the family shrine just a few days ago, when it was too rainy to sit outside comfortably. The early autumn had been washing warm, wet storms over them almost daily, but often, they came and went within minutes and she would patiently await the sun beneath a tree and her parasol. That day, however, the day woke to rain, and it had stayed, churning the lake cloudy with disturbed particulates. 

Though she enjoyed a good walk in the rain, everyone--A-Yao, A-Cheng, He Si, Qing-mei, Liu-popo, her childhood doctor-- had cautioned against going out in it when she was still fragile, and so her maid had helped her shuffle slowly across shining walkways and summer-verdant ponds pebbled with raindrops, huddled together under a waxed parasol and cloak. When she saw a hunched, dark shape within, she had paused at the door, squinting into the incense and candle warmed gloom within. When she recognized the set of her brother’s shoulders, she had quietly dismissed He Si with a lift of her chin. 

A-Xian had looked up when she moved from the fresh, silvery air of the outside to the space of quietly splashing water and remembered prayers. Immediately, the comforting hiss and patter of rain receded even more when she slid the door shut, leaving them surrounded only by the pale darkness of the ornate lotus screen panels--a private little universe. When she turned, A-XIan was already there, helping her out of her cloak, taking the dripping parasol from her hand. “Shijie! Are you sure you should be up?” The shadows beneath his eyes were dark and he had missed a spot on his jaw shaving this morning.

“I don’t think staying in bed for the rest of my pregnancy would be good for me or my baby, A-XIan.” She had softened the already gentle jibe by brushing back the hair from his face and patting his cheek, feeling the prickle under her fingers. “Help me to the cushions?”

He, of course, did, supporting her elbow, his other hand wrapped protectively around her far shoulder. The scent that clung to him was sharp and unpleasant, wholly unlike the memories she associated with him. Long ago, she had buried her nose in the top of his little boy head, and would breathe in soap and sunshine and love--and now, as a man, he used to smell like the spices he liked to eat and something fresh. Now, he smelled like…danger, soot, blood. That alone would have unnerved her. But when they sat next to each other and her eyes adjusted, she could take in the whole of him.

“I know, I know, I look terrible. I look worse than I feel, don’t worry,” he waved off her eye’s widening with feigned ease, smiling.

He had lost weight quickly, leaving him hollow cheeked and wan. His hair was only hastily brushed, his topknot uneven, slightly lopsided, and his eyes were bloodshot. On his hands, cinnabar, soot, and old blood was smeared, half-heartedly wiped, then smeared again, darkening around his nails. “A-Xian,” she had intoned with enough force that he immediately sat up straight, sucking in his lips like a child caught out doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing. “After we talk, you’re going to take a bath and eat a full meal outside your room. Alright?”

“Really, I’m--” 

“A-Xian!” She had broken in, frowning, eyebrows drawn down. 

He hunkered down, pouting as he muttered, “Yes, Shijie.” Tilting doleful eyes and pushed out lip up at her, he then whined, “Shijieeee, don’t be mad at me. I’ll do better. Sorry if I’m smelly.” To illustrate this, he theatrically lifted up his sleeve to sniff it, then wrinkled his nose in real distaste. “Ugh. Alright, I get it.”

With a sigh, she had reached for his hands. He had seemed to wake to what was on them and scrubbed his palms on his thighs before taking them. “It’s not that, Xianxian, you know that. I’m worried about you. I’m worried about both of you.”

Apparently, he and A-Cheng had also been warily circling each other, like they did after most fights. Their spats, she had heard from a combination of A-Yao, He Si, and Qing-mei were more mundane and brotherly, now, weeks later--though they ended as often with eye rolling and secret smiles as hurt feelings and tight lipped silences. It had been bad right after their return, she had heard--A-Cheng storming around with a poisonous temper for days and A-Xian working on Wen Ning all hours of the day and night, refusing to leave his room. She hated that she had to hear about it second hand, that they visited her one at a time, that when she was able to emerge from her room, they were often away, doing what they could. She wasn’t around to soothe their rough edges from grinding against the other.

Qing-mei was with her the most, A-Yao a close second, when he wasn’t helping A-Cheng or something else that needed doing around the Pier. Xianxian had only come in a few times, sometimes too exhausted to do anything but drape himself over the edge of her bed and childishly request hair stroking, which she, of course, gave. Once, a day or two after she had discovered she was pregnant, apparently deciding that she was well enough for a scolding, he had come and very seriously told her to never even think about giving him her core again. “Aren’t you glad Wen Qing said no to that nonsense?” he had demanded, frowning at her in displeasure.

Yanli thought it was rich of him being so incensed about it, but she had let it go. “I wasn’t…I don’t remember doing it. It was the fever, I think.”

“Well, don’t even go thinking it!” he had said, fierceness belayed by him anxiously petting at her arm. “Put it out of your head! Alright?”

She thought about a great many things that she didn’t share with him. It wasn’t something she thought of…constantly. Or even very often. It was just something that had reared its head when she had learned of what A-Xian and Wen Qing had done. When he had sat before A-Cheng and herself with A-Yao by his side and tried to pretend it wasn’t the worst thing they had ever heard. She felt sick when she remembered it--sick for both her brothers. She couldn’t think about it too long, or….

But she was, indeed, glad that Qing-mei had stoutly refused her delirious babble. Her core, weak and pitiful as it was, was going to have to support her and this child through her pregnancy. At least it was finally good for something.

With a start, Yanli blinked out of her hazy, sunwarmed ruminations of the past few weeks and back into the garden, now shaded a brilliant blue from the after images her orange eyelids had left. She couldn’t have been dozing long, for she could hear footsteps returning back down the path. But something in the back of her mind perked up at their familiarity and the knowledge that it wasn’t He Si’s stride. Delighted, she levered herself back entirely upright in the chair and twisted around to see her husband emerging from around the dwarf maple whose leaf edges flirted with gold. “A-Yao!”

“I’ve brought you something, Jiang-furen,” he announced with a twinkle of humor in his dimples, presenting her favorite scalloped, lavender parasol, dotted with intricate plum blossoms on a branch. “He Si was very keen that you have it.”

She laughed and shook her head, reaching out to him for a greeting kiss, which he warmly bestowed on her. He smelled and tasted lovely, like he had been walking around out in the fresh air all day. “She frets so much. It couldn’t have anything to do with you fretting so much, could it? Is she coming back?”

“I dismissed her for other duties, as I assumed you might wish to spend time together.”

Delights up on delights! “Oh, always!”

He helped her up from her chair and walked pressed to her side, his arm sure and firm around her, his fingertips brushing her belly beneath her sleeve, out of sight from passing eyes. Oh, A-Yao; her beloved, tangled up A-Yao. 

Despite his calm outward face, was so clearly terrified by everything about this, including the prospect of not being by her side at every moment. He was constantly on the move, organizing and advising and assisting and whatever else his clever mind decided that they needed--but in between all this, he would appear anxiously at her side at all hours, asking what he could do, if He Si was attending to her properly, if she needed something. Come to think of it…perhaps she had better make sure her husband had no overt hand in her maid’s currently overly fretful state.

She was fairly certain he was more scared than she was about the prospect of becoming a parent, which was endearing, considering she was the one that would have to give birth and not him. He hid it quite admirably, even for him, buried underneath the more typical worry for her--and now, the baby’s--health. And he clearly planned to “burden” her with none of it. But she could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the way he held her.

When they had discovered she was with child, that night, he had asked to make love to her, and had done so exquisitely sweetly. Well, every time they had made love so far had been sweet, but that night, he had been even more tender, more warm and attentive than ever before. Every press of his skin had been gentle enough that she could barely feel where he began and she ended. Ever since then, he had been treating her as if she were made of precious glass. From him, her husband, she happily accepted the attention. The way that he doted on her never made her feel lessened, like he thought she was some incapable child or weak, silly girl. It only made her feel wanted and precious.

He had been appalled that he had let her go on the arduous trip to find Wei Wuxian, and when she had asked with her expression, smiling softly; Let me?, he had amended that he should have begged her to come back with him to Lotus Pier. She had had to remind her that she couldn’t have. A-Yao had simply sighed deeply and said that he knew. Running her hands over his jaw, where the yellow-brown ghosts of the bruises on his jaw from Zixun were finally no longer visible, she had said, “I’ll be careful now. And so should you, yes?”

He had kissed her slowly into sleep.

Now, together, they agreed to try some cooking in the smaller kitchen, so as not to get in the way of the cooks. It was the most activity than she had attempted in days, but there was no tremble to her hands and her muscles felt like actual muscles today, instead of some wet, quivering mud. Standing felt good instead of arduous. And she would never get her strength back if she lived in a chair for the next 9 months. This kitchen was more cluttered than the main one, and a little darker for the smaller windows, but by no means dirty--it also gave them the added benefit of privacy. It was because of this, she was certain, that A-Yao felt comfortable enough to press up behind her as she stood at the counter and sliced up figs. His arms rested comfortably about her waist, palms pressed to her belly and chin resting on her shoulder as he observed her work. Though his whole front pressed warmly against her back, there was no lascivious invitation in it, only closeness and trust. In public, he was not overtly performative with his affection; a supporting arm while walking here, laying a hand atop hers there. It was when they were alone he felt he could cautiously touch her more freely, as if the eyes of others made his love something lewd. Well…she supposed that might in fact be a concern for him. No matter. Whether a peck in private, a brush of her cheek in public and everything in between--and sometimes more--she adored it all. 

“I’m not going to fall over, A-Yao,” she teased. “I’ll let you know if I need to sit down.”

“Of course,” he answered easily, but did not move away, instead nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

Contended, she hummed and paused in her knife strokes, laying her cheek atop his shoulder. A golden glow, at once fierce and tender, had a permanent place in her chest nowadays. It had nothing to do with her fading illness and everything to do with this bright new future she had been gifted. She was so lucky. 

Outside the widow, across the courtyard, someone screamed. 

A-Yao spun her back from the window as the bright afternoon outside was split with a crash, an inhuman roar, and more screams, one right after the other. Yanli stumbled, pressed herself against the far wall, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. Icy gooseflesh cascaded over skin, her stomach knotted in fear. A-Yao, a dagger suddenly in hand, was peering out the window, motionless. She couldn’t see anything from her angle and the leaves outside, but the wild screaming, the roaring continued. The sound of running feet. “What is it?” she whispered, voice pressed thin. 

He only wordlessly shook his head, scanning back and forth. A tree stood in front of the window, she knew, obscuring most of the view of the outside. 

What on earth could it be? Lotus Pier was protected, there were talismans and wards and--

A-Cheng bellowed something, voice harsh with fear.

A-Cheng.

“A-Li, no--!” A-Yao’s shout followed her out the door, but she couldn’t stop.

Her brother was in trouble. I won’t be left behind again, I can’t, I can’t-- 

The courtyard stones flew beneath her feet, then the bridge and she could see, flashing into her mind like blinding light off of waves. A-Cheng, across the walkway, Sandu flashing in the sun, Zidian crackling. Still bellowing, pointing. Disciples running to him as quickly as the servants flooded away, wailing in terror. A towering black figure on the other side of the ornamental pond, wreathed in writhing smoke. It ripped out another unearthly snarl as it flung something big away from itself. A body, a person, flailing in midair, screaming. A snap as they crashed through a carved banister and landed in a sickening, motionless heap, a loose pink ribbon fluttering to earth behind them. “He Si!” 

A hand clamped on her arm as she started forward. A-Yao had caught up. “A-Li!”

“We can’t! A-Si!” She struggled forward, clutching his sleeve, dragging him along.

Shouts and screams bled into the pounding in her ears, pulse a frantic bird in her head that shrieked. She was only across the walkway, only a dozen steps away. Clangs, a thump, a grunt--oh gods! Then she heard A-Cheng’s voice still shouting orders--not him. A-Yao’s face was sharp and hard. His other hand rose to her shoulder. He was going to pick her up and carry her away, saw his thoughts written like script across his face and she couldn’t, she clutched at him and pleaded, “No, please! A-Yao, please, please!” They couldn’t just leave her here, bleeding, in danger!

His eyes darted, then his pull changed, urging her forward, running with her instead of pulling her back. Her movements were loose with fear, jerky and wild and she nearly fell up the steps onto the walkway. Blood covered the girl's face, pooling crimson rapidly onto the shining wood around her. They bent, dragging her back to get better purchase on her limp body. Her feet dragged pitifully. Yanli’s hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t close them around her arms properly. One still held the knife from the kitchen. She had forgotten she still had it. 

The girl wasn’t moving. A-Yao hefted her torso up in his arms, turned to her, opened his mouth--

A fresh wave of screams.

“Jiejie!” A-Cheng’s voice cracked from across the second bridge as she heard a shuffle of wind, a thump behind them and suddenly, the roots of her teeth ached, and that smell--the sharp, burning metal-blood smell that clung to A-Xian--flooded her.

Looking up, the sun blinded her for a split second before vicious smoke--resentful energy stung her eyes, flooded her throat--white hand filled her vision.  Then, something canoned into her side, knocking her away to sprawl away from He Si. Blood and sky spun around her. Battlefield gore, fear, death choked her throat. Gasping, coughing, she scrambled, to her hands and knees, head whirling. When she looked up, her entire body went ice cold and all she could hear in the world was screaming.

It was Wen Ning, black veins sprawling across his face, the empty white holes of his eyes fixed on who he now held by the throat. A-Yao, who had knocked her aside.

No!

Even though the foul resentful energy wreathing them both, her husband’s eyes were alight with more rage than fear, teeth bared. He had already buried his dagger hilt deep in Wen Ning’s chest, right in his heart. The fierce corpse vented another noise human throats should not be able to make and lifted A-Yao, like he was light as a rag, off his feet. Thrashing, choking, A-Yao brought up a leg to kick the dagger hilt deeper, another already in his other hand.

Wen Ning’s other hand shot out, latched around his wrist. Yanli felt the snap in her chest more than heard it. His dagger clanged to the ground. She could see those fingers closing further, like a vise, crushing. A-Yao made no sound--couldn’t, his throat was squeezed, he couldn’t--he couldn’t--

 Screaming--she was screaming, that noise was her--she stumbled up, forward, swinging the kitchen knife up to hack at Wen Ning’s arms, wrists, anything to free her husband. She was close enough that the writhing mist stung like nettles over her skin when something collided with her again, knocking her back from them, sending the knife clattering away from her grip. Qing-mei clung to her, dragged her back, shouting something into her ear. She fought against her, still screaming. He had A-Yao!

 It had been only moments since Wen Ning had landed behind them, but time was boiling, stretching, bursting around them. No no no no no--

Crackling, blinding purple wrapped around Wen Ning’s pale throat, pulled tight and he at least dropped A-Yao’s arm, snarling, clawing at it. Zidian. A-Cheng was there, yanking back on Zidian hard enough to bow Wen Ning’s spine back. But he still had A-Yao’s throat clenched in his grip, still held him up entirely as he kicked at him, hands locked on Wen Ning’s wrist.

“A-Ning, stop! Stop!” Wen Qing cried, arms still knotted around Yanli, still dragging her back as she struggled. 

The disciples clamored nearer, shouting, flinging talismans that sizzled into ash as soon as they met the corona of energy spilling from Wen Ning. Some were already limping, bleeding, and A-Cheng shouted at them to stay back. A piercing, chilling note shrieked above the clamor, freezing Wen Ning still as stone. 

A-Xian. 

Frantically, Yanli searched for him, found him pelting around the corner of the Banquet Hall, Chenqing at his lips. “Wei Wuxian!” A-Cheng roared over at him. “Make him stop!”

A-Xian was pale and wide eyed as his fingers flew over the black lacquer of his flute. He skidded to a halt to suck in a huge breath and trill a complicated, twisting melody that raised all the hairs on Yanli’s body. A shudder went through Wen Ning like a wave across the pond and he began to shake. A quiet, abrupt gasp broke from A-Yao’s lips, as if the fingers around his throat had loosened fractionally. But his face was almost blue, eyes rolling back--and black veins were snaking from under the fierce corpse’s palm. 

“A-YAO!”

In that instant of brief stillness, like a shadow, A-Cheng rose up from behind Wen Ning, Zidian pulled taut in his hand, Sandu raised--his face was dark as a thundercloud, death in his eyes. “Zongzhu!” Qing-mei’s gasped, “Husband, please! Don’t hurt him!”

A-Cheng’s hesitated, eyes flickered, his killing intent cracked. “A-Cheng!” Yanli shrieked, fighting and thrashing, throat raw.

She didn’t even know what she was begging him to do. All she knew was that A-Yao was now just twitching instead of kicking and she could not get free. 

A-Cheng’s face hardened as Chenqing’s tone shrilled up and down a haunting scale, and, with a huge heave, he wrenched Zidian back. The frozen Wen Ning toppled down sideways with the force of it, collapsing both he and A-Yao over into the ornamental lotus pond beside them with a splash. Yanli no longer had to break free of Wen Qing’s grip, for they were both racing to the pond as fast as they could.

 But A-Cheng slid in front of them, flinging out his arms to block them both with his chest as Chenqing’s notes cut off, A-Xian’s panicked voice instead yelling out a warning; Wen Ning reared up from the water behind him, roaring, thrashing, and splashing. 

A-Yao did not.

[piningpercussionist]

transfem scott getting lots of support from ramona and kim in the early 2000's when shit's very taboo but they all 3 have a fire forged bond and lord if they aren't going to make sure they're all as happy as they can be because they've come this far and I dunno it just makes me happy all three of them

YES YES YES

It makes me very happy as well,,

Like I've said before. General Trans Scott enthusiast here- I love the idea of their little support network *violent coughing* I (we?) mean polycule *violent coughing* so fucking much.

Ramona I think has a bit of a more gentle hand with reassuring Scott with gender issues, but sometimes she just can't help herself from some pointed banter or teasing- how could you with someone so dense? (Said w affection)

And then Kim I think is more blunt. But like, in a good way mostly, you know? The kinda blunt that makes you snap to attention and go "Oh. Yeah that was silly of me." And if Ramona's started some sort of banter? Kim is SO piling on. Maybe sometimes she's a bit TOO blunt with it- but it's only because she's so firm in her support. She wants Scott to Get It Together- and be happier for it. So if some ribbing now and again is in order, then goddamnit she will do so! Anything to crack that shell.

And ohhh can you imagine how they would react to some transphobic bullshit?? Unholy terror would be driven into the offender before they walk off with an absurd amount of coins between them. I can feel it in my bones. Scott doesn't even have to lift a finger (if the transphobe is even noticed/processed at all, bc I honestly can see Scott just. Not realizing someone's being transphobic.) Kim giving someone a lashing with her tongue as distraction and then Ramona coming in with the hammer- BAM! Free Money! Paying literally with your life for your transphobia. A Better And Just World.

And of course (transfem Scott more specifically, here,) the way Scott would start to flourish under their support... cagey and maybe a little (perhaps a lot-) resistant to start- but Kim's blunt affirmations and no nonsense attitude for bullshit (which is what Scott insisting on "being cis" would be, c'mon now,) and Ramona's also low bullshit tolerance but less Stabby (bc I won't lie, that's probably how Kim's comments would feel,) assurances? Ough... My Heart... Be Still-

I would Kill for them, Your Honor-

(Ran out of tags so putting this in the body of the post- I am SO tired someone pls sound off if this isn't as coherent as I am hoping this is. I WAS trying to nap and get the extra sleep I desperately needed but the writing bug... it Bit Me.... only a little but enough to stop that process-)

[sydmarch]

will start this post by saying I'd totally never argue with someone who does see evrart as just a completely corrupt mob boss who puts on a show of good intent to cover up for totally selfish motivations, bcus while I personally don't agree with this interpretation I DO think it's an entirely valid one to have. one of the fun things about him is there's no definitive answer & its totally up to your interpretation. with that being said I do think that take is honestly SOOO much less interesting than the alternative. it's easy to see a guy who does bad things and be like well obviously he's just a bad guy like at his core. it's easy to see a character who's willing to have someone assisinated (or at the very least be complicit in it if we assume edgar exists and it really WAS him who went to dros) to gain power, or push poor people out of their village for personal gain, and just leave it there with the assumption that the main goals behind these actions is JUST power and personal gain for the sake of power and personal gain. because of COURSE those are obviously factors. but isn't it soooo much more fun to consider a character who's willing to assisinate someone for the good of his community, because he has such a strong conviction that the only way to truly help that community is through guaranteeing he remains in a position of power and because of that conviction being willing to do WHATEVER it takes to achieve that goal? someone who's more than happy to profit personally from pushing everyone out of the village & developing the area but who is also genuinely outraged by the state of martinaise & the world that's been left to the district's children and believes that this is the only way to ensure these children can have a better life than he did growing up?? isn't it so much more fun to really ponder the motivations and the conflicts and how much of what he says is genuine vs how much is just mind games rather than just deciding he's a bad guy and leaving it at that? how can you see a character who has SO MUCH going on and not want to rotate him in your mind????

[deus-ex-mona]

let lipxlip sleepxsleep

Aizo: Great at dance performances due to his athleticism. The way his ponytail sways when he dances never fails to drive their Julieta wild!

Q: How would you say the phrase “Trick or Treat”?

Aizo: Trick or Treat… Give me some treats, or else I’m gonna play a trick on you.

[Argh! I tried to say it as cool as I could… but now I’m kinda embarrassed (laughs).]

Yujiro: A well-mannered boy who is especially good at singing. The way his dignified gaze peeks out from beneath his diagonally cut bangs is always sure to blow the reason out of their Julietas’ minds!

Q: How would you say the phrase “Trick or Treat”?

Yujiro: Trick or Treat! Will you give me treats? Or, perhaps, would you like me to play a trick on you?

[I’m so embarrassed… This is the first time that I’ve ever felt this embarrassed from saying “Trick or Treat” (blushes).]

Special Release! A Day in the Life of LIPxLIP

The super popular idols of LIPxLIP are High School students. Let’s take a look at a day’s schedule of these two exceptional student idols in this special release!

6am: Yujiro: Wakes up → Solo dance practice

7am: Aizo: Wakes up → Goes on a morning run

8am: They both go to school

8am-4pm: They attend classes at school

4pm: School ends → They head off for their lessons

5pm: Their lessons begin

6pm-10pm: Dance lessons, voice training, etc.

10pm: Their lessons end

10.30pm: They head home

11pm: They take their baths and review the scope of their upcoming interviews and such that are scheduled for the next day

12am: They go to bed

Yujiro x Aizo INTERVIEW

Their feelings for their Julieta always spurs them on

From the looks of your schedule, you guys are busy from the crack of dawn to late at dusk. How do you manage to cope with your school lives and your idol lives?

Aizo: Back when I first started High School, all I thought was “Ugh, school…”, but now, I’m thankful for the words of “You only have a single chance to enjoy your High School life.” that the President of our agency had said to us. Not gonna lie, it’s really hard to cope with school and our idol activities.

Yujiro: To be honest, when I first entered High School, there were times when I felt reluctant to go to school, thinking along the lines of “I’d much rather prioritise my work and lessons, so why do I have to go to school…?”. But now, I’m enjoying both school and our activities as LIPxLIP. I’m finding life to be very fulfilling at present. 

Aizo: I can’t cut corners in both my school life and our activities as LIPxLIP, so I’m always giving it my all! I was totally bushed the day after the sports festival, though (laughs).

Yujiro: I was able to work in top condition the next day… or so I’d like to say, but I was still a little tired myself. I almost nodded off during our break at work. Aizo fell asleep though (laughs).

Aizo: Hey! You can’t say stuff like that!

The two of you live very busy lives as LIPxLIP. But just what spurs you guys on to work as hard as you do?

Yujiro: We owe it all to the support that our Julieta have shown us.

Aizo: We really want our Julieta to see us at our coolest after all!

By the way, how has school been for you these days?

Aizo: We play basketball during our lunch break with our classmates, and it’s a ton of fun! We are also thinking about playing soccer next time.

Yujiro: I think my grades aren’t bad at all. I’m striving to cope with both my High School life and my idol activities, but I wouldn’t be able to say that I’m coping if my test scores were bad, right? So, I’m doing perfectly well in that regard!

As for your idol activities, you guys have released Shin Jidai, your first collaboration song with your seniors, Full Throttle4 (FT4). What was the recording process like?

Yujiro: I was very nervous before the recording session because it was a collaboration song. However, despite still being nervous during the actual recording, I was able to learn a lot from YUI and RIO. It may be an exaggeration to say this, but I watched and studied the way they recorded without blinking a single time.

Aizo: I’m with Yujiro on this. YUI’s carefree high notes, RIO’s skillful and persuasive singing, the way they were both able to respond to the producer’s directions immediately, and the fact that they were able to sing in all kinds of patterns made me think that they’re what we should strive to achieve. But YUI usually eats nothing but super spicy food, so how he’s even able to sing such high notes in such a relaxed manner remains a complete mystery (laughs).

Yujiro: Aizo, if YUI reads this article, he’d definitely get mad at you (laughs).

Aizo: We’ll have to cut that bit out, then (laughs).

We’ll write the article with care (laughs). Shin Jidai sure has a different vibe from your usual songs as LIPxLIP, doesn’t it?

Yujiro: Our collaboration song, Shin Jidai, has ambitious lyrics and a rock soundtrack, which aren’t often heard in our previous songs, so I think that we were able to show our Julieta a completely new side of us.

Aizo: Since our Julieta loved the song too, I want to sing more rock songs in the future. So look forward to it!

I have high expectations for your future songs! By the way, speaking of FT4, when you were guest performers at their concert, Full Throttle4 LIVE 2022 RECEPTION PARTY, back in July, Aizo imitated DAI and Yujiro imitated MEGU. How did you guys feel about it?

Aizo: I never expected that I’d have to impersonate DAI right there on stage…

Yujiro: I was extreeeeemely surprised!

Aizo: Though, didn’t we unexpectedly manage to nail our impressions? (laughs)

You guys nailed them! I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw it…

Aizo: Right? I’m glad to hear that. Yujiro’s impression of MEGU almost made me laugh too (laughs).

Yujiro: MEGU’s unique in a good way (laughs).

It has been announced that LIPxLIP will be performing live at Special Sunny Party, which is set to be held in October. Please give an enthusiastic message to your fans who are waiting for the live to take place.

Aizo: We’re giving it our all in our lessons so that we’ll be able to bring the best possible smiles to your faces, Julieta. Please look forward to it!

Yujiro: Like Aizo said, we’re attending our lessons diligently so that you’ll be able to see us at our coolest. So look forward to our performance in October!

How will LIPxLIP celebrate Halloween? A Themed Q&A

Q1: What tricks would you prank each other with?

Aizo: I’d give Yujiro a bitter beverage while pretending that it’s cocoa. He’s prolly gonna be in a bad mood for the entire day (laughs), but I’m confident that my prank will be a success.

Yujiro: I’d prank Aizo with a wake up surprise. Maybe I’d have him quietly carried out to the middle of our school’s schoolyard while he’s asleep and wake him up there. Or perhaps I’ll get the help of YUI from FT4 and have Aizo wake up to a flashy performance by YUI (laughs).

Q2: If you were to release a song or a music video centred around Halloween, what would it be like?

Aizo: I’d want to don a cape or something and act like a vampire! I’d put on some fangs too.

Yujiro: Vampires are nice, aren’t they? I’d like to star in a music video that tells the story about idols who are only active at night… but in truth, they happen to be vampires.

Aizo: They’d be super mysterious idols for sure cuz they don’t do any work during the day.

Yujiro: What are your thoughts on making a Halloween-exclusive music video about the day in the life of “Vampire Idols LIPxLIP”, which starts with us waking up in the evening and going to bed in the morning?

Aizo: Let’s discuss it with the Pres and our Manager back at the office (laughs).

Q3: Is there anything you’d like to dress up in?

Aizo: I’d like to wear a kimono. To be honest, I’m a little interested in kumadori, the style of makeup that’s used in Kabuki.

Yujiro: You are? I can help you to get dressed up in that. As for me… I’m interested in the makeup and outfits of the female models who walk down the runway. I find myself thinking about how cool they are when I see the way their high heels clack as they strut their stuff, so I’d like to experience it for myself.

Aizo: I guess they are… But I’m not confident in my ability to walk in heels (laughs).

Q4: What kinds of treats would you give each other?

Aizo: I’d give Yujiro a treat with such a great impact that it’ll leave him stunned in surprise. Like a brightly coloured cake from overseas, maybe? I know he loves sweets and that he has probably eaten all kinds of them, but I wanna venture out in search of sweets that he has never eaten before and is curious about!

Yujiro: Aizo’s not really one for sweets, so I’d look for treats that even someone like him can indulge in. Like something coffee-flavoured or infused with matcha, for instance.

[lupinshanshin]