#only to cultivate it into a garden in which he will one day marry this man

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

This is the start of something new

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[oh-hell-help-me]

July 27: Take Your Houseplants For A Walk Day

Before moving into the Koopa Kingdom’s castle, Luigi took pride in the garden he cultivated next to his and Mario’s little house.

Most of his plants were useful herbs and power ups, although his eclectic tastes have led to him getting miniature Piranha Plants (who were such good girls as they wanted pets more than anything), some Nippers (who kept the garden mosquito-free as he waited for them to mature), and other various plants he and his brother encountered.

And then he married Bowser.

One thing led to another, but Luigi held little regret in practically transplanting his whole garden into a climate controlled greenhouse- practically screaming to anyone who knew Luigi that he had every intention of staying.

And he did, spending many years adding to the collection with potted native species like Heart Plants (gifted to him by Mario after a year in the Koopa Kingdom) and Calm Volcano Lotuses (as a wedding gift from Peach).

However, unlike the species of his original garden, native plants had a particularity of needing to be exposed to regular high temperatures and annual additions of volcanic soot. Both are unfortunately (or fortunately for him) not found inside the castle.

So, Luigi decided to break out the old wheelbarrow and wheel each potted plant outside the castle walls, placing them near the local cinder cones every week.

It was a routine he did alone- until Roy took up an interest in gardening.

While definitely a bit of a muscle head, what with his enthusiasm for fighting, the Koopaling had been equally fascinated by the quieter activities of feeding, potting, watering, and pruning of plants.

When asked, Roy would insist that it was because of the native plants- how they tended to have their own violent spunk in order to survive their natural habitat.

But, in the moments where he and Luigi were enclosed in the Royal Greenhouse, his attention lay with the plainer vegetation- herbs, berry bushes, nut trees, and especially sunflowers.

Privately, Luigi thinks it’s because sunflowers are the only large plants that don’t try to eat people’s faces off, but he’s sure that there’s another reason as well.

Whatever it may be, Luigi is likely the first to notice how the other Koopalings started to poke around as well- usually taking the time to ‘bother’ Roy with questions about certain plants, maybe even asking to help (which usually consists of collecting fruits and nuts).

Still, he loved the way Roy lit up at each question. How his eyes sparkled with seldom-seen excitement, and how his grin was more relaxed than the sharp-toothed smiles he gave to opponents.

It was little things like that which had him and his husband watch the kids in silence, sharing looks of fondness as the kids got absorbed into their bubble in the garden.

It was the main reason that Luigi loved and prided in his garden, and the motivation which he drew on for days that were a bit more difficult.

It was what made him wonder if he ever could get any happier than in moments like this.

[loosingmoreletters]

Saw a post floating around about how a female Wei Wuxian probably wouldn’t be allowed to learn how to cultivate bc Gender Politics and Madam Yu so I wrote a couple lines.

Wei Ying is a passable cook only because Jiang Yanli loves to cook. Sect Leader Jiang had appointed Wei Ying as his daughter’s personal attendant. She’s rarely spent a day away from Jiang Yanli and between chores and Jiang Yanli’s passion, Wei Ying has figured out which tricks ensure a meal is well-prepared. Besides, what husband would want a wife incapable of cooking him a simple meal? And for years now, Wei Ying knows that she’ll have to find herself a good husband because Jiang Yanli would marry Jin Zixuan and the Jin would have no use for Wei Ying. Not that Madam Yu would’ve ever allowed Wei Ying to accompany her daughter, assuming Wei Ying would make a bid for Jin Zixuan as if she cared for the pompous man.

But it comes back to Jiang Yanli and her gentle hands teaching Wei Ying how to cut vegetables and steer the broth, the lessons ingrained in Wei Ying’s mind well-enough that she passes them on.

Wen Chao wants to feast for days.

They haven’t even buried or burned all the bodies, yet he wants to gorge himself on the Jiang riches and Jiang servants.

Jiang Yanli is in Meishan and Wei Ying returned to simple chores and the dress of a kitchen maid. She knows it saved her when she walks past bloodstains, clutching the hands of a boy eight years her junior, the shortest of his agemates, still without a sword. His disciple uniform is burned to ash in the kitchen where they hid him.

There are four more hidden among the staff, but this one is the youngest and Wei Ying’s responsibility.

“Thin slices,” she tells the boy, guides his shaking hands to the root. “You have to cut them into thin slices.”

“Jiejie,” the boy whispers. “Jiejie, is anyone—”

“Don’t speak of it,” Wei Ying replies, puts the vegetables into the broth.

Had she worn the hairpin Jiang Yanli gave her, she’d have a single dose of poison. Enough for a man like Wen Chao were he too drunk to manage his cultivation. At least, that’s what Wei Ying imagines, though she has no idea how low one’s cultivation has to be to be afflicted by poison. She thinks of gathering herbs from Jinzhu and Yinzhu’s garden as if it hadn’t burned.

“Jiejie?” The boy presents his lotus root and Wei Ying forces a smile.

“Well done, now taste the broth and tell me if it’s missing someone.”

The other sects wouldn’t let this assault on Lotus Pier stand. Someone will come for them and until then they just have to keep their heads down.

[asideoftrashplease]

xicheng marriage wip (ii)

I’ve been told that JC antis are complaining that “JC stans from twitter” are posting canon-verse xicheng in the canon jiang cheng tag, which I find puzzling because they seem to enjoy their JC deranged, unhinged, and coping badly with WWX’s death. Well, I TOO like my JC deranged, unhinged, and coping badly with WWX’s death!

Here’s a second snippet of my ✨xicheng marriage of convenience✨ WIP,  where the Lan elders try to void the wangxian marriage on basis of an old Confucian rule, stating that younger brothers cannot marry before older brothers — so JC offers himself up for a loveless marriage with LXC, and LXC (who is depressed and disillusioned after Guanyin Temple) agrees. DRAMA ensues.

---

The old banquet table at Carp Tower, Lan Xichen remembers suddenly, had been a work of art — a long mahogany piece, inlaid with intricate mother-of-pearl branches, gold leaves, and flowers of ruby and sapphire. At the head of the table, where the Sect Leader had always sat, an ivory carp had been exquisitely etched into the table, jumping into crashing waves, with a dragon rising from the waters behind it.

Lan Xichen remembers that table vividly, just as he remembers the fateful day he’d walked past the banquet hall, only to find it broken cleanly into two. Rubies and sapphires had littered the ground where they had come detached from the once magnificent structure, and the ivory head of the great dragon had been split right down the middle. The broken halves of the table laid on their sides in the center of the room like miserable, beached whales.

He had stopped there in his tracks, eyes widening.

“What happened here?!” he’d blurted out, appalled at the brazen destruction of one of Carp Tower’s most public treasures.

Beside him, Jin Guangyao had slowed to a halt. His eyes had followed Lan Xichen’s gaze to the ruined table, and then, he had laughed.

“What else?” he’d asked simply. “Jiang Wanyin did.”

A scorch mark had sat squarely in the middle of the crack, split into two halves. Put together, however, they made the rough shape of a fist.

Chuckling dryly, Jin Guangyao had gestured politely for Lan Xichen to continue walking. 

“As you know,” he had continued, “Lotus Pier has recently begun clamoring for joint custody of our A-Ling. Jiang Wanyin was here to discuss the terms of that custody.” 

He had laughed again.

“Though perhaps discuss is not the right word,” he admitted. “He demanded an even split, with A-Ling spending half the year with us, and half the year with them. We all thought it was preposterous, of course. A-Ling is a Jin, and the future head of Lanling Jin at that! When I took it upon myself to propose more appropriate terms, however...”

He had shot Lan Xichen a meaningful look, and then he had raised his fist, bringing it down sharply down onto an imaginary surface.

Then, he had smiled.

“And that,” he had said, “was what happened.”

Afterwards, they had left the wing to stroll through one of Carp Tower's many stone gardens.

"Two days ago," Jin Guangyao had continued, "his matchmaking date with Maiden Yan ended in catastrophe. It was disastrous enough that he's been blacklisted by all of the cultivation world's matchmakers, every last one. They've refused to match him with any more women, mainly because in the aftermath of his last meeting, a large portion of their clients have declined to meet him, under any circumstance."

That had surprised Lan Xichen. It had seemed impossible, had seemed beyond belief that the matchmakers would reject a client of such status.

"What happened at the meeting with Maiden Yan?" he had asked apprehensively.

"What else!" Jin Guangyao had cried, his frustration beginning to peak, even through his careful composure. "His legendary temper had gotten the better of him once again, of course." He chuckles. "He flew into an inexplicable rage after Maiden Yan praised him for successfully vanquishing the Yiling Patriarch, and sent her running with a lash of his whip."

"Drawing his weapon on a woman?!" Lan Xichen had exclaimed. "That’s bad even by his standards!"

"He did not just draw his weapon," Jin Guangyao had clarified. "He lashed her. Thankfully, it missed and hit the ground where she had been standing. That whip has slain men in a single blow. I do not wish to think of what would have happened if it had actually struck her."

"That’s—" Lan Xichen had begun, at a complete loss. "That's wholly unacceptable behavior. No wonder he's been blacklisted."

Jin Guangyao had barked out a laugh.

"He’s getting from bad to worse," he had declared. "If he does not reign himself in, we should all begin to fear for the future of the Jiang sect. With a temper like that, what woman would agree to marry him? Who could have the patience to love him?" He had shaken his head. "The Jiang bloodline will die with him if he doesn’t get his act together, and what a pity that would be."

"You never know," Lan Xichen had responded automatically, "perhaps he’ll eventually find someone to love— someone to calm and soothe him, to subdue his anger and bring him peace. There’s no person who’s truly unloveable, A-Yao."

Jin Guangyao had laughed.

"Oh, Er-ge!" he had cried. "You are the goodest man I know, but even you—?"

He had cut himself off with a sigh.

"Imagine being a woman," he had said. "Could you tolerate being married to a man like him? Could you love him, Er-ge? Could you?"

Lan Xichen had been silent for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he had finally admitted. “But I would try. Everyone deserves to be loved, A-Yao. Everyone deserves someone who will look at them, past the flaws, and see the most beautiful parts of their soul. No one is unredeemable. No one."

Jin Guangyao had not said anything for a long, long moment.

Then finally, he had turned his face up to Lan Xichen. There had been a smile on his face then, a smile Lan Xichen had not understood at the time. It had been the smile A-Yao had worn in his final moments, as he'd pushed Lan Xichen away, before he'd been snatched up by Nie Mingjue's fierce corpse, and summarily slaughtered.

“Every person who has done wrong,” he had whispered then, “would pray to be dear to a person like you.”

[deadqueernoldor]

"You know this can't be good," said Naltanare, idly poking at the cream cake in front of him.

Maglor nodded. He was very aware that Lilótie had never invited him like this – "Atya, ada is coming over for tea. Could you come, too, please?"

The mere presence of the words "could" and "please" had sent him straight to Síloriel, presenting the five most likely scenarios to soon be thrust upon him. Liló never used please with him if she did not want something. And she knew if she insinuated tea time, he would come without being asked.

Scenario 1: Liló didn't know what to get Meludir for their anniversary. It was a big one – the first century after marriage was always spent in rose-coloured glasses, and the 100th anniversary was nearly as lavish as the wedding itself had been.

After Siloriel had pointed out that they had attended Liló and Meludir's centennial anniversary half a decade ago, he discarded that thought after some grumbling about time passage.

Scenario 2: Liló was planning something concerning either Meludir, Lindir, or anyone else close to her husband.

It wouldnt be the first time Maglor and Naltanare conspired against the elleth's husband and kin to ensure that Lilótie's careful plan was executed to perfection.

Scenario 3: It was unlikely, but Maglor had briefly entertained the thought of Liló wanting her fathers' help building a smial. Maglor knew how to build the traditional hobbit homes, no matter the configuration, while Naltanare was mindful of just how to plan homes so they could be used without changes for many years to come.

But that idea, too, was discarded swiftly. Liló was happy in her little house with a wild garden she landscaped as she pleased.

Scenario 4: She truly wanted to do nothing more than spend time with her biological and adoptive father. They had all been busy – Maglor with Aduialon and Mirien hitting their adolescence and being hot-headed and sharp-tongued more days than not, Naltanare and Medeth helping re-cultivate a forest grove which had been thoroughly destroyed by a mallorn rotted by bark beetles and their larvae falling over, and Liló with many a landscaping project around their home and kin's homes.

Maglor had missed her, that much was clear.

But seeing as Meludir ambled inside, fidgeting with the sleeves of his good tunic, Maglor also disregarded that option.

"I am aware," he answered Naltanare, watching keenly as Meludir slid into the seat opposite them. Just as he sat, Liló came inside with a bright grin. She was happy, which calmed Maglor considerably. Her summoning both her father figures was not an attempt to soothe distress.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Liló," he asked.

Still smiling, she sat beside Meludir. Neither Naltanare nor Maglor missed the waver of her lips. "I- We ought to tell you something."

Scenario 5: The scenario. Most likely to happen considering the couple's age. Most likely to happen considering the interactions the two fathers had witnessed. Most likely to be the reason why Medeth had played secretive as she had ushered Naltanare away with a knowing glean in her eyes.

Scenario 5: Pregnancy.

It was not a notion either ellon had contemplated until this moment. Liló was young. Barely grown, never mind that she was around 1100 years of age. She was their baby. Her starting her own family beyond a husband was just too soon!

"Ah," managed Naltanare.

Liló shifted. "Naneth said I- we are well so far." Her cheeks reddened.

"I see."

"Do you... hum..."

Maglor rubbed his face. Naltanare was overwhelmed. Grand. Just grand. To be fair, she was his actual daughter and only child. Maglor had already had the faint panic of having a child marry and have children. While he had not been there with Elrond or Elros, he had still felt the joy and fretful urges of a grandparent when he had heard of their fatherhood.

And, he reasoned, he was several years older than Naltanare. If Maglor knew how to do anything, it was acting the elder.

"If you are asking if we understand the insinuation that you two will be expecting an elfling, yes, Liló, we understand perfectly fine."

Her cheeks reddened impossibly more. Maglor, too, faintly felt the blush creep up his neck. He had five children. He knew very well how elflings came to be, and that his daughter– he banished that thought as swiftly as it had come.

"Congratulations, you two," he said instead. Under the table, he kicked Naltanare to snap out of the surprise.

[rune-writes]

In the Garden of Everything

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Word Count: 1109

Rating: G

Pairing: Zack/Aerith

Summary: After years of hardships and predicaments, upon a paradise of flowers, Aerith and Zack find their peace.

Note: final chapter and entry written for @zerith-week. Day 7 Prompt: Floral Paradise / The Garden of Everything

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

The garden she had planted was now in full bloom. It’d started with a patch of dirt just outside their little cottage, which Zack had built for her. When he’d returned, he’d immediately dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him. There had been no hesitation when Aerith said yes. Happiness had burst out in an elated scream as she’d jumped into his arms and met him halfway in a passionate kiss. Next, he’d found her a little stretch of land far from the prying eyes of Midgar’s foremost electrical company. He wanted to free her from her cage, he’d said; though after everything they’d been through, Aerith doubted Shinra would still chase after her. It was there where he built her a little cottage, and it was there where, after diligently plowing the land year after year, the small patch of flowerbed she had planted now blossomed into the most beautiful and breathtaking garden she had ever seen. 

“You could make a whole park out of this,” Zack once said. 

Indeed, her garden was no mere flower garden one could find in any old backyard. With the help of Zack and all of their friends, Aerith had somehow gathered every kind of flower seed the Planet had to offer, and now it colored her entire yard in a plethora of pigments, shades, and scents. It was hard work taking care of each one and fulfilling all of their needs, but the land was rife with lifestream. What should have taken some twenty or more workers could be done by Aerith herself. With a flick of her hand, she could direct where the stream had to go. She would sometimes head to where attention was needed most (which was usually due to pests or weeds). The blooms rarely died or got ill. 

To be perfectly honest, Aerith thought the abundant lifestream was partly to blame at how vast her garden had spread. She’d only meant to build a small patch like the one she had at the sector 5 church, or perhaps the one she’d cultivated in front of Elmyra’s house. But one day when she got out of bed just as the sun hit the horizon, she saw the blossoms had reached the distant hills behind their house in dots of pink and yellow.

Aerith was making her way toward that said hill now. It overlooked the valley where her cottage stood. On the other side, the landscape opened to another stretch of plain that ended in a strip of sandy beach. Ocean as far as the eye could see spread before her. The waves were mostly tranquil, but once in a while, they would lap at each other, racing inland before retreating back. Some days, Aerith wondered how Zack had managed to find such a lovely spot. 

At the top of the hill stood an aged lone tree. Its trunk was wide; its thick, gnarled roots poked the earth in ways that provided hollows to sit or settle for an afternoon nap. There, she found Zack leaning against the trunk, dozing quietly. The dense boughs shielded him from the glare of the sun, and the soft breeze from the sea offered cool respite after a day’s work. The perfect place, as he liked to say. 

Aerith crouched before him, a smile playing across her lips. He didn’t stir when she called his name. She touched his face, brushed his bangs away from his eyes. He looked so peaceful. She hadn’t seen him like this for a very long time. In fact, she couldn’t quite remember when that was. When she tried to recall anything before the time Zack returned to Midgar, her memory was fragmented at best. She remembered their final call; she remembered the sleepless nights waiting for his return. A part of her thought he never did, but if that was true, then who was this sleeping before her? What were these—the garden and cottage and sky and ocean? A little girl was sleeping on the second floor of their house, with eyes as blue as his and hair as brown as hers. Was her daughter a lie too? 

Whenever Aerith tried to recall, the pit of her stomach would jolt, and an excruciating pain would shoot up her body, leaving her gasping for air. She’d always expected to find blood there only for her hand to come out clean. She’d asked Bugenhagen once, and the old sage only said to rest her mind. She was never satisfied with his answer, but if the simple wish to retread her memories brought forth such powerful rejection from her body, maybe there was merit in taking his advice. 

Zack stirred under her touch. He blinked back sleep, squinting against the light. When his bleary eyes found hers, he broke into a content smile.

“Good morning,” he said. 

Aerith chuckled under her breath. “Good afternoon, mister.”

“What time is it?”

“Just a little past three. Ifalna is still asleep.”

“Like father, like daughter, eh?” He reached up and cupped her cheek, bringing her face closer for a kiss. He smiled wider. “Now that’s a good way to wake someone up.”

“Oh you,” Aerith said with a playful swat at his chest. But she was smiling nonetheless. 

Zack looked at her. “Something on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your forehead has a tendency to wrinkle when you’re thinking of something difficult. Like, so.” He pressed a finger to her forehead, and instantly, Aerith found herself laughing. 

She rose to her feet and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Get up. Help me decide what to make for dinner.”

“But it’s still nice out, and it’s only three in the afternoon.” With a quick tug of his hand, Aerith’s knees buckled from under her and she tumbled onto his chest. Zack’s arms quickly circled around her. As he adjusted his position against the trunk and roots, Aerith soon found herself locked in his warm embrace. Zack sighed. “This is more like it.”

Looking up from her position, Aerith found Zack had already closed his eyes again, but the smirk on his face told her he wasn’t quite sleeping. She had a mind to tease him, but being in his arms with the cottage and garden on one side, and the sky and sea on the other—Aerith couldn’t help the blissfulness enveloping her heart. Soft salty wind caressed her cheek. She found herself staring at the blue-tinted sky where the sun was slowly making its way to the distant horizon.

Sighing in contentment, Aerith settled her head against the crook of his neck. 

It really was the perfect place indeed. 

~ END ~

[chaoticproductivity]

[Part 2]

It was only the second day of January when the letter arrived. 

Duke Hyuuga had always cultivated a long and courteous relationship with the neighbouring dukedom, the Uchiha, especially because both current dukes had attended college together.

Hinata remembered them, from when her mother was alive, because both duchesses had shared a season in the ton. Mikoto got married to Fugaku in her first season, but Hikari had to wait two to finally snatch Hiashi, who was doing business overseas.

They used to play together, Hinata and both the Uchiha boys, when she was still quite young. Itachi was much older and was sent to boarding school when Hinata was still a toddler, but Sasuke was only three years older than her, so they were able to spend a little more time together. Three summers, to be exact, from when she was 6 to 8.

She hadn't seen him in 15 years.

So yes, she could say that she really met him at the funeral.

Since Itachi was the heir, Sasuke had lived mostly unnoticed and didn't really have a reputation besides being the absent son of Lord Uchiha, always travelling to far away lands.

No one knew Itachi had poor health, not even the family, not even the wife! Itachi, apparently, had hid it too well.

"I-i-i..." The widow was inconsolable. "I-i ha-had... No..." Mikoto was beside her, also crying, but in a more restrained manner. "I had... N-no idea... He was even... Sick..." She was trying to justify her ignorance while gulping air and crying her eyes out. Poor thing.

The wake was held three days after the letter arrived and it was clear not many people had been invited. The Hyuugas, Marquis Jiraya and his adopted son, a few selected inferior Uchihas, no more than half a dozen of other important, close families.

Naruto passed Hinata, nodding politely, followed close by his pink haired wife. Neither of them gave any indication they remembered who Hinata was. 

Sasuke looked... Detached. It was known he and Naruto were close friends, having attended boarding school and college at the same time, then travelling together for a few years, but Sasuke had remained serious and stoic, cold even, when exchanging a few words with Naruto. He was polite when addressed, but Hinata noticed early on that people refrained from approaching him.

There weren't many flowers around, it was winter afterall, blossoms were hard to come by. The Hyuugas had a winter garden, therefore were able to send three vases to decorate the mourning hall, for which Mikoto was most grateful.

Sasuke helped carry the casket the short distance to the family burial ground. So did the duke. And Neji, to show respect. The widow had to be carried by the women, she simply could not stand on her own. The only good thing was that the snow had stopped falling. 

All in all, it was a quick affair.

When the people started to leave, Sasuke remained, a dark figure against the white and grey of the landscape. When she saw he was not walking back to the house, Hinata stopped. His shoulders were shaking, the telltale of crying. Hinata left him be, tragically beautiful, not senseless enough to pretend she could offer him any comfort.

A few days later, she learned Sasuke was still at the Uchiha property neighbouring the Hyuuga estate, because she saw him riding a black horse near the border of their properties while coming back to the mansion after an afternoon walk. He was riding too fast to make notice of her.

"Well, yes, he is to be duke now", her cousin explained when, at tea time, she told him of having seen Sasuke. "He can't just go travelling whenever he pleases, anymore. Now he is expected to attend to Itachi's duties and to get married."

"What about you, cousin?", asked Hanabi, coyly. Neji coughed, knowing what she meant. Where was his wife since he was also to be duke? Neji changed the subject.

The spare is how seconds sons are called. Collateral in case the first one doesn't make it. Hinata's father had really taken the short straw by having two daughters, but he was fond enough of his deceased twin brother's son, Neji, to be content with their predicament of the dukedom going to him instead. The Uchihas, particularly Fugaku, did not seem quite so glad that Sasuke was now the heir.

Hinata dragged Hanabi to have tea with them one afternoon mid January, that's how she learned the widow would now move in with the inlaws at the main estate. She was quite overcome with grief and Mikoto thought best not to leave her alone. At the same time, the duke was eager to go home, so they would do it in a couple days.

"Sasuke will stay behind to take care of Itachi's affairs a while longer." Mikoto turned to Hinata then, grabbing her hand. "Would you keep an eye on him for me, dear? Just to make sure he is in good health."

"Of course, Your Grace."

If Mikoto was any other mama, and if she had not just lost a son, Hinata would think she had other intentions with that request, but she knew better. The duchess saw Hinata as she was: a safe spinster.

The Uchihas left. 

Sasuke stayed behind, riding his horse through their fields. He was a creature of habit, Hinata noticed quickly. He would ride everyday, at the same time, except when the weather was unforgiving. 

At one of those evening rides, Hinata grabbed her own horse and went the opposite way, to his house. There she waited, under the gaze of curious servants, for she was an unmarried lady waiting for a bachelor, alone.

"What are you doing here?" Was the very rude question she was greeted with when he entered the drawing room where Hinata was waiting for him.

"Waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Your mother asked me to."

"What?"

Calmly, Hinata drank the last of her tea and stood up, grabbing a sugar cookie.

"Your mother worries, as mothers do." Hinata approached him, unfazed by the enraged dark stare. She looked him up and down a couple times, then, without warning or shilly-shallying, grabbed his arm, pinching it. 

"Have you gone mad?" He recoiled like an offended snake, flushing a little.

"Good, you seem to be in good health." Hinata gathered her coat and gloves that were draped over a side chair. "Good day, sir."

Hinata left a quite flabbergasted Sasuke behind, wondering what had just happened. How dare she... And alone... His mother? How? Why? When had she... What had just... Who she thought she was?

Sasuke was still trying to make sense of her when a note came the next day inviting him to dinner at the Hyuuga Manor. His first instinct was to decline, if not for the rather impressive encounter with the pearl eyed woman the day before. 

He barely remembered her from his childhood. They were playmates, briefly. He did not, however, remember her name. She was Miss Hyuuga, that much he knew, but what was her first name again? 

It was Neji who received him in the drawing room of Hyuuga Manor when the servant directed Sasuke to wait there.

"Uchiha, you came."

"Hyuuga", Sasuke answered as a greeting. He knew Neji from society. There were not that many dukes, after all. "Thank you for the invitation."

"My cousin insisted."

Sasuke nodded. He had not yet elaborated a full opinion regarding Miss Hyuuga and the previous day's encounter, but since she had been there alone, maybe Neji did not know about that particular excursion.

"Oh!" Sasuke turned to where a girl was standing, staring at him. He had not seen her before, but she looked the spitting image of the gentleman in the room with him. "Sister, he really came for dinner."

Not a second too late, Miss Hyuuga was standing beside the smaller girl in a beautiful light blue dress. Her hair was up with ribbons, a lace ribbon also around her neck, and long white gloves. Hanabi was dressed in a similar manner, and Sasuke realised even Neji looked ready for a ball at the ton. Sasuke, with his nice evening coat and simple cravat, felt suddenly underdressed.

"Yes, Hanabi", the woman smiled and prompted her sister to enter the room, nodding at Sasuke as a greeting when they were close enough. "He said so in his note."

"Good evening." Hiashi entered the room after his daughters.

"Lord Hyuuga", said Sasuke. 

"Uchiha", Hiashi also closed the distance. "We thought better to leave you be after your brother's passing, but feel free to come visit if you so please. You are welcome here. Itachi was always a kind neighbour."

Sasuke's expression did not change, for good or for bad.

"I thank you, sir.''

Hiashi seemed quite pleased with himself.

Before any of them could say anything else, a servant came to announce that dinner was served and it went by quickly and mostly silently. The food was exquisite, so Sasuke did not feel bad for focusing his attention on the plate. Afterwards, Hiashi retired upstairs right away, leaving the youngsters to socialise. Before, he would remain amongst the inebriated gentleman for whiskey and cigars while his Hikari had her own fun with the ladies. Now, he had Neji to chaperone his daughters when the need arises. 

"Uchiha", Neji approached passing Sasuke a glass with two finger's of an amber liquid. "Given the circumstances, will you be joining us this season?"

"It is going to be my first season", Hanabi piped in. "I convinced father that I needed more dancing lessons and was able to avoid being presented last year."

"You did need more dancing lessons." Neji commented as someone that had had his feet stomped on too many times. "And still do, for some rhythms."

"It is good enough." Hanabi retorted. "Sister has impeccable dancing and is still unmarried, which proves that dancing is not what a gentleman is really looking for in a wife."

The information caught Sasuke's attention. How come Hinata was unmarried and had gone to his house, had been alone with him so unceremoniously?

"It might be the thing a gentleman is looking for in you, Hanabi."

"Oh, please." Hanabi threw herself at the dessert plate. "Look at Hinata! I don't stand a chance of getting married if she received only 4 proposals after six seasons."

Hinata! Yes, that was her first name. The mention made him look at her. Hinata was uncomfortable, Sasuke could tell from the other side of the room. She faked well, looking out the window sipping her tea. 

"Yes", Sasuke finally answered Neji. "Given the circumstances, I might attend this year."

"Prepare yourself. You're going to be the talk of the season." Neji downed his drink. "And the highest prize for the plotting mamas."

Sasuke downed his drink too. Neji seemed like he knew what he was talking about, at least regarding that. Naruto had said something similar about the season when he was looking for a wife himself - the search was cut short because of his indiscretions with Sakura.

"That may be a good thing", Hinata said. "If you are looking for a suitable wife, you'll have the first pick."

"Indeed."

Sasuke approached the drinks tray on the other side of the room and decided to switch his liquor for some tea. He still had a ride home to take and the last thing he wanted was to fall from the horse and die in a muddy ditch. Fortunately for him, it was not snowing or raining. Unfortunately, it was a very cold night.

"Want me to serve you?"

"No need."

Hinata turned to the window again and Sasuke used that time to observe her. She was not a very tall woman nor horribly thin. Her skin tone was so white she could pass as a sick person if not for the rosy cheeks. She was well-mannered, discreet, and didn't seem to take up much space; loyal, if the checking up on him by his mother's request was any indication. Being the eldest daughter of a duke and motherless from a young age, no doubt she was capable of running a household. 

How was such a lady still unmarried?

"You are staring."

And spilling the tea, he noticed. Sasuke tried to recover when she came to his aid, simply tipping the tea cup a little so the excess was caught in the saucer and then dumped the saucer's contents into the teapot. 

"There." Hinata smiled and he saw the blush in her cheeks. "You should've let me pour you a cup."

Unfazed.

Teasing.

Caring.

How was she still unmarried?

"If you need assistance this season, let us know." 

"Huh?" 

"My cousin should also be looking for a wife, but he insists on marrying us off before doing so." Hinata was fixing her own cup, which made it impossible for Sasuke to look at her eyes. "Hanabi has yet to have her chance, but it's too late for me and I hope he realises that."

"What do you mean?"

Hinata did not answer. She took the cup to her lips and sipped, looking over to her cousin and her sister. Sasuke was curious, feeling like that was the answer he needed to truly understand her, but she stepped away without another word and he did not know her enough to pry.

A week later, Sasuke attended dinner with the Hyuugas again, this time dressed up a little more. Five days after that, it was afternoon tea. When the snow started to slowly melt, he went hunting with Neji. And every so often, would stop by to exchange a few words with Hiashi about the properties and dukedom affairs. On one occasion, he even walked from the village with Hanabi and her maid, and she told all the details to her older sister upon arriving home, like it was some kind of miracle. 

As for Hinata, she kept on visiting him, at his house, all by herself. 

After the third time, he got quite used to it.

After a couple more visits, he started to expect her.

She never stayed much, the doors were always wide open, sometimes the maid who brought tea would stay in the room, in the corner. For Hinata's sake, Sasuke noticed. They could be their servants, but the Hyuugas were the sires of that county, and there their loyalties laid. Or maybe, just with Hinata. She knew his servants by name since the first visit, he learned.

She never stayed much, the doors were always wide open, sometimes the maid who brought tea would stay in the room, in the corner. For Hinata's sake, Sasuke noticed. They could be their servants, but the Hyuugas were the sires of that county, and there their loyalties laid. Or maybe, just with Hinata. She knew his servants by name since the first visit, he learned.

During the five minute visits, she would not even sit.

For the fifteen minute ones, she would make time for a cup of tea.

One day, she stayed for half an hour, engrossed in a book. Sasuke entered while she read and sat, looking at her, both in perfect silence. Hinata took the book with her.

Sometimes, they would meet coincidentally along the way and walk together. It was an easy conversation. She was well-read in most topics and an expert on the society affairs that Sasuke had kept away for so long. All she asked in return were tales from his travels.

"Naruto was with me that time, it was raining and all the hotels were full, but we needed a place to stay, so without thinking we entered the first brothel we..." Sasuke interrupted himself, palling. He looked up at Hinata, but she simply sipped her tea. "Forgive me", he said, very stiff. "It's not a tale appropriate for a lady."

"Why not?"

Hinata put the cup back in the saucer and grabbed a cookie. 

"Do you think well-bread ladies don't know about brothels?" Her question was delivered without stuttering, but not without blushing. "Or that we don't know what happens inside them?"

"Do you?" Without waiting for the answer, he followed. "How?"

"Women can get to know the world too, we just have to be extremely more careful than men." Her words weren't bitter where they should be, but resigned. "We are doomed to a much bigger sentence for a much more insignificant sin."

"That's the reason why you are still unmarried?"

"Oh no", she smiled. "My reputation is pristine. Maybe too much so."

They finished going up the hill from where Hyuuga Manor could be seen beyond the woods and the field.

"At three and twenty, and so many seasons, I've learned society is more than willing to sweep some indiscretions under the rug. Not all of them are plotting all of the time, you know."

"So even someone like you has been indiscreet."

"Yes, even someone like me..."

"That's why you think it's too late for you?"

"No, I think it's too late for me because that's just how things are."

They made it down the hill, into the woods.

Sasuke realised he wanted her.

Like a man wants a woman, and a woman wants a man back, he wants her.

More dangerous still, he realised that he could have her. In that way, she would most likely let him. 

Why else would she be so honest and candid in their conversations?

Why else would she let him know she was not so innocent?

She trusted him.

Why did she trust him?

"The new season starts in two weeks."

"Yes." Sasuke was not looking forward to it.

"You'll find a wife, and when you do, treat her well." Hinata took a step closer to him. 

Hinata trusted Sasuke because, for her, he was safely just out of reach.

Sasuke had the time to notice the dots of light from the gaps between the leaves illuminating her. No, it was not that he had the time, but he wanted to notice how it illuminated her, how it made her eyes even more pale.

Sasuke realised he wanted her.

Like a husband wants a wife, like a person wants an equal, like wanting a partner, a friend. 

He wanted to ask her to marry him there and then, but he had a feeling she would say no for whatever reason, and for no reason at all, and he could not afford that.

Instead, he took a step closer.

"Let me tell you more about the world."

She nodded.

They kissed. 

And kissed and kissed.

And the new season began.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The Poor Claire (1856) by Elizabeth Gaskell, chapter 1

December 12th, 1747 - My life has been strangely bound up with extraordinary incidents, some of which occurred before I had any connection with the principal actors in them, or, indeed, before I even knew of their existence. I suppose, most old men are, like me, more given to looking back upon their own career with a kind of fond interest and affectionate remembrance than to watching the events - though these may have far more interest for the multitude - immediately passing before their eyes. If this should be the case with the generality of old people, how much more so with me! . . . If I am to enter upon that strange story connected with poor Lucy, I must begin a long way back. I myself only came to the knowledge of her family history after I knew her; but, to make the tale clear to any one else, I must arrange events in the order in which they occurred - not that in which I became acquainted with them.

There is a great old hall in the north-east of Lancashire, in a part they called the Trough of Bolland, adjoining that other district named Craven. Starkey Manor-house is rather like a number of rooms clustered round a grey, massive, old keep than a regularly-built hall. Indeed, I suppose that the house only consisted of a great tower in the centre, in the days when the Scots made their raids terrible as far south as this; and that after the Stuarts came in, and there was a little more security of property in those parts, the Starkeys of that time added the lower building, which runs, two storeys high, all round the base of the keep. There has been a grand garden laid out in my days, on the southern slope near the house; but when I first knew the place, the kitchen garden at the farm was the only piece of cultivated ground belonging to it. The deer used to come within sight of the drawing-room windows, and might have browsed quite close up to the house if they had not been too wild and shy. Starkey Manor-house itself stood on a projection or peninsula of high land, jutting out from the abrupt hills that form the sides of the Trough of Bolland. These hills were rocky and bleak enough towards their summit; lower down they were clothed with tangled copsewood and green depths of fern, out of which a grey giant of an ancient forest-tree would tower here and there, throwing up its ghastly white branches, as if in imprecation, to the sky. These trees, they told me, were the remnants of that forest which existed in the days of the Heptarchy, and were even then noted as landmarks. No wonder that their upper and more exposed branches were leafless, and that the dead bark had peeled away, from sapless old age.

Not far from the house there were a few cottages, apparently of the same date as the keep; probably built for some retainers of the family, who sought shelter - they and their families and their small flocks and herds - at the hands of their feudal lord. Some of them had pretty much fallen to decay. They were built in a strange fashion. Strong beams had been sunk firm in the ground at the requisite distance, and their other ends had been fastened together, two and two, so as to form the shape of one of those rounded waggon-headed gipsy-tents, only very much larger. The spaces between were filled with mud, stones, osiers, rubbish, mortar - anything to keep out the weather. The fires were made in the centre of these rude dwellings, a hole in the roof forming the only chimney. No Highland hut or Irish cabin could be of rougher construction.

The owner of this property at the beginning of the present century, was a Mr. Patrick Byrne Starkey. His family had kept to the old faith, and were staunch Roman Catholics, esteeming it even a sin to marry any one of Protestant descent, however willing he or she might have been to embrace the Romish religion. Mr. Patrick Starkey's father had been a follower of James the Second; and during the disastrous campaign of that monarch he had fallen in love with an Irish beauty, a Miss Byrne, as zealous for her religion and for the Stuarts as himself. He had returned to Ireland after his escape to France, and married her, bearing her back to the court at St. Germains. But some license, on the part of the disorderly gentlemen who surrounded King James in his exile, had insulted his beautiful wife, and disgusted him; so he removed from St. Germains to Antwerp, whence, in a few years' time, he quietly returned to Starkey Manor-house - some of his Lancashire neighbours having lent their good offices to reconcile him to the powers that were. He was as firm a Catholic as ever, and as staunch an advocate for the Stuarts and the divine rights of kings; but his religion almost amounted to asceticism, and the conduct of those with whom he had been brought in such close contact at St. Germains would little bear the inspection of a stern moralist. So he gave his allegiance where he could not give his esteem and learned to respect sincerely the upright and moral character of one whom he yet regarded as an usurper. King William's government had little need to fear such a one. So he returned, as I have said, with a sobered heart and impoverished fortunes, to his ancestral house, which had fallen sadly to ruin while the owner had been a courtier, a soldier, and an exile. The roads into the Trough of Bolland were little more than cart-ruts; indeed, the way up to the house lay along a ploughed field before you came to the deer-park. Madam, as the country-folk used to call Mrs. Starkey, rode on a pillion behind her husband, holding on to him with a light hand by his leather riding-belt. Little master (he that was afterwards Squire Patrick Byrne Starkey) was held on to his pony by a serving-man. A woman past middle age walked, with a firm and strong step, by the cart that held much of the baggage; and, high up on the mails and boxes, sat a girl of dazzling beauty, perched lightly on the topmost trunk, and swaying herself fearlessly to and fro, as the cart rocked and shook in the heavy roads of late autumn. The girl wore the Antwerp faille, or black Spanish mantle, over her head; and altogether her appearance was such that the old cottager, who described the procession to me many years after, said that all the country-folk took her for a foreigner. Some dogs, and the boy who held them in charge, made up the company. They rode silently along, looking with grave, serious eyes at the people, who came out of the scattered cottages to bow or curtsey to the real Squire, 'come back at last,' and gazed after the little procession with gaping wonder, not deadened by the sound of the foreign language in which the few necessary words that passed among them were spoken. One lad, called from his staring by the Squire to come and help about the cart, accompanied them to the Manor-house. He said that when the lady had descended from her pillion, the middle-aged woman whom I have described as walking while the others rode, stepped quickly forward; and, taking Madame Starkey (who was of a slight and delicate figure) in her arms, she lifted her over the threshold, and set her down in her husband's house, at the same time uttering a passionate and outlandish blessing. The Squire stood by, smiling gravely at first; but when the words of blessing were pronounced, he took off his fine feathered hat and bent his head. The girl with the black mantle stepped onward into the shadow of the dark hall, and kissed the lady's hand; and that was all the lad could tell to the group that gathered round him on his return, eager to hear everything, and to know how much the Squire had given him for his services.

From all I could gather, the Manor-house, at the time of the Squire's return, was in the most dilapidated state. The stout grey walls remained firm and entire; but the inner chambers had been used for all kinds of purposes. The great withdrawing-room had been a barn; the state tapestry-chamber had held wool, and so on. But, by-and-by, they were cleared out; and, if the Squire had no money to spend on new furniture, he and his wife had the knack of making the best of the old. He was no despicable joiner; she had a kind of grace in whatever she did, and imparted an air of elegant picturesqueness to whatever she touched. Besides, they had brought many rare things from the Continent; perhaps I should rather say, things that were rare in that part of England - carvings, and crosses, and beautiful pictures. And then, again, wood was plentiful in the Trough of Bolland, and great log-fires danced and glittered in all the dark, old rooms, and gave a look of home and comfort to everything. Why do I tell you all this? I have little to do with the Squire and Madame Starkey; and yet I dwell upon them, as if I were unwilling to come to the real people with whom my life was so strangely mixed up. Madam had been nursed in Ireland by the very woman who lifted her in her arms, and welcomed her to her husband's home in Lancashire. Excepting for the short period of her own married life, Bridget Fitzgerald had never left her nursling. Her marriage - to one above her in rank - had been unhappy. Her husband had died, and left her in even greater poverty than that in which she was when he had first met with her. She had one child, the beautiful daughter who came riding on the waggon-load of furniture that was brought to the Manor-house. Madame Starkey had taken her again into her service when she became a widow. She and her daughter had followed 'the mistress' in all her fortunes; they had lived at St. Germains and at Antwerp, and were now come to her home in Lancashire. As soon as Bridget had arrived there, the Squire gave her a cottage of her own, and took more pains in furnishing it for her than he did in anything else out of his own house. It was only nominally her residence. She was constantly up at the great house; indeed, it was but a short cut across the woods from her own home to the home of her nursling. Her daughter Mary, in like manner, moved from one house to the other at her own will. Madam loved both mother and child dearly. They had great influence over her and, through her, over her husband. Whatever Bridget or Mary willed was sure to come to pass. They were not disliked; for though wild and passionate, they were also generous by nature. But the other servants were afraid of them, as being in secret the ruling spirits of the household. The Squire had lost his interest in all secular things; Madam was gentle, affectionate, and yielding. Both husband and wife were tenderly attached to each other and to their boy; but they grew more and more to shun the trouble of decision on any point; and hence it was that Bridget could exert such despotic power. But, if every one else yielded to her 'magic of a superior mind,' her daughter not unfrequently rebelled. She and her mother were too much alike to agree. There were wild quarrels between them, and wilder reconciliations. There were times when, in the heat of passion, they could have stabbed each other. At all other times they both - Bridget especially - would have willingly laid down their lives for one another. Bridget's love for her child lay very deep - deeper than that daughter ever knew; or, I should think, she would never have wearied of home as she did, and prayed her mistress to obtain for her some situation - as waiting-maid beyond the seas, in that more cheerful continental life, among the scenes of which so many of her happiest years had been spent. She thought, as youth thinks, that life would last for ever, and that two or three years were but a small portion of it to pass away from her mother, whose only child she was. Bridget thought differently, but was too proud ever to show what she felt. If her child wished to leave her, why - she should go. But people said Bridget became ten years older in the course of two months at this time. She took it that Mary wanted to leave her. The truth was that Mary wanted for a time to leave the place, and to seek some change, and would thankfully have taken her mother with her.

Indeed, when Madame Starkey had gotten her a situation with some grand lady abroad, and the time drew near for her to go, it was Mary who clung to her mother with passionate embrace, and, with floods of tears, declared that she would never leave her; and it was Bridget who at last loosened her arms, and, grave and tearless herself, bade her keep her word, and go forth into the wide world. Sobbing aloud, and looking back continuously, Mary went away. Bridget was still as death, scarcely drawing her breath, or closing her stony eyes; till at last she turned back into her cottage, and heaved a ponderous old settle against the door. There she sat, motionless, over the grey ashes of her extinguished fire, deaf to Madam's sweet voice, as she begged leave to enter and comfort her nurse. Deaf, stony, and motionless, she sat for more than twenty hours; till, for the third time, Madam came across the snowy path from the great house carrying with her a young spaniel, which had been Mary's pet up at the hall, and which had not ceased all night long to seek for its absent mistress, and to whine and moan after her. With tears Madam told this story, through the closed door - tears excited by the terrible look of anguish, so steady, so immovable, so the same today as it was yesterday - on her nurse's face. The little creature in her arms began to utter its piteous cry, as it shivered with the cold. Bridget stirred; she moved - she listened. Again that long whine; she thought it was for her daughter; and what she had denied to her nursling and mistress she granted to the dumb creature that Mary had cherished. She opened the door, and took the dog from Madam's arms. Then Madam came in, and kissed and comforted the old woman, who took but little notice of her or anything. And, sending up Master Patrick to the hall for fire and food, the sweet young lady never left her nurse all that night. Next day the Squire himself came down, carrying a beautiful foreign picture - Our Lady of the Holy Heart, the Papists call it. It is a picture of the Virgin, her heart pierced with arrows, each arrow representing one of her great woes. That picture hung in Bridget's cottage when I first saw her; I have that picture now.

Years went on. Mary was still abroad. Bridget was still and stern, instead of active and passionate. The little dog, Mignon, was indeed her darling. I have heard that she talked to it continually; although, to most people, she was so silent. The Squire and Madam treated her with the greatest consideration, and well they might; for to them she was as devoted and faithful as ever. Mary wrote pretty often, and seemed satisfied with her life. But at length the letters ceased - I hardly know whether before or after a great and terrible sorrow came upon the house of the Starkeys. The Squire sickened of a putrid fever; and Madam caught it in nursing him, and died. You may be sure, Bridget let no other woman tend her but herself, and in the very arms that had received her at birth, that sweet young woman laid her head down, and gave up her breath. The Squire recovered, in a fashion. He was never strong - he had never the heart to smile again. He fasted and prayed more than ever; and people did say that he tried to cut off the entail, and leave all the property away to found a monastery abroad, of which he prayed that some day little Squire Patrick might be the reverend father. But he could not do this, for the strictness of the entail and the laws against the Papists. So he could only appoint gentlemen of his own faith as guardians to his son, with many charges about the lad's soul, and a few about the land, and the way it was to be held while he was a minor. Of course, Bridget was not forgotten. He sent for her as he lay on his death-bed, and asked her if she would rather have a sum down, or have a small annuity settled upon her. She said at once she would have a sum down; for she thought of her daughter, and how she could bequeath the money to her, whereas an annuity would have died with her. So the Squire left her her cottage for life, and a fair sum of money. And then he died, with as ready and willing a heart as, I suppose, any gentleman took out of this world with him. The young Squire was carried off by his guardians, and Bridget was left alone.

I have said that she had not heard from Mary for some time. In her last letter, she had told of travelling about with her mistress, who was the English wife of some great foreign officer, and had spoken of her chances of making a good marriage, without naming the gentleman's name, keeping it rather back as a pleasant surprise to her mother; his station and fortune being, as I had afterwards reason to know, far superior to anything she had a right to expect. Then came a long silence; and Madam was dead, and the Squire was dead; and Bridget's heart was gnawed by anxiety, and she knew not whom to ask for news of her child. She could not write, and the Squire had managed her communication with her daughter. She walked off to Hurst; and got a good priest there - one whom she had known at Antwerp - to write for her. But no answer came. It was like crying into the awful stillness of night.

One day, Bridget was missed by those neighbours who had been accustomed to mark her goings-out and comings-in. She had never been sociable with any of them; but the sight of her had become a part of their daily lives, and slow wonder arose in their minds, as morning after morning came, and her house-door remained closed, her window dead from any glitter, or light of fire within. At length, some one tried the door; it was locked. Two or three laid their heads together, before daring to look in through the blank unshuttered window. But, at last, they summoned up courage, and then saw that Bridget's absence from their little world was not the result of accident or death, but of premeditation. Such small articles of furniture as could be secured from the effects of time and damp by being packed up, were stowed away in boxes. The picture of the Madonna was taken down, and gone. In a word, Bridget had stolen away from her home, and left no trace whither she had departed. I knew afterwards, that she and her little dog had wandered off on a long search for her lost daughter. She was too illiterate to have faith in letters, even had she had the means of writing and sending many. But she had faith in her own strong love, and believed that her passionate instinct would guide her to her child. Besides, foreign travel was no new thing to her, and she could speak enough of French to explain the object of her journey, and had, moreover, the advantage of being, from her faith, a welcome object of charitable hospitality at many a distant convent. But the country people round Starkey Manor-house knew nothing of all this. They wondered what had become of her, in a torpid, lazy fashion, and then left off thinking of her altogether. Several years passed. Both Manor-house and the cottage were deserted. The young Squire lived far away under the direction of his guardians. There were inroads of wool and corn into the sitting-rooms of the Hall; and there was some low talk, from time to time, among the hinds and country people, whether it would not be as well to break into old Bridget's cottage, and save such of her goods as were left from the moth and rust which must be making sad havoc. But this idea was always quenched by the recollection of her strong character and passionate anger; and tales of her masterful spirit, and vehement force of will, were whispered about, till the very thought of offending her, by touching any article of hers, became invested with a kind of horror: and it was believed that, dead or alive, she would not fail to avenge it.

Suddenly she came home; with as little noise or note of preparation as she had departed. One day some one noticed a thin, blue curl of smoke ascending from her chimney. Her door stood open to the noon-day sun; and, ere many hours had elapsed, some one had seen an old travel-and-sorrow-stained woman, dipping her pitcher in the well, and said, that the dark, solemn eyes that looked up at him were more like Bridget Fitzgerald's than any one else's in this world; and yet, if it were she, she looked as if she had been scorched in the flames of hell, so brown, and scared, and fierce a creature did she seem. By-and-by many saw her; and those who met her eye once cared not to be caught looking at her again. She had got into the habit of perpetually talking to herself; nay, more, answering herself, and varying her tones according to the side she took at the moment. It was no wonder that those who dared to listen outside her door at night believed that she held converse with some spirit; in short, she was unconsciously earning for herself the dreadful reputation of a witch.

Her little dog, which had wandered half over the Continent with her, was her only companion; a dumb remembrancer of happier days. Once he was ill; and she carried him more than three miles to ask about his management from one who had been groom to the last Squire, and had then been noted for his skill in all diseases of animals. Whatever this man did, the dog recovered; and they who heard her thanks, intermingled with blessings (that were rather promises of good fortune than prayers), looked grave at his good luck when, next year, his ewes twinned, and his meadow-grass was heavy and thick.

Now it so happened that, about the year seventeen hundred and eleven, one of the guardians of the young squire, a certain Sir Philip Tempest, bethought him of the good shooting there must be on his ward's property; and in consequence he brought down four or five gentlemen, of his friends, to stay for a week or two at the hall. From all accounts, they roystered and spent pretty freely. I never heard any of their names but one, and that was Squire Gisborne's. He was hardly a middle-aged man then; he had been abroad; and there, I believe, he had known Sir Philip Tempest, and done him some service. He was a daring and dissolute fellow in those days: careless and fearless, and one who would rather be in a quarrel than out of it. He had his fits of ill-temper besides, when he would spare neither man nor beast. Otherwise, those who knew him well, used to say he had a good heart, when he was neither drunk, nor angry, nor in any way vexed. He had altered much when I came to know him.

One day, the gentlemen had all been out shooting, and with but little success, I believe; anyhow, Mr. Gisborne had none, and was in a black humour accordingly. He was coming home, having his gun loaded, sportsman-like, when little Mignon crossed his path, just as he turned out of the wood by Bridget's cottage. Partly for wantonness, partly to vent his spleen upon some living creature, Mr. Gisborne took his gun, and fired - he had better have never fired gun again, than aimed that unlucky shot: he hit Mignon, and at the creature's sudden cry, Bridget came out, and saw at a glance what had been done. She took Mignon up in her arms, and looked hard at the wound; the poor dog looked at her with his glazing eyes, and tried to wag his tail and lick her hand, all covered with blood. Mr. Gisborne spoke in a kind of sullen penitence:

'You should have kept the dog out of my way - a little poaching varmint.'

At this very moment, Mignon stretched out his legs, and stiffened in her arms - her lost Mary's dog, who had wandered and sorrowed with her for years. She walked right into Mr. Gisborne's path, and fixed his unwilling, sullen look, with her dark and terrible eye,

'Those never throve that did me harm,' said she. 'I'm alone in the world, and helpless: the more do the saints in the heaven hear my prayers. Hear me, ye blessed ones! hear me, while I ask for sorrow on this bad, cruel man. He has killed the only creature that loved me - the dumb beast that I loved. Bring down heavy sorrow on his head for it, O ye saints! He thought that I was helpless, because he saw me lonely and poor; but are not the armies of heaven for the like of me?'

'Come, come,' said he, half remorseful, but not one whit afraid, 'Here's a crown to buy thee another dog. Take it, and leave off cursing! I care none for thy threats.'

'Don't you?' said she, coming a step closer, and changing her imprecatory cry for a whisper which made the gamekeeper's lad, following Mr. Gisborne, creep all over. 'You shall live to see the creature you love best, and who alone loves you - ay, a human creature, but as innocent and fond as my poor, dead darling - you shall see this creature, for whom death would be too happy, become a terror and a loathing to all, for this blood's sake, Hear me, O holy saints, who never fail them that have no other help!'

She threw up her right hand, filled with poor Mignon's life-drops; they spirted, one or two of them, on his shooting dress - an ominous sight to the follower. But the master only laughed a little, forced, scornful laugh, and went on to the Hall. Before he got there, however, he took out a gold piece, and bade the boy carry it to the old woman on his return to the village. The lad was 'afeared', as he told me in after years; he came to the cottage, and hovered about, not daring to enter. He peeped through the window at last; and by the flickering wood-flame, he saw Bridget kneeling before the picture of Our Lady of the Holy Heart, with dead Mignon lying between her and the Madonna. She was praying wildly, as her outstretched arms betokened. The lad shrank away in redoubled terror; and contented himself with slipping the gold-piece under the ill-fitting door. The next day it was thrown out upon the midden; and there it lay, no one daring to touch it.

Meanwhile Mr. Gisborne, half curious, half uneasy, thought to lessen his uncomfortable feelings by asking Sir Philip who Bridget was? He could only describe her - he did not know her name. Sir Philip was equally at a loss. But an old servant of the Starkeys, who had resumed his livery at the Hall on this occasion - a scoundrel whom Bridget had saved from dismissal more than once during her palmy days - said:

'It will be the old witch, that his worship means. She needs a ducking, if ever a woman did, does that Bridget Fitzgerald.'

'Fitzgerald!' said both the gentlemen at once. But Sir Philip was the first to continue:

'I must have no talk of ducking her, Dickon. Why, she must be the very woman poor Starkey bade me have a care of; but when I came here last she was gone, no one knew where. I'll go and see her tomorrow. But mind you, sirrah, if any harm comes to her, or any more talk of her being a witch - I've a pack of hounds at home, who can follow the scent of a lying knave as well as ever they followed a dog-fox; so take care how you talk about ducking a faithful old servant of your dead master's.'

'Had she ever a daughter?' asked Mr. Gisborne, after a while.

'I don't know - yes! I've a notion she had: a kind of waiting-woman to Madame Starkey.'

'Please your worship,' said humbled Dickon. 'Mistress Bridget had a daughter - one Mistress Mary - who went abroad, and has never been heard of since; and folks do say that has crazed her mother.'

Mr. Gisborne shaded his eyes with his hand.

'I could wish she had not cursed me,' he muttered. 'She may have power - no one else could.' After a while, he said aloud, no one understanding rightly what he meant; 'Tush! it is impossible!' - and called for claret; and he and the other gentlemen set-to to a drinking bout.

[llycaons]

short n sweet: cql headcanons

Lan Qiren becomes very fond of Lil Apple and ends up spoiling her (credit to @dragonji).

Lan Wangji habitually plays guqin for the very young junior's naptimes.

Jiang Yanli and Lan Wangji are both very fond of romance novels. Jiang Yanli reads for fun while Lan Wangji gets deeply absorbed and takes them very seriously.

Wei Wuxian gains a significant amount of weight after living in cloud recesses for a few years (partially confirmed by cql mobile game but too dear to me to leave out).

Lan Wangji likes to hum to himself + his husband at home. It’s one of the ways he thinks of new songs to write.

Lan Wangji likes all the layers of the Cloud Recesses robes for sensory reasons.

After Nightless city and throughout the present-day arc , Nie Huaisang is having his own epic romances with various fascinating and sophisticated nobleman, but we don’t see this because it’s not relevant to Wei Wuxian’s journey.

Wei Wuxian draws a lot postcanon for stress relief and processing grief, and gives Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui illustrations of their family members he misses.

Lan Qiren has a soft spot for Lan Jingyi, who becomes the next Lan sect leader (not mine originally).

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian regularly visit Mianmian and her husband postcanon for dinners and babysitting (credit to @chthonicillness).

Lan Wangji gets really bad motion sickness but you wouldn't know it to look at him. In a modern AU he claims he prefers to walk for the health benefits but in reality he gets carsick and he hates driving because he parallel parked wrong one time and it eats at him (credit to @spockily).

Wei Wuxian and Lan Qiren become closer as time goes on and Lan Qiren begins to tell Wei Wuxian more stories of his mother.

At one point during their reconciliation, Wei Wuxian punches Jiacng Cheng in the face. I believe in reconciliation, this one just makes me smile.

“At the absolute height of their relationship, lwj and jc are are like two dudes who nodded to each other in an elevator once” (credit to @chthonicillness).

Postcanon Wei Wuxian is very good at making friends with old people! They love him!

Lan Wangji came to Wei Wuxian at the cliffside reunion in blue robes instead of white because he’s no longer in mourning.

Lan Wangji started tending to the flowers from his mother’s house and gardens regularly.

Wei Wuxian was intentionally flirting with Wen Ning in the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji was fascinated and in awe of insects as a child and still likes them as an adult. He especially like the ones with weird looking bodies who move in that articulated way or the colorful or detailed ones. He appreciates them for a while before sending them outside (not mine but I can’t remember who made the og post). He is also fond of cats.

In a modern AU, when they plays super smash bros, Wei Wuxian always picks pikachu, or sometimes kirby. and wins. Jiang Cheng picks falcon. and loses.

When Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning return to Qishan to pay respect to their ancestors, they find the old caretaker still looking after the graves and tell him who they are.

In a modern AU Jiang Yanli would be married as in canon, but she also have a little crafts business she runs from her home (not mine).

Nie Mingjue was very fond of Lan Wangji and was the only person who called him "Wangji" outside of his family (semi-canon).

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, being hopeless romantics, mutually and nonverbally decided to hold off on confessing until they were both sure they could be together with nothing in between them, which is part of the reason it takes so long to get together.

We don't see their first kiss but if we did, wuji would be swelling in the background.

After the golden core reveal, Jiang Cheng starts projects that he can succeed at that don't require cultivation, like tailoring and woodworking. He also spends a lot of time in meditation.

Postcanon Wen Ning helps the juniors on night hunts and has a place to live in CR, and also spends a lot of time babysitting wangxian’s kids.

Modern Lan Wangji would just be transfixed by aquariums.

Modern Lan Wangji would hate gory horror movies but Wei Wuxian really likes them. Can love bloom on a battlefield?

Wei Wuxian ends up doing slasher horror movie nights with Wen Ning, Wen Qing, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang instead. Lan Wangji likes psychological horror so that’s what they go to for horror nights with Wei Wuxian

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian both really like romances. Lan Wangji also likes nature documentaries and Wei Wuxian likes science fiction/speculative fiction.

Postcanon, Lan Qiren ends up as a very affectionate great-uncle to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's kids.

Finally...in my most indulgent daydreams I like to envision a lotus pier wedding for Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji as long as the Wens are there too.

[rosethornewrites]

Wednesday & Thursday T & G reading

The usual

Finished

Tumblr:

Nightmares, by @bloody-bee-tea

Elders, by @ellayuki

Cultivation Baby!A-Yuan, babysitter Lan Xichen, cameo Lan Jingyi, by @stiltonbasket

Teen:

Celestial, by apathyinreverie

Lan Zhan ascends. To his own ire.

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, by Titans_R_Us (3rd in a series)

“Will you be alright?”

“No, I’ll die.” Wei Wuxian laughs and laughs. Then he presses their foreheads together because he can. “Of course I’ll be alright! Why ask the question in the first place? Are you worried, Lan Zhan, just because this will be the first time we’ve been apart since we got married?”

“Yes.”

take the sky, by Lirelyn

They’d dug their livelihood out of the ashes and it had almost started to feel like home, a little place just for him and the Wen refugees he’d found. Never quite safe, though. Wars leave all manner of ugliness behind them, and this little world don’t have room in it for a demonic cultivator, a not-quite-dead man, or anyone surnamed Wen. Once they’d gotten to where they didn’t have to fear starving, Wei Ying had thought about longer-term survival, and turned his eyes to the stars.

if you want me again, by comforting_monachopsis (2nd in a series, 5 chapters)

Or: I let the dormiveglia cast get a happy ending.

General:

Link Together, by StoriesOnlyScarsCanTell

“Your hand is a bit bigger than mine, Lan Zhan!”

the landscape after cruelty, which is, of course, a garden, by Folderol

To his credit, Wei Wuxian looks a little abashed, holding his palms up to the bed. “Ah, many apologies, Wen-gongzi,” he says, bowing twice, “I hope this one hasn’t disturbed your rest.” From anyone else, the theatrics would be mockery. From Wei Wuxian, who the world casts in whatever role diminishes him most - servant, young master, upstart, hero - it is as close to honesty as he ever comes.

“If you’re not going to be useful, you can just leave,” says Wen Qing, folding her arms sourly, and turning her face away to hide her traitorously fond smile.

Some snapshots from the Burial Mounds days

can i look the other way, by shipyrds

Wei Wuxian has been here for weeks, but sect business has kept Lan Wangji occupied. He must have been too busy to have a room prepared for Wei Wuxian. And he cannot be sleeping well on a mattress on the floor, with Wei Wuxian has been selfishly occupying the only bed. So Wei Wuxian will find a room instead. After all, this is Lan Wangji’s home, and Wei Wuxian knows how much his privacy means to him.

--

Wei Wuxian tries to do Lan Wangji a favor.

fall, by xMochiminiex (12th in a series)

“Wangji, you’ve gone too far!”

Had he?

Unfinished

Teen:

What has long been concealed, by Gaby007

The Burial Mounds change everything falling in their grasp, Wei Wuxian is well-placed to know it. Lan Wangji is rather nonplussed when he learns his beloved's secret yet seizes the opportunity to finally bring the Yiling Patriarch to Gusu and keep him safe.

Now, he just has to keep Wei Ying hidden from the cultivation world, and maybe he will get to learn some secrets of the Lan sect as he does.

The Murder of Hanguang-Jun, by SequoiaSempervirens

After Lan Wangji is sent to the Burial Mounds to negotiate with the Yiling Patriarch, Lan Xichen is shocked to learn that Wei Wuxian has reacted by murdering Lan Wangji.

But not nearly as shocked as Wei Wuxian.

___

“Er-ge, have you heard from Hanguang-Jun since he left for the Burial Mounds to meet with the Yiling Patriarch?” Jin Guangyao asked as soon as he entered the room.

Something in his voice made Lan Xichen’s head snap up in alarm. “I haven’t. Why?”

“Because we have received a very disturbing package.” Jin Guangyao held out a long bundle, loosely wrapped in cloth, as if it had been unwrapped and then hastily rewrapped.

Lan Xichen took the bundle curiously and laid it on the table to unwrap it. Inside was a pile of pale blue silk, torn and half covered in rust red stains. His nose wrinkled at the smell of old blood as he unfolded the mess of ruined silk. A robe. A Lan robe.

Lan Xichen’s heart pounded in his ears.

Relentless, by nirejseki

“Why are we even here?” Wen Xu groused.

“Yeah! That’s right! Why are we here?” Wen Chao immediately chimed, very obviously taking his cues from his elder brother – much to the latter’s irritation, judging by his immediate scowl.

Lan Qiren knew that he needed to pick his next words very carefully. With recalcitrant students, a teacher only had a few opportunities to really connect with them. If he allowed them to dismiss him or categorize him as an enemy at this early stage, it would be an incredibly uphill battle to gain enough respect in order to teach them anything, and in this case, given the strength of their background and the fact that this little teaching session was both likely to be short and definitely completely unauthorized, it would quite possibly make it completely impossible to ever get through to them.

“You are here,” Lan Qiren said solemnly, each word slow and thoughtful, “because your father is an ass.”

(a story of kidnapping and falling in love, reluctantly)

Searching for a Face that is Lost, by geethr75 (2nd in a series)

Lan Xichen is taken to Lotus Pier, and is afraid, and grieving

General:

Second Chance, by My1Dearest6Rose02

Dying after protecting Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng awoke back in the past. The time between after the massacre and the start of the war. Armed with the knowledge of the future. Can he change the past? Can he keep them safe and alive?

and the other gold, by ryfkah

“What,” Wen Qing said, “do they teach all you Jiangs? Do they raise you on nothing but ballads and martyrdom?”

(or, the one where Jiang Yanli manages to slide in before Wei Wuxian to sacrifice her golden core)

[fishrpg]

2024-04-14: The Winterville Mounds (Settlement)

Originally built hundreds of years before the white man came, the Winterville Mounds are an array of at least 23 earthen mounds constructed by Mississippian Indians. Most of the mounds have since been destroyed by a combination of agriculture and erosion, though a few still remain. It's currently privately owned by a white man who uses it as pasture land, though the women of the Greenville Garden Club are hoping to raise enough money to eventually buy back the land and turn it into a history preserve.

Until the money (and land) changes hands, though, trespassers will be shot.

Points of Interest

Temple Mound (Mound A)

At 55 feet tall, this is the largest mound on the site. It once held a temple where the sacred flame burned. It's rumored to have a secret treasure chamber buried deep within the mound (though this is false). However, returning the stone pipe stolen during the Blackburn excavation and relighting the sacred flame on top of the mound might bring about a blessing from the sun.

Charnel House (Mound B)

The second-tallest mound at 30 feet high is where the dead were stripped of their flesh and the cleaned bones were placed in baskets before being buried. Some say the mound whispers to people asking for the return of its stolen dead, but maybe any old body would do...

Honored Residence (Mound C)

Unlike the sharp angular sides of the previous mounds, this small mound is oval-shaped and slumped from erosion. It was once the site of a residence for one of the Honored or Noble castes, and it is the place that is most likely to yield artifacts like pottery shards that can be sold to collectors. Unfortunately for sneaky treasure-seekers, it's also the closest to the landowner's house and directly visible from most of the house's windows.

Landowner's House

Rebuilt after the flood in 1927, this home is small by landowner standards. It's occupied Gordon Roker, the curmudgeonly and territorial owner of the pasture land upon which the mounds are built. He tends to shoot first and ask questions later (or omit the questions entirely).

Cultural Background (Pre Contact)

In years past, this place had few permanent residents. Most of the people actually lived in dispersed communities in the surrounding areas. They hunted and fished and cultivated the Three Sisters (maize, beans, and squash) in the fertile soil.

Archaeological records indicate that the inhabitants of the Winterville Mounds possessed a culture similar to that of the Natchez people. There are indications of a complex political and social structure, as well as a religion that venerated the sun. The temple atop the largest mound held a nearly perpetual flame to honor the sun. The fire was extinguished for only one day each year for Busk, also known as the Ceremony of Green Corn, which happened near midsummer. A new fire was built, and all the hearths were lit from this new flame.

People were divided into castes, which were (from most to least prestigious): Suns, Nobles, Honored, and Commoners. Suns were required to marry Commoners, and the children of female suns and commoners were Suns, while the children of male suns and commoners belonged to the Honored caste.

Recent History

In 1869, a riverboat captain named George T. Blackburn decided to hunt for Indian treasure and excavated several of the mounds. He looted a stone pipe, a bunch of pottery, along with human remains. Decades later in 1907, there was another major excavation effort by Clarence B. Moore. Though he fancied himself an archaeologist (and was legitimately interested in understanding the culture instead of just looting artifacts), his methods of excavation and study would horrify proper archaeologists and preservationists. Unfortunately for Moore, Blackburn had pilfered most of the significant artifacts and the site was largely left alone because is was seen as empty of artifacts.

Agriculture encroached on the mounds, destroying many of the smaller ones to make way for more cropland. Naturally, cotton was a major crop for the area. However, when the levee burst in 1927 and flooded the southern half of the Delta, it deposited so much sand in the soil near Winterville that the land was no longer viable for commercial agriculture and had to be swapped to pasture land instead.

[stiltonbasket]

i know they’re currently at war but can we see lxc and jc competing to be spiritual baby a-yuan’s favourite uncle?

“Zewu-jun, seventeen; Jiang-zongzhu, twelve,” Li Shuai whispers in Nie Huaisang’s ear. “I don’t think Jiang-zongzhu’s going to beat him by the time you leave, Nie-ge.”

Nie Huaisang pulls out his fan and wafts a few strands of hair away from her neck. He would have dealt with his own sweaty neck first, but Li-guniang is a lady, and Nie Huaisang knows what chivalry demands of an upright young master, even if his low cultivation prevents him from being gallant as often as he would like.

“I don’t know about that,” he muses, stroking his chin in a reflexive imitation of Lan Qiren. “We’ve only been here three days, and Xichen-ge wants to stay for another two weeks.”

“You mean Hanguang-jun wants to stay,” Maiden Li reminds him. “Now be quiet, or they’ll hear us.”

The two of them are hiding in Lotus Pier’s expansive rose gardens, cultivated by Li-guniang and Jiang Yanli after the end of the Sunshot Campaign. The rose trees have grown up quickly, nourished by the abundant lingli in the earth, which means that the place is perfect for spying: namely, on Zewu-jun and Jiang Cheng, who set up their lunch table a few yards away. A-Yuan is with them, because Hanguang-jun and Wei-xiong had things to do in town, and the two uncles have been fighting over A-Yuan’s favor since they left--although it doesn’t seem to be much of a contest.

“A-Yuan,” Nie Huaisang hears his brother-in-law coo, followed by the tell-tale jingling of A-Yuan’s little hands playing with Xichen-ge’s ornaments. “Do you like bofu’s necklace? You can have it when you’re a little older.”

“Isn’t that the necklace Chifeng-zun commissioned for your betrothal?” Jiang-xiong asks. “You can’t just give it to A-Yuan.”

“My husband will understand,” Xichen-ge says tranquilly. “If I ask, Mingjue-xiong will make me another.”

“Spoiled,” Li Shuai mutters under her breath. “Tian ah, he’s more bewitching than a huli jing.”

“He is,” Nie Huaisang agrees. Married life suits Lan Xichen beautifully, and da-ge refuses to let his new husband leave their chambers without covering him in jewelry: earrings, necklaces, delicate bracelets, sparkling chains affixed to his hairpins, and even a silver and white-jade ring which was said to have belonged to the Nie sect founder’s wife.

The trinkets have been Xichen-ge’s greatest weapon in the battle for A-Yuan’s affections, since babies love playing with shiny things, and Jiang-xiong doesn’t wear any jewelry but his father’s old guan. In Nie Huaisang’s opinion, Jiang-xiong could easily do better with Yuanyuan if he borrowed a few of Jiang-guniang’s old zanzi, but Jiang Cheng insists that resorting to such tactics would be playing dirty: he is the uncle that A-Yuan sees every day, he says, so Zewu-jun’s use of pretty baubles to win the child over will mean less than nothing in the long run.

“Yuan’er,” Jiang Cheng says again, a little closer to Huaisang’s hiding place this time. “Come here so jiujiu can give you some lotus milk pudding.”

A-Yuan nods and squeals in delight, clapping his little pink hands together before rolling off Lan Xichen’s lap. “A-Yuan pudding!”

“There!” Jiang-xiong exclaims, dragging A-Yuan into his arms before Xichen-ge can try to pick him up again. “Good child, Yuanyuan! Jiujiu will put extra sugar in your pudding, just the way you like it.”

“Sugar will rot his teeth,” Lan Xichen objects. “At his age, he should not be eating anything sweeter than plain fruit.”

“He barely has any teeth, Zewu-jun. And anyway, Pan-daifu says lotus curd is medicinal. It’s good for him.”

Xichen-ge laughs and bows his head in defeat. “En, very well. I would not lightly contradict another healer, especially one with so many years’ worth of experience. Good afternoon, Jiang-zongzhu!”

With that, the two part ways, leaving Nie Huaisang and Li Shuai to extract themselves from Jiang Yanli’s favorite thornless rosebush. Nie Huaisang got his robes caught in a knot of roots, so Yu Zhenhong has to be called in to render assistance; and after that, their little band of schemers retreats to Huaisang’s guest pavilion to discuss the events of the day.

“That brings us to seventeen for Zewu-jun and thirteen for Jiang-zongzhu,” Li Shuai says triumphantly, while Yu Zhenhong pours her a cup of lotus tea. “We might catch up to him yet, Brother Nie.”

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” Nie Huaisang retorts. “After all, it’ll be difficult for Jiang-xiong to pull ahead after Wei-xiong and Yuanyuan move to Gusu.”

Li Shuai drops her cup of tea.

“What?” she screeches, driving a flock of blue-crested herons out of the water at their feet. “Seriously? Da-shixiong’s agreed?”

“According to my sources, yes,” Nie Huaisang drawls, retreating behind his fan. “You see, Nie Zonghui went out to buy himself a new summer cloak last night, and he heard Wei-xiong and Wangji-xiong talking on the roof near the training court when he came back. Wangji-xiong was confessing his feelings, and Wei-xiong accepted them and promised that he and A-Yuan would move to the Cloud Recesses by Yuanyuan’s second birthday.”

“In the middle of the night? When none of us were around to hear?” Li-guniang says indignantly. “How can da-shixiong call me his favorite shimei, when he treats me like this?”

Yu Zhenhong laughs. “He’ll have to announce the engagement sometime, A-Shuai. And since we already know, we can start preparing da-shixiong’s wedding gifts early.”

“With what money?” Li Shuai demands, springing up to her feet. “Oh, I hope shixiong plans his wedding before Jiang-shijie’s! Jin Zixuan’s been sniffing around lately, and we won’t be able to afford a fine wedding for Wei-shixiong if Shijie gets married first.”

“Jiang-guniang is older,” Nie Huaisang reminds her. “She should be married first.”

“Well, yes, but Jin Guangshan should cover her expenses. It’s not as if he’s good for anything else.”

Li Shuai and Yu Zhenhong trade significant looks over Nie Huaisang’s head, too obviously thinking of Jin Guangshan’s latest message asking Wei Wuxian to surrender the Yinhufu to Lanling. He doesn’t know that Wangji-xiong is Yuanyuan’s father, or that Gusu Lan holds stronger ties to Yunmeng than Lanling has to anywhere else; but he clearly believes that he should be sitting on the throne Wen Ruohan left behind, and Gusu’s new marriage alliance to Qinghe will only have accelerated his plans to obtain it.

“Da-shixiong will be safer in Gusu, too,” Yu Zhenhong murmurs. “We cannot claim full sway over our own private affairs while Jiang-shijie hopes to marry Jin Zixuan. And it will happen sometime, so Wei Wuxian must leave Yunmeng Jiang as soon as possible.”

Nie Huaisang nods. After Wei-xiong marries Lan Wangji, matters concerning Wei Wuxian will be the Lan sect’s business: and through Da-ge’s marriage to Lan Xichen, the business of the Nie sect as well. But for now, making demands of Wei-xiong will do nothing but inconvenience Yunmeng Jiang, and compromise the youngest, weakest zongzhu among the four great clans.

“Brother Nie,” Yu Zhenhong says gravely. “Now that da-shixiong and Hanguang-jun have sorted out their feelings, the wedding preparations must be handled with the utmost speed and discretion. Not one word of this should reach the Jinlintai.”

“That I can do,” Huaisang promises. “We’ll give no more than a month’s notice before the wedding, and Nie Zonghui and I will handle all the tradesmen’s orders. Now, scram! I can see Jiang-guniang coming this way.”

So they scatter, sprinting in different directions before Jiang Yanli can turn the corner and catch them. Li Shuai activates an air-beneath-water talisman and jumps into the lake, while Yu Zhenhong darts down a side passage leading back to the kitchens; and Nie Huaisang takes a transportation talisman to Lan Xichen’s guest quarters, where he finds his brother-in-law eating loquats on a luohan bed with one of Huaisang’s myna birds.

“Well?” Xichen-gege asks, with a sly glint of mischief in his eye. “Do we have a plan, Huaisang?”

Nie Huaisang opens his fan and covers half of his face with it.

“Oh, Huan-ge,” he smirks, “do we ever.”

[hyakki59]

Sanji x Reader

Life with Sanji

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

(warnings: mention of calm life, it gets smut, then calm life continues)

•Let's go back in time, one? two centuries? Something like that.

•You and Sanji are living in a really small town, in a rural area.

•The roads of the town are made from stones as well the houses of the town.

•The houses are small and detached, their roofs covered with tiles.

•Sanji is having a bakery, you know, this traditional kind of style. It is known that Sanji is the best baker in the town.

•I can imagine Sanji with his sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled, him also wearing an apron and kneading a dough up on wooden counter, him also having a serious expression as he is concentrated.

•When you and Sanji got married, you two had the bakery together.

•You two are also having a garden behind the bakery, where you are cultivating various products. You are also having a barn with animals in it, which is outside along with the garden

•The products that you are gaining from your grounds and the animals, you use them to make baked goods,such as bread or cakes. You also put some others kind of products in jars and sell them.

•You two also have some big baskets on the bakery's counter, in which you are placing the breads.

•Both you and Sanji are hard workers and enjoy your work.

•There are some times when Sanji is approaching you as you are working, him holding a flower that he found on his way.

• He says "mademoiselle" with a funny flirty face, as he raises his eyebrow. His one hand, which holds the flower is stretched towards you in order for you to take it.

•Even though 'mademoiselle' means 'young lady' and is used to call a lady that is not married, Sanji likes to say that word as it is the only one french word that he knows. He also likes to flirt you everytime like it is the first time that he flirts you.

•You two tease each other as you working.

•For example, Sanji is placing the hot fresh breads inside the basket and you are placing some jars on the shelfs.

•If you two look each other at the same time, Sanji gives you a sly look and you answer with the same look, looking him with the corner of your eye.

•Sanji blows you a kiss and as an answer you stick out your tongue to him.

•Sanji then does a supposed hurt-face.

•As a customer enters the bakery you two immediately got serious again, like nothing happened.

•You two admire each other as you are watching the other working hard. You watch Sanji kneading. Sanji watches you put every thing in order on the bakery's counters. You watch Sanji feeding the animals and he watch you as you are collecting some greens from the garden's grounds.

•At the end of the day both you and Sanji are cleaning the bakery, its counters and floor and you finally return to your house which is exactly beside the bakery.

•You two are tired but inside you are fulfilled.

•There are many times that you two are having a bath together.

warning: mention of sex scenes 🔞

•As you and Sanji are sitting inside the bathtub, you are sitting on your side, laying your head on Sanji's chest, supporting also one hand of yours on his chest.

•Sanji is leaning his head a little back, relaxing, supporting also his arms up on the bathtub's sides.

•"I'm so tired... I don't feel my legs..."

Sanji says with his eyes closed. You just answer with 'mm..", agreeing with him. You look up at Sanji and him feeling your head moving, he looks down at you with a smile.

•Your body starts to curl up towards him showing that you want his attention.

•Sanji leans down to give you a quick kiss on your lips. But that wasn't enough for you.

•You looked up at him with big eyes, your gaze not leaving his face.

•"What is it?"

Sanji asks you, don't getting why you are staring at him.

•The hand of yours that is resting on his chest starts to caress his skin. Your fingers rub the skin around his nipple and then, with your thumb, you rub the center of his nipple.

"Oh..oh!"

Sanji exclaims as he felt like a shiver ran on his spine.

"I get where this is goin-"

Sanji couldn't finish his sentence, you had already stretched your body and you give now a long kiss on his lips

•Sanji surprised, inhales abruptly, resting one hand on your hips.

•As your kiss breaks, you continue to give many lustful kisses to Sanji. Your hand that was up on his chest gets lower and you touch gently his member.

•"Mm!"

Is all Sanji can say as you have captured his lips. As you lean back, you finally let Sanji to breath. He was literally about to blow.

•As Sanji takes a good breath he adds

"Y/N.. I can't promise you that I can give you much today.."

His body doesn't have enough energy because of all the day's work, that's why he is saying that.

•You don't answer anything at first. Your hand that was on his length starts to stroke it, having it in your fist. Sanji moans leaning back his head.

"There's no need.. Leave everything to me."

You tell him as you start to fist him in a fast pace.

"Ah!"

Sanji exclaimed from the sudden pleasure. Sanji keeps moaning, his chest going up and down and hips are jerking.

•Sanji's cheeks have a pink hue as he feels his body getting hotter and his blood running inside of him.

•As you see Sanji being hard, you lift your body up and sit in the bathtub again, this time your back facing him.

•You are going to take Sanji as a cowgirl reverse. Sanji understands immediately your motives.

"Oh no.."

Is all that he says

•As you positioned yourself on Sanji's hard member, you lower yourself and Sanji bites his lower lip as he leans his head back.

•Your hands are holding the bathtub's sides to support yourself.

•At first you move slowly forward and backward, your body being 40 to 50 degrees.

•Sanji is also holding the sides of the bathtub, to hold himself still, as he can't bear the pleasure.

•As you feel Sanji's length deeper inside you, you start to bump faster your hips.

•Sanji now is letting out trembled moans having his mouth open.

•The splash of the water is audible as well and your moans every time your hips bump down and Sanji's penis is deep inside you.

•You turn Sanji on as you turn your head to your side, looking at him with an opened mouth, moaning, as you fuck him.

•He also sees your one boob bouncing as your body is slightly turned towards him, his dick twitching inside you 'cause of that, adding more pleasure to you.

•Sanji places his hands on your butt, just to feel your soft flesh

"Oh dear God.. help me"

Sanji says as he leans his head back, rolling his eyes. Because he is tired, he is more sensitive and feels all the pleasure 100 times more. You sure have sent Sanji to the other world.

•As you are getting close, you lower yourself. You start to do circles with your hips, still having Sanji inside you. At that moment you resurrected Sanji.

•Sanji grabs your hips.

"Y/N.. I can't hold it anymore.. are you finishing?"

You immediately lift up your body, letting Sanji to cum.

•Sanji is having a relieved tired face.

•You weren't though satisfied fully, as you didn't cum.

•You got out of the bathtub, taking a towel, wrapping it around yourself.

•You then kneeled beside the bathtub, being close to Sanji, who was still sitting in it.

•"What about a second round in the bedroom?"

You ask him with innocent eyes.

•Sanji's right hand, that was close to you, touched your face. In that hand he was wearing his marriage ring. He looks you in your eyes and tells you

"My love.. You know how much I adore you.. And how much I like making love with you.. I'm too tired, though, to continue today.."

•You now have those big shiny eyes that are telling him 'But I want it'.

•"If we do no more today.."

You start saying and come close to his ear

"...I will take you tomorrow morning as you are kneading in the bakery"

You whispered at him, causing Sanji to wide open his eyes, him blushing a little.

•"Y/N! What kind of words are these? Where did you learn talk like that?"

Sanji asks you surprised with pink cheeks.

•You are already standing up now and heading towards the door. You, having an unexpressed face, turn your body a little towards Sanji, your gaze looking down at him.

"I'm like that only for my man"

You tell him, blowing a kiss while closing your eyes.

•You continue walking away exiting from the bathroom, leaving a speechless Sanji behind.

•The truth is, that you are one of those woman that when they want sex, they want a lot of sex.

•Leaving the previous scene aside, when you and Sanji are having sex, Sanji likes to take from behind.

•Specifically, that pose is something that you both like.

•You are resting your head on the pillow, which you are hugging at the same time. Your knees are bented, and your butt is looking at the sky. Lol.

•You like that pose, because you feel more pleasure like that.

•What Sanji likes from that pose, is first the sight that he is having and that he can caress your back up and down with both of his hands as he is taking you. He likes feeling your soft skin at the same time.

•An other pose that he likes is when he is supporting his back and head in many pillows in order to be more stand up and confy. At the same time you are sitting on his lap taking him slowly. In that way he can watch and admire your breasts.

•He also likes to suck one of your nipples as you are sitting on him and he is thrusting you slowly from below.

•There are also times that he pins you down to mattress when he wants to give it all.

•When he is above you, he presses your legs beside your breasts. Specifically, his inner elbows are holding the back side of your knees, holding you still. His face is usually shoved in your neck, feeling his breath on your skin.

•Don't forget to mention that he is the best man giving oral, as he has much patience. He loves making you feel good.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

•One night, you and Sanji were laying down to the bed, being under the covers.

•Sanji's body approaches you and he wraps an arm around you, resting it on your back.

•He looks at you with a warm smile and you smile at him back.

•"Y/N, I want us to discuss something.."

He starts telling you

"..and I believe you would want too what I have in mind"

•"What is it Sanji?"

You ask him still smiling

•"It's been a while that we are married now. We have discussed this before, about us having kids. We haven't mentioned it recently, aaand... I believe this is a right time for us to have a child."

Sanji says, looking at you with a somehow worried face, waiting for your response

•"I would love that very much Sanji!"

You say as you cup his cheek with your one hand

•"Really?"

He asks you as he raises both of his eyebrows

"Yeah really!"

You add

"You really mean it?"

"Yeah I really mean it"

"You sure you mean it?"

"Sanji!!!"

You exclaim in order to stop him

•"There's a reason that I married you. Well, two. First, because I love you and secondly, because I know that we can make a family together."

Sanji looks at you with shiny eyes, being moved with your words.

•"So we will have a child?"

He asks you with a grin

"And two"

You add, grinning too.

"And three?"

Sanji asks you enthusiastically.

"And as many as you want"

You add and Sanji hugs you tightly out of happiness

"We are able to raise many kids. We have enough food and our work goes well. We are still young and strong. We will have a lot of energy and strength in raising kids. Our kids will also be able to help us with our work as they are getting older. Let's make a big family."

You say as you rub Sanji's cheek with your thumb.

"Do you want that Sanji?"

You ask him with eyes full of love.

"I want it very much Y/N"

He tells you and you wrap your arms around his neck hugging him tightly.

•As you lean back, you two start to kiss each other.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

•It is late at night. You just finished your bath and you are heading now towards the living room

•As you enter in it, you see Sanji sleeping in the armchair, which is near in the fireplace.

•In his one side is sleeping your older child, a boy and on his other side your second child, a girl, she also sleeping. On his leg, your third child, a boy, who is the youngest, has supported himself on Sanji's leg, hugging it, him sleeping too.

•You smile as you see them and approach them in order to wake them up and go to bed.

•As you wake them, the two older children start to argue each other saying

"He is my dad!"

"No! He is my dad!"

Them giving each other pushes, trying to hit each other, both shouting 'leave!!' at the same time.

"Hey! Hey! Enough! You won't sleep with dad again if you don't behave!"

Sanji, being indignant, shout to stop them. And they really stopped fighting, looking each other with a frown.

"Come on kids, time to sleep"

You say to your children with your arms open, so they will come close to you. They really climbed down from the armchair and came close to you.

•Sanji feels on his legs the younger boy who was quiet all the time

"Aww, there you were little guy"

Sanji says as he stretches his arms towards him, lifting him up from his armpits, taking him in his hug.

•Both you and Sanji headed to the children's room, putting them to sleep.

•Now you and Sanji are to your bedroom.

"Finally, some quiet."

Sanji says and adds

"They were really loud today."

"Yeah, I know. My head got dizzy with their voices. But that's how the kids are."

You say tiredly as you are folding some clothes putting them inside the closet.

•Sanji approaches you from behind, hugging you, as he rests his chin between your neck and shoulder

•"You smell really nice, my love"

He says as he is having his eyes closed.

"Thank you~"

You say as you caress his cheek with your hand

•Next you both shove yourselves under the covers. You two let a sigh, finally your bodies getting some rest.

•As you both enjoy this peaceful moment, Sanji says

"Should we have one more child?"

"What?!"

You exclaimed immediately

"What?"

Sanji asks you calmly

"Weren't you the one who said to have as many kids as I want?"

Sanji says to you with a sweet voice having also a pout.

"Well, yeah.. I really love kids, but.."

You say with a sigh, thinking that you will have to deal with an other child full of energy

"Wouldn't be nice to have one more girl?"

Sanji tells you with a smile

"So our daughter will have a sister to spend time together."

He adds still smiling

"Well, that's true. That would be nice."

You say with a tired smile, looking at nowhere, imaging having one more baby, a girl.

"But what if the next child is a boy?"

You ask Sanji, turning your head, that is resting on your pillow, towards him

"Then we will do one more"

Sanji says simply, having a big smile.

"We will do what?!"

You whisper loudly

"You know, I am the one who goes through all this challenge, giving birth. Did you ask me if I have the strength to give one more birth?"

You say giving a lecture to Sanji.

"I'm sorry, my love. In no way I would like you to be exhausted."

Sanji says to you as he wraps an arm around you.

"I just like the idea having a big family as we were dreaming in the past. But if you can't or don't want right now, I won't force you."

Sanji tells you as he gives a kiss on your shoulder.

•You just answered him again with a tired smile.

"It's been some days, though, that we have..you know.. have done...something"

Sanji adds moving his body playfully

"Sanji.. I'm really tired. I want to sleep."

You say turning on your side, your back facing Sanji.

•Sanji approaches you more hugging from behind

"Once you wanted us to do it all the time"

Sanji tells you with a grin

"Once"

You just said, covering yourself with the blanket till your ears, showing to Sanji that you have prepared for sleep.

•"Maybe if I remind you.."

Sanji murmurs as his hand travels to your butt under the covers, caressing it.

"Mm!"

You growl as you wiggle your butt, causing Sanji to slap it.

"Sanjii!"

You say in a surprised tone.

"Come here my lady"

Sanji says in a lustful way and he starts to give kisses to your neck and then sucking it. You knew that he wasn't going to give up. He even shoves his hand under your nightgown, caressing with his index finger your folds from behind.

•Your hips start to rock because of the pleasure, but Sanji can't wait no more. He turns you, so you are resting now on your back.

"Open up"

Sanji tells you, meaning to open your legs

"Wha-.."

"Open up"

Sanji repeats. As you open your legs slowly, Sanji shoves his head quickly between them and starts to lick you in a fast pace like he hadn't eat for days.

•Sanji remained that night under the covers making you feeling good, reminding you how wild you were in the past.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

•The time flew. Your kids were a little bit older, but this time your kids were four. Three boys and one girl.

•All the family, meaning all of you, are now on a picnic.

•You and Sanji are sitting down on a fabric that you had put down in the grass.

•You were having with you many goods, which you carried them with your baskets.

•The kids were playing and running on the grass. The youngest boy who is two years old is following his older siblings, moving back and forward his chubby arms.

•You and Sanji admire your children as they are having a good time, you two feeling happy for them.

•Sanji who sits near you leans down to you and tells you

"Eventually, we didn't have a second girl"

You shoot Sanji a glare and you continue tidy your foods up to the fabric.

"It's never too late though, hm, Y/N?"

Sanji tells you pat-pat-ing your thigh

"Sanji."

You say in a serious tone, like you mean 'enough'.

"Now that we are still young and we can~"

Sanji purrs in your ear, repeating the old words of yours.

•You ignored him though, keep doing your work, but Sanji knew that he could convinced you.

•Your youngest child tripped himself and he falls on the ground.

•The poor boy starts to cry because he got scared.

•You and Sanji immediately run towards him and you both lift him on his feet, checking if he is alright.

•Fortunatelly, he is not hurt, but he still cries because of his fall.

•His other siblings are around him looking him worryingly.

•You take your child in your hug and all of you are heading to your picnic.

"Shh baby, it's okay"

You try to calm the boy and you give a kiss on his head.

•All of you sat on the fabric that you had put down on the ground. You place your baby in your lap and your children start to eat from the foods that you had brought together.

•Sanji leans down to give a kiss to the small boy's head which had stopped crying.

•You help your baby eat, while the other ones are stealing food from each other, they will start to argue soon.

•Sanji gives to your mouth a bite of cake with his hand as you are busy with your child and not eat

•You accept the bite and Sanji gives you a kiss to your cheek.

•After all those years, this man is still loving you.

•You place your hand up on his and caress it with your thumb while looking him in his eyes. It's like you say to him 'I love you' and Sanji understands it.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

•Not much time passed when you and Sanji had your 5th child. And f i n a l.

•You really thanked god that it was a girl because Sanji would like to have more till you got a second girl.

•You have now fulfilled what you both really wanted. A big family.

•Your older daughter was really getting along with the new baby, as she was holding her all the time in her hug.

•And your kids even though they are not yet adults, like to help you with your work.

•They help with baking, cleaning, cultivating etc.

•Even though life has its difficulties, all of you live happily just only by being together.

•Now as you are behind bakery's counter, Sanji approaches you and hugs you from behind and says

"You know, there are four things that I have done in my life and I have not and I will never regret."

"Hm? Really? What are they?"

You say, but your mind is on your work.

"Meeting you. Loving you. Marrying you. And having a family with you."

His words pause you, your head turning towards him. You feel flattered and also the happiest human alive.

"I don't regret them either"

You tell Sanji as you cup his cheek, giving him also a small kiss on his lips

•Your two older children that are also inside the bakery, holding each one a broom, turn to each other and stick their tongue out in disgust.

•"I saw you!"

Sanji tell them loudly

•Both of them started to clean quickly with their brooms the floor like nothing happened.

•And that's how your life with your family continues, naturally, beautifully and peacefully. Because the every day moments are those that have a meaning.

[favoniuscodex]

eternity. [zhongli/reader]

prompt: arranged marriage royalty au with zhongli, in which you are the child of the dendro archon, sent to marry the emperor of liyue. pairing: emperor!zhongli/f!royalty!reader  word count: 3.8k warnings: fluff, kissing scene (don’t tell my mom) a/n: SUPER close to being gn!reader! i just couldn’t think of a gender-neutral term for empress, which is used twice in this story. otherwise, it’s completely gender-neutral if that sort of thing doesn’t bother you! there will be one of these for both diluc and childe too sometime close in the future! additional note: i tried my best to respect the culture liyue is based off (chinese) by incorporating some small aspects of chinese culture (clothes + titles)! if any of these are done incorrectly, please please PLEASE let me know so i can fix it!

to say you were nervous to meet your future husband was an understatement. you were a child of the dendro archon, an heir of the monarchist nation of sumeru. third-in-line for the throne, you held no chance of inheriting the throne. so, upon your 200th birthday and years of studying to be a scholar, your parents decided that marrying you off to another kingdom was the best choice for your destiny.

you just hadn’t expected it to be the reclusive archon emperor of liyue.

upon your first meeting with him, you were shaken to the core. he was sharp on the edges, yet easy on the eyes. his gaze was intense, amber eyes holding a subdued ferocity within their depths. his figure briefly alluded to the hidden power that lies within him, an unusual form for a god of war. he towered over you in height, reminiscent of the mountain scenery you had witnessed upon your journey to liyue’s capital. despite your worries, you did your best to remain cordial and gave a standing bow in his direction upon first meeting him.

any intimidating impression you had of him shattered at that instant as a deep, yet kind laugh escaped his lips at your actions.

“please, there is no need to bow,” the geo archon explained. “we are to be equals, are we not?”

--

one thing you hadn’t expected was for the geo archon, zhongli, as he insisted you call him, to have your same affinity for reading. being raised in a nation of scholars meant that their royal heirs were expected to always have their noses in a book and, fortunately for you, you had been more than happy to do so. the geo archon’s palace, situated on the edge of liyue harbor, had a library that rivaled that of your motherland’s.

upon hearing from his service staff that you had taken a liking to the royal library, zhongli had made it a point to come and read with you. the first time he had done so, you were so enthralled by the pulp fiction romance novel you had picked up that you had failed to acknowledge his presence. rather than interrupting you, the geo archon had silently sat down on the plush armchair, distanced from yours by a coffee table, and opened up a book as well. you hadn’t noted the turning of his pages and, if not for a servant to interrupt your train of thought to set tea down on the table before you, you weren’t sure if you ever would have noticed.

“oh, pardon me, i did not request any t-” you stated while the sentence you were reading. however, the words died on your lips as you glanced up, realizing the emperor and the servant were now both sitting before you. “oh.”

the single word escaped your mouth before you could stop it, but, fortunately, zhongli interpreted it as what you meant it as: a statement of surprise, not one of disappointment. a soft amusement twinkled in his eyes at your widened eyes, you being clearly shaken by not having noticed him sitting before you. he turns and smiles at the nervous-looking staff member and allows the man to depart the scene, who quickly scurries off. 

“i hope i am not intruding,” zhongli states, turning the book in his hands over and resting it on his lap, pages downward. he leans forward, gently grasps his teacup (black tea, you noted, looking at its contents) and stirs it with an ornate, white iron spoon, cor lapis embedded in its handle. “the tea was merely a precautionary gesture. if you do not wish to drink any, please do not feel obligated to.”

you feel a faint heat rise to your cheeks, embarrassed at the thought of seeming like you were ungrateful for his kind gesture. he likely just wanted the tea for himself and did not wish to be rude, you told yourself.

“i- it’s not that,” your voice stammers in a soft tone, worried about your noise level within the quiet aisles of the library. “i just did not wish to have the hardworking service staff unnecessarily cater to me for something i did not place an order for. however, i appreciate the gracious gesture and am no longer perturbed by the action, knowing that it was something you called for. i appreciate the hospitality.”

the brunette quirked an eyebrow upwards and hovered his lips above his golden-and-white teacup before blowing softly on the liquid. you noted the geo elemental insignia molded into the bottom of the mug, seeming to glow the same color as his eyes.

“is that so?” zhongli’s words had an aura of amusement interwoven into them, entertained by your dissertation-length explanation. you nodded, feeling your face burn with bashfulness, and quickly redirected your gaze to the book at hand.

“pardon my interruption, but what is the book you are reading? you seem to be quite enthralled by it.”

the book held an illustration of a shirtless man holding a fair maiden close to him in front of the ocean, about as cheesy as you could get for any book cover. you weren’t sure how you were going to survive this conversation.

“it’s called… um…” you trail off, speaking in an even quieter tone than before. “love on the sea of clouds.”

if zhongli’s eyes held a faint amusement within them before, the amber pools are now glistening with delight. a chuckle escapes his lips. “oh? that’s one of my favorites.”

---

zhongli managed to contradict nearly any expectation you held of his behavior before you had met him. like most royals, you had expected him to act in an uncouth, entitled manner, who placed self-indulgence before the care of others. now, as you sat next to him in a meeting with the qixing, you realized he placed the care of his nation first and foremost. your mind trailed off as you watched his amber eyes shift with every word he spoke, his eyebrows making the most subtle of movements as his lips parted and closed. of course you were paying attention to what he was saying! you definitely weren’t using this as a chance to burn his visage into your mind!

“what do you think, (y/n)?” zhongli asks, turning to look at you. despite the two of you having a rather different fundamental knowledge of the world, his having been cultivated from his experiences leading liyue, and yours having been crafted from the presence of sumerian scholars, zhongli deeply valued your input on issues affecting liyue. he cherished the unique perspective you could provide on the nation’s affairs. normally, you were more than happy to oblige and help. one day, you would be his right-hand, his equal, he had once told you, but for now, you were not yet married and still acclimating to becoming a liyuean royal.

but at this moment? you feel ice cold mortification trickling into your veins. your failure to pay attention was now catching up to you as zhongli and the rest of the qixing looked at you, anticipating your response.

“well,” you calmly stated, trying to gather your thoughts. “i believe that to be a good idea, but…” you glanced away, pretending to be lost in thought. “you also need to consider the changing societal expectations of liyueans before doing such a thing.”

the answer was pulled completely out of your ass, but the spritely yuheng, keqing, could not have been more thrilled at your words. she immediately launched into a lengthy diatribe of agreeance, using your words to help back up her point. oh, harbor management. that’s what they were talking about.

as you forced yourself to pay attention to keqing, rather than ogling your husband-to-be again, you noticed a slight smirk cross his face out of the corner of your eye. to any of the other qixing in the room, it would seem like zhongli was happy with your answer, but you knew better. he knew you had spaced off staring at him and had put you on the spot to fluster you. his eyes were glowing with the amusement you had come to be familiar with.

---

your wedding date is approaching when zhongli arrives at your chambers one morning, guards and servants cast aside. he’s dressed in an ornate golden-brown suit, adorned with silver accents and matching gloves. the outfit, while complex, is a change of pace from his usual robes and traditional liyuean attire, reminding you instead of a well-dressed businessman.

“hello,” he speaks, looking slightly nervous, as if he doesn’t know the words to say. “would you like to accompany me somewhere?”

zhongli waits patiently for you to get ready in the sitting area of your chambers. you elect for an outfit that reminds you of his -- something respectful, yet less extravagant than typical royal garments. you arrive back to zhongli, your presence snapping him out of his reverie. his worry-ladened expression softens at your arrival and he musters a soft smile before standing up and extending a hand to you.

“shall we?”

---

zhongli takes you to a secluded memorial within the palace gardens, one you wouldn’t have noticed unless it was pointed out to you. the entrance is obscured by a variety of hanging plants, meaning that only those who know of its presence are likely to find it. zhongli’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly as he pauses at the entrance, before stepping forward, guiding you behind him.

the memorial, protected from the sun with plant-interwoven latticework, provides a sanctuary of shade from the warm atmosphere of the otherwise outdoor gardens. through the holes created by gaps in the foliage of ivy and sturdy lattice wood, sunlight filters in, allowing the marble statue of the woman within to glow in the sunlight. she’s dressed in antique robes, the kind you recognize from museums and your studies of old cultures. a warm smile sits on her face and her irises, made of cor lapis, shine with a kindness and wisdom reminiscent of zhongli’s. her arms are outstretched and cupped, as if she’s offering something to whoever views her statue.

zhongli takes the initiative to place the blossom of one of the glaze lilies growing near her feet within her palms and he lets out a soft sigh.

“this is guizhong, my first wife,” he explains, sitting down on the stone bench by the entrance. crystalflies flutter around your heads, their typically skittish nature calmed by the presence of the statue. “forgive me if this is too strong, but i brought you here for a chance to meet her.”

“she’s beautiful,” you state, glancing from the statue to look at zhongli. he looks worried, as if he’s afraid you’ll lash out at him for such a gesture. “thank you.”

“‘thank you’?” zhongli echoes, confused. you smile at him.

“if she is important to you, she is important to me,” you give the hand that still holds yours a reassuring squeeze, and zhongli gives you a smile, a genuine smile, his expression painted with relief and gratitude towards your statement. “would you like to tell me about her?”

zhongli parts his lips, lets out a soft chuckle, clearly having worked himself up over how this conversation would go. “guizhong lived many millenia ago and was known as the goddess of dust…” he begins, and unlike certain conversations prior, you listen attentively to his words, the outside world is forgotten to the two of you as zhongli tells you all about the first empress of liyue.

---

zhongli takes you to his favorite restaurant in liyue harbor that evening. the typically bustling patio is devoid of any other people, aside from fellow workers. zhongli had first explained, when you sat down, that normally he doesn’t mind eating amongst his constituents and typically prefers to do so, but wished to focus solely on you this evening. you had stammered profusely upon him saying this and he simply gave you an innocent smile, but zhongli’s eyes revealed that he knew of the effect he had on you.

tonight was a special night in liyue. the castle grounds had opened for one of the biggest festivals, the yearly lantern festival, and zhongli had chosen to spend it with you in seclusion. he loved his people, but always had been a reclusive god, typically only appearing to most citizens at the rite of descension. however, he did have his moments, such as now, where he traversed amongst the common folk, while still maintaining an aura of distance. he always felt a disconnect from his people, saying they preferred to view him as a holy figure rather than a true emperor. you never failed to notice the glint of longing in his eyes when he spoke of the idea of being able to truly fit in with humanity.

but those thoughts had been cast away for a quiet evening as the two of you placed your orders, with zhongli ordering half the menu. you have yet to try most liyuean cuisine, what’s a better time than now? he had said upon your confusion. zhongli’s rationale was an impregnable defense.

zhongli smiles at you, his brilliant white teeth glinting in the soft light of the restaurant’s festive lanterns. as the two of you wait for your food, he takes your hand, resting on the table, and interlaces your fingers. your eyes widen briefly, but you give his hand a light, reassuring squeeze in return.

“you look beautiful tonight,” he says, gesturing to the traditional festival garments you had adorned yourself in. you had asked the liyuean royal stylist if she had any liyuean hanfu for you to wear and she had clapped her hands excitedly and told you she had been waiting for you to ask.

“are you saying i don’t look beautiful every day?” you tease, causing zhongli’s eyes to widen and eyebrows to raise. he immediately began to dispute your claim, but your sweetened laughter caused his argument to fall short as he smiled at your amusement, even if it had been at his expense.

“oh!” zhongli exclaimed after your laughter had died down. “i have something for you.” the idea of receiving another gift, after zhongli had taken the time to reserve the restaurant and spend the day with you, caused yet another wave of heat to rise to your face, something that seemed to be a frequent occurrence as you spent time with him. zhongli’s non-occupied gently slides a ring box across the table, and, for a split second, a brief flash of lightheadedness crosses over you, but you remain heavy. oh my archons.

your hand detangles itself from his and cradles the box as if its made of the most fragile materials, before carefully opening it. a gasp escapes your lips upon seeing the ring inside. crafted of a brilliant cut of noctilucuous jade, the ring is a long, winding ring that wraps around the finger several times and is in the shape of a dragon, two small, cor lapis eyes embedded on its head.

“this is your exuvia, no?” you ask, looking up at zhongli. “it’s magnificent. thank you” upon your words, zhongli looks away, bashful as he nods and softly smiles in response.

“i am aware that upon signing the wedding contract, rings are a customary exchange in sumeru, even if they are not a liyuean tradition,” zhongli confesses and you feel your heart melt a bit at his consideration for your homeland’s culture. “additionally…” he trails off, his cheeks flushing as he sees you situate the gift on your ring finger and gaze at it admirably.

“hmm?” you ask, glancing up upon realizing he trailed off. a nervous look passes over his eyes and you smile encouragingly.

“it’s also a… public display of our contract, to show that my heart is solely within your possession,” zhongli admits, his words soft. his hand fumbles for yours, returning to the interlocked nature they held earlier in your conversation. rather than looking away, however, zhongli gazes upon you with an intensity in his eyes that you’ve had yet to see. his eyes lock on yours and you are reminded, for the first time, that this man is a god of war. a ferocious honesty dances within the honeyed depths, imploring you to recognize the veracity of his words.

“your heart?” you echo, for rex lapis is a god of war, but you are no longer afraid of bloodshed.

“ah,” he breathes, “perhaps i have not elaborated enough. i am in love with you, my empress. the luminosity of your eyes outshine even the most radiant of geoculi, your intellect and ceaseless conviction in improving your wisdom lays even the most studious of scholars to shame, your heart fueled with the golden blood of the greatest of immortals, the kind whom dedicate their lives to those who do not have the luxury of forever, unlike the-” zhongli’s words are harshly interrupted as you stand up, fueled by an adrenaline rush. you rip your hand out of his and the emperor fears that he may have overstepped boundaries, having been too intense with his words and affections for you.

you assuage his panic as you swiftly move around the table that separates the two of you and cup his face in your hands, bending over to meld your lips upon his. the archon responds nearly immediately, his hand wrapping around your waist, ushering you to rest upon his lap, rather than be forced to lean over. your lips part and the archon deepens the kiss, his free hand reaching up to cradle your head, gently brushing against your hair, treating you as if you’re made of fine china.

when the two of you finally part, zhongli looks at you with an expression of fondness and adoration. you make a move to stand up, but zhongli’s arm tightens around your waist.

“stay,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “please.” his grip loosens, allowing you to make your escape if you wish, but instead you sit sideways on his lap, leaning in to rest your shoulder upon his chest, your head nestling into where his shoulder meets his neck. your hand once again interlaces with his free one and you feel his thumb swirl the ring around on your finger. as you look down at your hands, zhongli nudges you ever so slightly.

“look,” zhongly whispers, his lips upon your ear. you have to prevent yourself from shivering in response to the low vibrations. “the first lantern, lit for the empress.” “is that a tradition?” you ask, surprised as you watch the first lantern fly high into the night sky above you. zhongli chuckles.

“i can see to it that such an action becomes a festival tradition, if you’d like,” zhongli offers sincerely and you give an airy giggle in response.

the night continues on and as you’re about to fall asleep to the sound of zhongli explaining the history of the liyuean lantern festival and the vibrations produced from his chest, the two of you are forced to part as the servers bring out your food. you sheepishly move back to your own seat, embarrassed to be caught in such a compromising, intimate position. however, zhongli looks the opposite, sending an unabashedly smug grin in your direction. as the geo archon tells you about each dish and their origins, your heart melts at the idea of realizing that you’ll spend forever with this man, waking up at each other’s side every day. upon this revelation, a question pops into your mind.

“zhongli,” you begin, making sure to tone your words with one of innocent inquisition, not accusation. “of every being in teyvat, you chose me. you’re the geo archon and emperor of the most economically prosperous nation, you could’ve had anyone. what made you agree to marry me?”

you await zhongli’s answer while munching on another jade parcel, your favorite dish of the night.

“oh,” zhongli responds, a bit startled that you asked such a question. “i was enthralled by your work published within the sumeru arcademia. your work on the historical and economic analysis on the inazuman tea industry was quite fascinating.”

you pause for a brief moment, before an uncharacteristic, raucous laughter escapes your lips. upon this, zhongli looks at you sheepishly and a bit confused.

“is such a thing peculiar to do?” he inquires, causing a break in your laughter to reassure him.

“yes, absolutely,” you confirm to your lover. “but i absolutely adore such a notion! tell me, what was about my financial prose that made you desire to bed me?”

upon your words, zhongli flushes a deep shade of scarlet, darker than what you’ve seen before. you decide it’s your new favorite color.

---

the date of your wedding arrives and your emotions are a far cry from the ones you experienced when you first stepped foot in the liyuean royal palace. the emperor, known to some as the fearsome god of war, to others as the strict morax, god of contracts, is now known to you by the sweet name of zhongli, a name reserved for you and you alone. rather than relishing in the bloodlust of the battlefield as he once did when he was much younger, rex lapis now desires your companionship and velvet touch.

when he was a much younger archon, he had not told the woman he loved his true emotions until it was too late. while they had ruled together, they had remained nothing more than friends due to his hestiance. but now, zhongli knew what he desired and was determined to let you know his affections before it was too late.

as you step foot into the palace chapel, all eyes are on you, but the only ones you care about are those of your lover, zhongli. you float down the aisle, captivating all onlookers in an outfit that fuses both the sumerian fashion of your past and the liyuean styles of your future. at the end of the aisle awaits your emperor, your lover, your husband, and the two of you will combine your two eternities into one. together, you will sign an eternal contract with the god of contracts, your first one with such a deity, yet your most important one.

with this thought in mind, you smile at your lover as you meet him at the altar, taking his hands in yours. with locked eyes, the two of you grin, ready to sign the contract of forever.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Cultivated-to-Immortality post-canon where cultivation in modern day is mostly mysterious and many doubt it's real - and then WWX gets a cooking show...

“I’m going to murder him,” Jiang Cheng said blankly.

He wasn’t even angry or frustrated or any of the things he normally was when he said something like that. That would require actually reacting to -

What he just saw.

With his own eyes.

For real.

“You can’t do that,” Nie Huaisang said from where he was curled into a tiny little ball on their on-the-verge-of-breaking-down couch – modern things were really crap. The thing couldn’t be older than what, thirty or forty years, and it was already useless, and Nie Huaisang wasn’t helping matters by crying tears of laughter into the worn-out cushions like he was right now. “He’s immortal, remember? We’re all immortal.”

“Immortal in the sense that we won’t die of old age,” Jiang Cheng said. “I can still kill him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jiang Cheng admitted. He was pretty sure they’d established that back in Wei Wuxian’s first life, forget his subsequent resurrection or when they all unexpectedly achieved immortality. “But I could definitely break his legs. He’d heal from that quick enough.”

“The day you break his legs will be the same day you do it to Jin Ling,” Nie Huaisang said wisely. “And I know you wouldn’t do that to our beloved junior squad.”

“You really need to stop calling them juniors, they’re all married with children and grandchildren a half-dozen times over already, and anyway stop getting away from the main point, which is this – this – this travesty.”

“It’s not a travesty,” Nie Huaisang said, pretending towards solemnity. Jiang Cheng didn’t know why he bothered, it wasn’t like they hadn’t spent centuries together by now on account of immortality being a little lonely and them not liking anyone else who’d reached immortality enough to want to spend that sort of time with them. “It’s a cooking show.”

“It can be a cooking show and a travesty! It’s a cooking show run by Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng growled. His stomach hurt just remembering the many times he’d been suckered into trying something because this time I’ve really got it down, I promise, you’ll like it! “Of course it’s a travesty. Did you see the set up he has going on? He has an entire wall of hot peppers!”

“Hmm, good point,” Nie Huaisang said. “You’re right. Something needs to be done about this.”

“I’m glad we agree.”

“I’ll send him some peppers from our garden,” Nie Huaisang decided. “I have that new varietal breed that we’ve been working on, extra hot; he’ll love it.”

“Don’t you dare send him the Zidian pepper without letting me try it first,” Jiang Cheng said pointedly. “It’s mine. He only gets leftovers once I’ve decided it’s complete. Anyway, are you telling me that you don’t think that this - this - this thing is a disgrace?”

They both looked at the screen, where the words ‘CHEF CULTIVATOR’ had appeared in large letters.

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “I rather like the conceit of it – the mysterious food-obsessed Chairman kidnapping the heirs of the various cultivation clans...it’s all very historically accurate, at least?”

“One, Wen Ruohan wasn’t a Chairman, he was a tyrannical warlord who made all our lives absolutely miserable. Two, if that set is supposed to be the Nightless City, why is it so dark, and what’s with all the lava everywhere? I’m not even going to touch on the rock chair thing that no cultivator who values the state of their ass would ever sit on -”

“I don’t know about that,” Nie Huaisang said, looking down at their shitty couch with a exaggerated thoughtful look.

Jiang Cheng ignored him. He didn’t want to go couch-shopping again. It’d only been a few decades!

“And three,” he said, soldiering on, “I feel the need to point out that the cultivation clans were not named ‘Spicy’, ‘Barbecue’, ‘Vegetarian’, and ‘Expensive Fusion’.”

“But he’s got the coloring right and everything! And it’s really funny to see a chef outfit done up in that awful Jin gold color...”

Jiang Cheng put his head in his hands.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nie Huaisang said, completely unable to resist bursting out in occasional bouts of giggling. “This is exactly like the time the Wen sect forced all of us to attend their indoctrination camp. Exactly like! You’re just misremembering.”

“I’m pretty sure that I’d remember being forced to compete in some sort of absurd cooking competition with mystery ingredients.”

“Would’ve been nice if we had.” At Jiang Cheng’s incredulous expression, Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Better than listening to Wen Chao talk, no?”

“…well, yes,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “Still, the whole thing seems a bit much. Cultivation is now state-regulated - by which we mean mostly banned from public knowledge - and our sects are all shrouded in mystery...this does seem to lower the tone a bit.”

“Like you care about tone.”

Jiang Cheng, who’d declared that he’d stopped giving a fuck sometime around the eleventh century, had to concede that.

“How’d he get the whole thing approved by the government?” he asked instead. “I thought they censored anything to do with modern-day cultivation.”

“I don’t think they’re that concerned about him spilling actual cultivation secrets on his cooking show.”

Jiang Cheng huffed, not wanting to admit that Nie Huaisang had a point. At any rate, the commercials were over and the show was continuing; he had better things to do than listen to Nie Huaisang talk, like watch the television.

After a few moments, his face began to turn purple.

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang said, and buried his face back into the pillows. “Oh no. Oh no.”

“I cannot believe him,” Jiang Cheng said. “I can’t – he can’t –”

“Now, now,” Nie Huaisang said between laughter so hard that he was hiccupping. “Be nice. If Wei Wuxian is the despotic Chef Cultivator and - oh this is terrible - Grandmaster of Demonic Cooking, that is on the hunt for a chef worthy of being his successor by forcing teams to challenge his stable of in-house chefs, it only makes sense that the ‘challenger’ team would be protected by the – by the –”

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes. “Lightly-Braised Lord?”

“That!”

“I would say that I can’t believe Hanguang-jun agreed to this, except he hasn’t said ‘no’ to Wei Wuxian in centuries,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. There was a reason he refused to live with them. “This is a disgrace.”

“Accurate, though!” Nie Huaisang said, grinning. “That’s a very mild flavor of cooking, very appropriate for Lan Wangji.”

“I think you mean tasteless.”

“I mean, Lan Wangji is that, too, at least when it comes to Wei-xiong”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t exactly say that that was wrong.

They continued watching.

“Oh no,” Nie Huaisang said a few moments later. “The Ghost Pepper General. Poor Wen Ning!”

“It doesn’t fit,” Jiang Cheng said with a sniff. “He has no flavor profile.”

Maybe he was getting more into this than he would be willing to admit.

...he wasn’t going to admit it out loud anyway.

Nie Huaisang sniggered. “I hope Wei-xiong isn’t the judge.”

Jiang Cheng stared at the screen. “I still can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“I love it,” Nie Huaisang said. He was now scrolling on his phone. “The internet agrees with me, apparently. It’s a hit!”

“It figures.”

Their phones gave a chime at the same time, indicating a message on their group chat.

“Huh,” Nie Huaisang said. “That was the notable Chef Cultivator himself.”

“Oh, I bet it was,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, making no move to reach for his own phone. “What does he want? To apologize?”

“No, to offer us walk-on roles in the event he gets renewed for a second season.”

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “I refuse to be known as the Sandwich Shengshou or whatever he comes up with.”

Nie Huaisang dissolved into giggles. “Oh no. He would, too!...I wonder what I’d be?”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You’d be – the Saltshaker. Obviously.”

“Oh noooooooo…”

[husbandohunter]

Boys over flowers [Genshin Impact/Various x Reader] Part 2

Not everything had to be about fighting. Ahem Childe.

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Xiao

{Zhongli}

Out of all the bountiful possessions in the land he carved with his very own hands, the glaze lily had always been his favourite.

This flower was a nostalgia stained with time. As much as he loved them, the love he felt was more of a bittersweet sadness if anything. The loss of a friend, his mentor, someone he cherished so deeply, all of it was held into a single glaze lily.

Once as Morax, now as ordinary Zhongli, in those 6000 years he had seen it all. Even his grief for Guizhong faded into a memory.

Sometimes Zhongli felt like he was reading from a story book. Detatched while staring through an omniscient standpoint. It seems that his infinite years brought both experience and lonliness along the way.

"Zhongli? What are you staring at?"

But not when he was with you.

The glaze lily went on many journeys when he met you

He remembers the first encounter on a sunset night just as the petals  were about to bloom. You were there, crouched down, staring into his golden eyes.

“This is for you! Not many can be fully matured like this so make sure to take good care of it,” You held it out to him and he takes the stem out of your hold.

“A parting gift, I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Zhongli sees it as a sign of a new contract, “It seems you possess a good eye when you were selecting them.”

He remembers the bouquet you presented during his birthday, the garland you placed on his head when he was reading, the vase by his desk always filled to the brim whenever you’d pay a visit to his parlour.

He remembers how the blue petals scattered across the floor the day you two married, everywhere he went so did this flower. Everytime he saw this flower, he thought of you.

Was it okay to feel like this? No one can ever replace Guizhong, was it okay to love again even when this being was much more perishable than she was? Zhongli was use to the experience of tragedy and loss as it was part of life.

Ah, so this must be what it feels like to live like a mortal.

To cherish every passing moment knowing that it won’t last forever. He will embrace it to the end. 

Old memories that were once dust rose from the soil, now reborn into a new beginning. Your curious gaze leans closer to his profile, sitting side-by-side under the blankets of your shared bed, the corners of his lips lift into a small smile.

“I’m only reminiscing, my dear. You don’t need to worry for me.” He kisses your forehead and tucked you to bed. The candle now blown out as his arms wrapped around your waist while spooning from behind.

Zhongli closed his eyes, knowing if he dreamt of a garden full of glaze lilies, there will be no sadness behind it.

{Childe}

Mother fucker would try to turn this into a sparring session.

This is why you NEVER invite Childe. If the valley were the air nomads, Childe was the fire nation. He’d stomp his muddy shoes in front of you just to get your attention simply because he knows it will piss you off.

An angry s/o means a potential fight. Win win situation.

Thus, no one blamed you for giving him a cold shoulder after that.

“Aha, looks like I went a little too far, didn’t I? Alright alright, I’ll stop trampling on your flowers from now on, you have my word. So talk to me, okay? Please?”

Alas you spare him a glance, “Make that a pinky promise.”

He didn’t know you were so serious about gardening. The Feiyun commerce guild took greate pride in cultivating the finest silk flowers in all of Teyvat and you being from that guild held up that legacy. Even if Childe tries to buy back the ones he stepped on, nothing could match the quality of your work.

Needless to say, your little hobby became a normal thing, Childe was very chaotic in nature so something more calm was nice to mediate that attitude. You taught him how to water plants, place the fertilizer and knowing which ones to pick.

But let’s be real, florist Childe isn’t that far-fetched because he is 10/10 waifu material.

Then Teucer comes in and tags along. He wanted to take some silk flowers back to Tonia until Childe informed him they’ll wilt on their way to Snezhnaya. 

“Aww, that’s too bad,” he would say while pouting, “Then I’ll give them to you big sister (Y/n)!”

“How sweet, you’ll be quite the charmer when you’re all grown up, Teucer. Maybe even better than your big brother.”

“Come on now, babe. You know that’s impossible.”

You twirled the silk flower right under your nose, the playful tone never leaving your voice, “Oh really? You and Teucer both share the same genes so yes, it is a possibility.”

An amusing glint dances in the ocean of his gaze as he gleefully remarks, “Well if you put it that way, I think Teucer would be at a very big disadvantage.”

“What do you-”

Before you could finish, Childe covers Teucer’s eyes and leans over to steal a sinful kiss, sliding his tongue inside. He purposely brushed his lips over yours after parting, completely satisfied by your flustered expression.

I love this bastard

{Xiao}

Hip hip hooray for having both Qiqi and Xiao in your party. Must be fun collecting their ascension materials.

“Adeptus Xiao!”

Your dumbass fell off the high cliff while obtaining the violet grass, Xiao yeets in from nowhere and caught you from death’s clutches.

Shall I mention that this had happened TWICE already?

Xiao carries you to safety and gently settles you down to your feet. He shot you the sharpest and most deadpan look he could muster because actions speak louder that words, he was trying to make a point.

You gave him a weary smile as the violetgrass batch limps in your hands along with the qingxins.

“I can hardly fathom how utterly stupid and moronic you can actually be. What did you think would happen when you tried to pull off that stunt? That you’d suddenly grow wings and be able to fly?”

His harsh words put you back into your place like a scolded child, “I’m sorry...I just wanted to help...”

Mah man does not watch what he says and always end up guilty. Your kicked puppy look is really going to be the death of him. He means well, just harsh when it comes to your well-being.

“Fine, give me those. I’ll take care of it.” He wouldn’t allow you to retort, he just took them from your hands and left without a word.

Let’s just say that Xiao isn’t the best when it comes to handling flowers as he would handle monesters, his touch isn’t the most delicate either and would prefer to get the job done fast. 

Sometimes he’d pull the roots our along with it, dirt and mud dripping from the bottom of the stem. Or the opposite. He pulls too hard and the stem just SNAPS and you’re left with just the blossom. 

“Does it matter? They’re only ingredients as you’ve said.”

That gave you a perfect excuse to teach him the ways of gardening and just be more delicate overall. 

At first he didn’t understand why humans were so meticulous about these things but when he saw a man present a bouquet to his wife, Xiao began to reconsider his methods. He doesn’t undersand mortal traditions as much and sticks to something simple and classy.

Don’t be surprised when you find a bunch on your desk for your birthday <3

{Albedo}

The sheer cold of dragon spine could naturally kill any botanical organisms aside from mints. The only flowers Albedo usually sees are the ones he artificially makes.

But being the genius he was, Albedo knew every variety of flowers to exist in the book. In this case, HE was the expert.

To him, the flower was the symbol of life. Albedo only knew the scientific facts of plant life and their natural functions, you on the otherhand were more familiar with the flower languages in a deeper meaning.

Today was a rare day where Albedo figured he’d step out of that freezing lab and conduct his research somewhere warmer, specifically Windrise where it’s quiet and away from the city.

“Dandelions may not be flowers but thei’re the main specialty of Mondstadt carrying the meaning of ‘freedom’! That’s probably how the Acting Grandmaster got her title.”

“Freedom...” He ponders, “I guess you cold say that.”

Albedo can’t understand why people would choose to associate meaning with plants. Where do their ideas come from? And why? Frankly, he can’t see the point in any of it. 

But at the same time, it made him happy to see you so enthusiastic about his research even if it wasn’t quite near the target. Albedo had always been so engrossed in his work and you’d just silently keep him company of the side, not many times where you both fot to nerd out on the same topic.

Emotions were still a mystery to him. It seems that even upon the most boring subjects, they don’t seem boring anymore when talking to his significant other. Soon enough, Albedo found himself putting his research aside and just listening to you talk. 

“And the Rose expresses romance and love. It’s common for lovers to give it to another during Valentines day.”

He hums cheekily, “Are you telling me that just to hint me to give one to you?”

“W-Well, I didn’t say that.”

He got nothing done. Perhaps his research can wait for another day, right now, he was more curious on what other meanings can a flower hold.