#Its raining gods in Paradise Manor

[harocat]

5, Hualian

Hello. There is a cat AGAIN. CW for animal death I guess, because it's a ghost cat, but it is being loved and cherished and there's no details.

----

Hua Cheng could never begrudge Xie Lian’s kindness. It was one of the things he adored about him, that he found so special. Among all the gods in the realm of heaven, in Hua Cheng’s opinion, only Xie Lian was good enough to deserve to watch over the prayers of the common people. 

But lately, and he’d never admit this to Xie Lian, lest the other man think he’d done something wrong, which he hadn't, Xie Lian’s kindness had come at a disadvantage. 

It had only been a couple weeks since Xie Lian had come back to Paradise Manor with the tiny black and white cat in his arms. It wasn’t a normal cat, but a ghost cat that had wandered to the entrance of Ghost City. Xie Lian had found him on the way back from a meeting with the heavenly court. Hua Cheng did not know what had befallen a friendly domestic cat that would cause it to return as a wandering soul, nor was he sure he wanted to know, but Xie Lian had not been able to resist its plaintive mews. 

And so now the cat, a little girl Xie Lian had named Jiahao, had free reign of Paradise Manor. The truth was, Hua Cheng was actually very happy Xie Lian had felt comfortable enough to bring the cat home without even asking beforehand. It showed he viewed Hua Cheng’s home as just as much his home, and that he fully understood, believed, and accepted that everything that belonged to Hua Cheng also belonged to him. He knew the Xie Lian he had met again years before would not have been able to do that. 

Xie Lian doted on the creature. She was a ghost cat, he reasoned, so she could eat whatever she wanted and it wouldn’t matter. This meant that if the cat asked for it, she got it. This was also fine. Hua Cheng wanted him to be happy. He would just get more food if they ran out. 

The bigger problem was that the cat clung to him like a particularly stubborn shadow. There was no time at which the cat wasn’t by Xie Lian’s side. He couldn’t even take a bath without Jiahao coming in and reaching in to playfully splash the surface. She slept with him, she ate with him, she bathed with him, she relaxed with him, and she even went out with him, walking alongside him dutifully. He imagined if E-ming had been a cat, it might act a little bit like Jiahao (though Jiahao, to her credit, was much quieter and mellower). 

In short, Hua Cheng missed Xie Lian. He missed having his full attention and cuddling with him and Xie Lian only having eyes for him, and he also missed sex, because it was hard to have sex when there was a cat in bed with you. And he was trying to be patient, because the cat made him happy, and Xie Lian’s happiness was tantamount to everything, but it was becoming difficult.

Was he jealous of a cat? Yes. A ghost cat, even, but as he himself was a ghost, he supposed that was irrelevant.

Xie Lian, to his credit, did finally notice. It had been Hua Cheng’s fault; he’d accidentally dropped his nonchalant front and scowled when Jiahao got with them one night. The cat licked both of them on the nose (she was sweet, he couldn’t deny), then nuzzled up to Xie Lian, coaxing him to open his arms so she could snuggle in them.

The scowl was, he imagined, quite dramatic. His brows were furrowed and his lips were drawn, and to anyone else, it might be frightening to have Crimson Rain Sought Flower looking at them that way (though to be fair, he was looking at the cat, not Xie Lian). 

Xie Lian froze, and concern crossed his features. “San Lang, what’s wrong?” he asked. He was still petting the cat, but he did reach over and press his other palm to Hua Cheng’s cheek. 

“Nothing, gege.” He shook his head. “I think I’m just tired.”

Xie Lian frowned. “San Lang, you rarely get tired. Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

“We haven’t had sex for two weeks,” Hua Cheng managed after a few moments of silence. That is not what he’d meant to say. 

The other man burst out into peals of laughter, and Hua Cheng thought, as always, that it was beautiful. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

He continued, despite his embarrassment. “Well, that cat is always here. I know you love that cat, but gege… it feels like you give her so much attention and…”

Xie Lian gasped. “Sang Lang, are you jealous of Jiahao?” There was a playful edge to his voice. 

Hua Cheng sighed. Jiahao meowed. 

“I just miss spending time with you alone.”

“You miss having my eyes on just you.” Xie Lian smiled, and he placed his other hand on Hua Cheng’s cheek as well, then squeezed. “I’m sorry. You give me so much, and in return I made my San Lang feel unloved.” 

“You’ve given me more than enough.”

Xie Lian shook his head. “Poor Jiahao. She’s a lonely ghost who has clearly been through so much, and she just wants to stay by the side of someone who loves her.” He glanced down at the cat, who had already dozed off. “Maybe I like her so much because she reminds me of someone else.” 

Hua Cheng’s mouth dropped open, and then he pursed his lips. “Gege…” 

“But I hate that you’ve felt neglected, San Lang,” he continued. “I’ll try to be more conscious of this so I can take proper care of both of you.” 

The other man shook his head. “Jiahao makes you happy. I’m glad you brought her back, gege.” 

“Mhmmm,” Xie Lian replied, “but I don’t want any of my happiness to come at my San Lang’s expense. We’re married. We exist to make each other happy. It goes both ways.”

Hua Cheng nodded, then after a few seconds, spoke up again. “Can we have Yin Yu take her some nights?” 

Xie Lian laughed again, beautiful. “Yes, and we can do whatever San Lang wants on those nights.” 

“What about tonight?” he asked, and he leaned forward, attempting to ignore the cat between them so he could whisper in his husband’s ear. Xie Lian pressed a playful kiss to Hua Cheng’s cheek, interrupting his attempt at seduction.

“Not tonight. I’m not moving Jiahao when she’s already fallen asleep.” 

Hua Cheng would have to look forward to tomorrow, but, he thought, that was fine. They had endless tomorrows. 

#haro talks #tgcf #hualian #haro fic #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing

[gaiuskamilah]

sacramentum bloodbound | M | 4.2k words | gaius augustine/adrian raines post bloodbound: origins, canon compliant warnings: canon-typical violence, internalized homophobia, power imbalance, unhealthy relationships, implied sexual content

[read on ao3]

A sprawling estate. A lavish garden, and a marble mansion at the center. This was Adrian’s prison, his ivory tower where his Maker had decided to stow him away for the past fortnight. A beautiful little paradise with its own Garden of Eden, where god placed the man that he had formed.

The ornate doors of Adrian’s prison opened and Gaius ushered him in, a reassuring hand placed on the small of Adrian’s back. Their clothes were singed, ruined, and they carried with them the smell of smoke—a reminder of Adrian’s failures that night, and the revelation Gaius delivered him in the fire. They were gods amongst men, and it was Gaius—the one highest in their order—who gave Adrian the honor of receiving the gift of godhood.

The doors clicked shut. Adrian stood in the foyer as his eyes adjusted to the dim interiors of the manor. The candles had been blown out and the heavy curtains had been drawn just in time for sunrise. Melancholy filled Adrian as dawn approached, the knowledge of never being able to fully appreciate first light again weighed down on his spirits. 

“Dawn is approaching, dear Adrian,” said Gaius from behind him. His Maker laid a hand on his shoulder and Adrian turned to face him. Fingers brushed away the soot on his cheek. “Let’s get you clean now, shall we?”

Adrian absently nodded. He followed Gaius into one of the many bath chambers in the manor. The curtains were drawn shut and the room was lit with candles, illuminating the chamber with an almost eerie glow. In the middle was a large bath, large enough for two. Steam from the warm water wafted through the room, and the sweet aroma of the bath was a pleasant assault to Adrian’s senses. 

Gaius had planned it all for Adrian.

Gaius removed his cape and set it aside. Adrian watched as Gaius removed his shoes, then undid the catches of his doublet. Gaius’ clothes fell away to a puddle around his ankles, leaving Adrian’s Maker as bare as the day he was born. 

Gaius turned to Adrian, a languid, cat-like look on his face. “Unless you want to ruin them even more,” said Gaius. “I do not suppose you plan to bathe with your clothes on, do you, my dear Adrian?”

“You will be joining me?”

Adrian’s question was answered by Gaius stepping into the bath. His Maker slipped into the water and quickly disappeared under the surface before he emerged seconds later, noticeably cleaner. Gaius stretched his arms across the sides of the bath. “The water is perfect. Don’t waste it, my dear.” 

After a moment’s consideration, and not without hesitation, Adrian undid his clothes and pulled off his shoes. He entered the water and kept a distance from Gaius, or, well, as much distance as he could put between the two of them in the bath. 

“Come closer, dear Adrian,” said Gaius. Adrian obeyed and moved closer to him. “Turn around. Let me wash your hair for you.”

Mild surprise washed through Adrian but he complied, turning his back to the elder vampire. “No one’s washed my hair for me since I was a child,” said Adrian.

“In a way, you are. A child, I mean,” said Gaius. Gaius’ hands threaded through Adrian’s hair, lathering it with soaps and oils. His touch was soft, and it was such a jarring contrast to the things Adrian witnessed him do earlier that night. “ My child. My progeny, as all vampires are. You have been reborn, with my blood in your veins.” 

“I don’t suppose you do this for all your children,” said Adrian as Gaius rinsed away the soap in his hair and bathed him clean. “I’m having a hard time imagining you doing this with that Lester fellow.” 

Gaius snorted.

“Castellanos, as useful as he is, is no better than a pig. There are many more things I would rather do than set foot in a bath with him,” said Gaius. “And you are correct. I do not do this for all my children. You are a special case.”

A house burning. A family of three dead at their feet, and group of bandits with them. In the middle of it all, Gaius, as fearsome as an angel of death, as he hovered over Adrian and held his face in his hands, as he told him of the special place Adrian would have next to him. And Adrian remembered, that even with the house burning down around them and the with the smoke that filled his lungs, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the red eyes of his Maker.

“You said that earlier tonight as well, that I’m special,” With the suds washed away from his hair, Adrian turned to face his Maker. “Why? Why me?”

“The war with the British is over. The colonists have won, and with their victory comes a new twilight for us. Soon, I will rule as King amongst the vampires of this land. And you—” Gaius reached out and took Adrian’s face in the palm of his hand. Gaius’ thumb moved across Adrian’s cheek in soothing motions, and Gaius moved in closer. Adrian could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and no doubt Gaius could too. “—will be my hand. My soldier. My beautiful prince.” 

—

Dawn had fully broken by the time Adrian and Gaius exited the bath. Adrian sat atop his blankets, propped up and long sitting, while Gaius sat at the edge next to him. Adrian was exhausted, the events of the night wore him downt to his bones. But he wasn’t allowed rest yet, no—Gaius had other plans. One last task for the night, his Maker promised.

Gaius held an amulet in one hand. On the circular ornament was a special insignia of a convex crescent moon. “You are of my blood, the blood of the eternal covenant. Of eternal life. But even with me in you you remain susceptible to eternal death,” said Gaius. “To ensure that you never stray away from our blood, passed down to us by the First, our Goddess, I will put my mark on you.” 

“Mark… me?” Adrian was caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Gaius held up the amulet in his hand. “I will mark you with my brand and infuse my blood with yours, tying you to me, so you never trod the path of eternal death.” A pause, and then, with just a bit of what Adrian knew by now to be a false innocent look: “Unless… you refuse?”

Adrian had never seen one, but Gaius had described to him a number of times what the alternative looked like. Ferals. Monsters with ashen gray skin and talons as sharp as a knife. They were mindless, driven only by hunger, all humanity and conscience and life taken away from them. As conflicted as Adrian was in his second chance at life, becoming a feral was far worse.

Adrian shook his head. “No, no. I accept.” 

Gaius reached out and brushed his fingers against Adrian’s cheek with a smile. “I had faith that you would.” 

Before Adrian could react, Gaius moved to kneel on him, one knee next to Adrian’s side and another between his legs. Adrian watched as Gaius produced a bright blue flame in his hand and held the amulet above it with the other. Gaius heated the ornament until it burned red hot. He then extinguished the flame and pressed the palm of his hand to the metal. Adrian’s eyes went wide as the sound and smell of Gaius’ burning flesh filled the room, all while his Maker seemed unfazed by the procedure.

How many times has he done this before?

“Admittedly, this will hurt.”

Gaius reached out and pulled Adrian by the arm, ever so closer to him. Gaius then pressed the burning metal onto the rounded contour of Adrian’s shoulder, which drawed a pained sound from the younger vampire. On instinct, Adrian jerked away, but Gaius’ grip was ironclad. 

“Gaius,” Adrian cried. “It hurts—it burns—”

“I know. Just a few more seconds,” hushed Gaius. “The pain will fade. I know you can take it.” 

Adrian met Gaius’ eyes, which was filled with assurance and pride. He held onto his Maker as the burning pain faded away to a comfortable warmth. Gaius pulled the amulet away, and on Adrian’s skin was a red burn in the shape of Gaius’ brand.

Gaius held out his wrist. “Draw my blood, Adrian,” was his command.

After a moment’s hesitation, Adrian gingerly took Gaius’ wrist and sank his teeth into the tender flesh. Gaius’ blood filled Adrian’s mouth and stained the white sheets as Adrian cut Gaius’ skin open with his teeth. Adrian let out an involuntary moan as he tasted Gaius’ blood. His Maker’s blood was invigorating. It was the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted, and it felt like torture when he pulled away. He swallowed the blood and and pretended to not notice how Gaius’ eyes flitted to his lips as Adrian licked it clean.

Gaius pressed his bleeding wrist against Adrian’s sleeve. The burn glowed orange as Gaius’ blood infused with Adrian’s, the two of them becoming one in the younger. The skin knit itself together and twisted into the image of Gaius’ brand, now permanently etched onto the place where their skin burned as one and their blood bound together.

They met each other’s eyes, the atmosphere undeniably charged between them. Gaius cupped Adrian’s face and pressed his lips against the younger’s. Adrian, for the life of him, couldn’t help but reciprocate in kind. He wrapped an arm around Gaius’ torso and threaded another hand in his hair. Just like his blood, kissing Gaius was intoxicating; he kissed like he wanted to devour Adrian whole. It was as searing as his bright blue fire, as searing as him. 

Adrian was breathless by the time Gaius pulled away. Gaius took his cheek in one hand and kissed the other. 

“Welcome, my dear.”

—

Adrian woke up alone that evening, the other side of his bed cold. Mixed feelings rose within him—disgust, relief, shame. It had only been weeks since Eleanor passed, and here he was, his heart still alive and beating and his lips kissing someone else, another man no less. What was worse was that he enjoyed it. It was a relief, to have been so close to someone else again, after days of being alone, just as much as it was Gaius leaving him alone.

His despair at being left alone again had almost settled in when Adrian noticed a new set of clothes sat on his dresser. With it was a short note written in what was Gaius’ script:

Get dressed. We leave at midnight. 

Adrian had almost gotten himself accustomed to the silence and isolation from his Maker that this filled him with surprise, and, curse his damned heart, hope. Two nights in a row together, after almost two weeks of seclusion? It was almost too good to be true. 

Bring your sword.

Memories of last night rose to Adrian’s mind. Gaius had always said that Adrian had a special place in his court, his plans of the world he was to create. Adrian was to be his prince. His soldier. 

His executioner. 

Adrian then felt all too aware of Gaius’ brand on the rounded contour of his shoulder. Shirtless, he faced the mirror and ran a finger on the brand, tracing the crescent moon mark. He then absently lifted a hand to his lips, remembering the way Gaius kissed him. He was Gaius’ now, his body permanently marked by Gaius, and his heart pumping blood infused with his Maker’s. 

He banished these thoughts and dressed himself. Gaius needed him tonight. Gaius Turned him, needed him, wanted him by his side. Adrian owed it to him to try.

Adrian watched as the moon climbed into the sky. At her peak at midnight, the doors of the manor pushed open and Adrian found himself once again looking into the eyes of his Maker.

Gaius greeted him with a smile. His Maker said: “I’m glad to see you well and ready, my dear.”

“I assume wherever we are going tonight is important?”

Gaius raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Impatient, my prince?” he teased. Gaius placed his hand on Adrian’s arm, right where his brand was. Adrian swore he could feel it burn. “But yes indeed. My plans are almost complete. There only remains one final kink that needs straightened, one that I need you for.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Adrian.

Gaius caressed Adrian’s face, with a touch ever so soft, and said: “You will kill my soldier.”

—

Adrian stood in the shadows of a lavish underground temple. It was cavernous, lit only by candle, with statues and art decorating its halls. At the end of the hall was a throne, in front of it an altar, and on the wall behind it a stone mural of a woman. The First Vampire, Gaius’ goddess, if Adrian had to guess.

Adrian tore his gaze away from the mural. He wasn’t alone. In the temple was a beautiful brown-skinned woman with long, straight hair. She wore a fine red dress and carried with her an aura of pure power. With her was a boy with long and curly strawberry blond hair, dressed in aristocratic garments. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen, but Adrian guessed he was probably older than Adrian himself. 

Adrian’s sword weighed heavy in his hand. A mix of fear and anticipation churned through Adrian at what was to come.

“Your—Your soldier?” Adrian asked in disbelief. “You would—would have me kill myself?”

“Not you, my dear,” reassured Gaius. “But a beast like us, with the name Banner Westbrook. A knight I Turned across the ocean, in Europe. A loyal soldier he was, until he strayed too far from me, too close to colonists. He is of my blood, as you are, and I have observed him closely. I know that tonight he will leave me. He will turn his heel and refuse to bend the knee. He will refuse to see me as his King, just as the colonists reject theirs.

“He will be my soldier no more. Tonight, you will take your sword, and you will end him. You will be my soldier.” 

The sound of opening of the slab at the end of the room jolted Adrian out of his thoughts. A man in knight’s armor entered the temple. Blood dripped down his chin as he staggered and approached the others. 

Was that the beast Gaius referred to? The man who stood in Adrian’s rightful place? 

Adrian watched as the woman in red glared at the man. “You are late,” she said as she gave the man a cold gaze. “Where were you?”

“I was hungry,” he said as he wiped the blood off his lips. The two of them traded looks of disdain. “Gaius did not even tell us why we had to come here, and I notice he is not here either. Why should I be punctual if he does not extend to us the same courtesy?”

That was him, then. Banner Westbrook, Gaius’ traitorous soldier. Adrian’s task.

The woman rolled her eyes. “I am sure he has his reasons.”

“Oh, and what would those be?” Banner sneered. “I would love to hear them.” 

“That is his business, not ours.” 

“Ah yes, Kamilah, always so eager to leap at your King’s defense,” said Banner. He threw the word king as if it was an insult.

“And you are always looking to find fault with his decisions!” Kamilah’s voice rose.

The boy stood between them. “You are both acting ridiculous,” he said, with an evident French accent. “Can you spend one moment not at each other’s throats?”

Banner turned to the boy. “This does not involve you—”

A familiar laugh rang throughout the temple. Banner’s words were cut short at the sound, and all of their eyes turned toward the top of the stairs. Gaius descended slowly. He walked with an air of grace as he smirked and surveyed the others. 

“Children, children,” their Maker said. “Why do you fight? I come bearing great news.”

“News of what?” asked Banner.

“I come from Yorktown. The war is over,” said Gaius. The others turned to him in disbelief. “The British have surrendered. The colonists have won.” A moment, then he added with a self-satisfied smile: “With a little special assistance, of course.”

Gaius continued: “We rejoice. This land is ours for the taking.” 

This was met with mixed reactions from the three. The boy was overjoyed with the promise of celebration, Banner with disappointment at the cessation of violence, and the woman Kamilah asked: “What does all of this mean for us?” 

Adrian watched as Gaius strolled over to Kamilah and brushed a strand of hair from her face. He tucked behind her ear and looked at her with something no less than adoration. “Ah, Kamilah. My Queen. Ever so practical, my love,” he said. “I have struck an accord with the leaders of this great new nation.”

Gaius then walked over to the man he tasked Adrian to kill. He clapped Banner on the back, his hand lingering for a moment. Adrian winced as he watched Gaius treat Banner with such familiarity. 

“In exchange for our services during the war, they have permitted us to live here secretly, in the colony of New York. They will not hunt us. They will not police us. So long as we remain within the state, we may live as we wish. Forever,” said Gaius. “They know what we are capable of. I do not imagine they would dream of a betrayal.

“We shall be able to feed and thrive as we please, allowed to flourish under the cover of darkness. We shall be our own free nation, a kingdom of vampires, ruling over the night.”

This was met with joy and excitement from the boy and Kamilah. Banner, as Adrian anticipated, felt different.

“A kingdom?” Banner asked dryly. He then leveled a scorful look at Gaius. “I thought we were fighting to free ourselves from a king.” 

Gaius took a step forward and gave Banner a predatory smile, one with a just a little too much teeth. He put a hand on Banner’s shoulder. Adrian knew he was dead. 

“Our kind needs the rule of a strong first,” said Gaius. 

“Spoken like a man who plans to try his hand at tyranny,” said Banner.

“Careful, Banner. You exist because of my mercy. I gifted you my blood, with Turned you into the god that you are,” said Gaius, his voice level. “As any creation before his maker, it is not too much to ask that you bend the knee.” 

Banner pulled away from Gaius, rage written all across his face. “You promised us freedom. Freedom for all of us, not just for you!”

Gaius opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Banner: “No! I am sick and tired of your scheming. I refuse to listen to another word. I vowed to never again bow to anyone. Not to a mortal king. And not to you. We fought for our freedom, and I am taking mine!” 

Banner turned his heel to leave. Kamilah took to a step toward him, and urged him to rethink. But the soldier’s mind was decided: he was leaving them. He was leaving Gaius. 

A fool’s errand. It was painful for Adrian to watch. No matter how much Banner would resist, or how Gaius would try to make him see, Banner’s fate was already signed. Gaius was only prolonging the inevitable.

“I made you, Banner. I dragged you from the mud where you lay dying and from my blood gave you life. I made you the glorious beast that you are now,” said their Maker. Anger seeped into his face now. “Would you really turn your back on me?”

“I am not a beast,” spat Banner. “I am a man. And I will live and die free.” 

Adrian almost admired him. Almost. 

Adrian watched as Banner headed for the door. His grip on the hilt of sword tightened and he readied himself. He was tasked to kill Banner. He needed to kill Banner, else that Gaius see Adrian’s failure and look for someone else. Adrian poised himself to strike, to reveal himself, and—

Gaius raised his hand up and Banner froze in place, as though held by invisible strings. Both the boy and Banner cried out in shock; even Adrian is taken aback by the display. Only Kamilah remained unmoved, her face morphing into one of expected resignation. 

Banner struggled against the invisible bonds, his body writhing but unable to move. A blue flame started to glow in Gaius’ hand, bathing their Maker in an eerie and menacing blue light.

“H-How are you doing this?” Banner choked out. A loud crack reverberated across the room as his torso bent unnaturally. 

“I have power beyond your conception. My blood runs in your veins. My blood grants you strength. You are a child. I am part of you. I made you ,” said Gaius. His eyes glowed red. All traces of his calm demeanor was gone, replaced with a look of disdain and disgust for his treacherous soldier. “And what I giveth, I can taketh way.” 

Gaius clenched his fist. Banner screamed as humerus pierced through the skin of his right arm. He hovered above the ground as his feet twisted backwards. His talluses jutted out and he let out a howl of pain. His blood stained the temple floor as Gaius continued to puppet his body. Their Maker twisted Banner’s limbs in different directions, cracked the bones of his ribs and his shoulders, all with a turn of his wrist.

It was then that Adrian became all too aware of the blood in his veins. Not just his blood, but Gaius’. Gaius was in him, infused in the very substance that kept him alive , and the brand on his arm only further strengthened Gaius’ hold on him. 

Banner was wrong. They were not men, who could live and die free. They were beasts, bound by body and blood to a capricious Maker. 

“You need me, Gaius,” Banner gritted. One last attempt to grovel back into his Maker’s good graces, but futile all the same. “I’m your soldier…” 

“I was in your place once. I still am. I was and am the soldier of the First, loyal and unflinching for Her. I have enacted Her will for thousands of years,” said Gaius. “So what a truly pathetic and mutinous soldier you are, so quick to change your mind at the slightest threat that came your way.”

Gaius continued: “I will say, you are correct. I need a soldier, but it will not be you. I do not need a soldier as unfaithful as you.”

Adrian’s mouth felt dry. He prayed to whatever deity there was to give him the strength to fulfill his task ahead, to be kind of soldier his Maker was and needed, even if the thought of it scared him to death.

“So…it all comes to this?” Banner gasped out. “You are going to kill me?”

Gaius’ eyes met Adrian’s. Adrian gripped his sword, the same cavalry sword he used in the war. All eyes turned to him as he stepped out of the shadows, but he kept his gaze steady at his Maker, as if he were the only one in the room. 

“I await your command,” said Adrian, like a loyal soldier, an executioner. 

Gaius’ red eyes glimmered with sadistic glee. His fangs extended past his lips as he gave Adrian a proud smile. With an encouraging nod, his Maker commanded: “Do it.” 

Banner’s protests were cut off as Adrian steeled himself, spun, and slashed his sword through his neck. It all happened in a blur. Banner’s body crumbled into ash before his head could even reach the floor. His clothes fell in a heap onto the floor, that and a few bloodstains being the only evidence that the fallen soldier had ever existed. 

Adrian’s gaze turned from the clothes on the floor to Gaius, who gave him a smile prouder than ever before. Adrian internally preened at the silent praise. That was all he wanted at the moment—to be good, to be good for Gaius, for his Maker. The boy’s shock and Kamilah’s reaction at Banner’s execution hardly registered in Adrian’s ears.

Finally, Kamilah asked: “Who is this?”

With eyes that didn’t leave Adrian’s, Gaius said: “The newest member of our covenant. Adrian Raines.”

Adrian strode to Gaius, not paying heed to Kamilah and the boy. He dropped to his knee. Gaius layed one hand on his shoulder, and extended the other. Adrian eagerly took the latter, leaned forward, and kissed his ring. 

He had done it—there was no going back now.

“My king,” said Adrian. 

“Rise, my dear.” 

Adrian stood to his full height, but kept his eyes on the floor. Gaius took his chin and raised it to meet his eye. “Do not hide yourself from me,” he said. His Maker then pressed a chaste kiss on the side of his lips, with Kamilah and the boy as witnesses. “You are my beautiful, warrior prince, in whom I am well pleased.” 

—

some notes because i think they're fun and i like sharing things:

1. bloodbound's timeline is weird and inconsistent and fucks me up. adrian is turned in 1781 around christmas. in a tapestry scene, gaius mentions "coming straight from yorktown" which implies he took part in the 1781 siege of yorktown, a decisive battle in the american revolutionary war which took place in october. the two month disparity is weird to me, because why would he wait so long to announce it to the others? also he was in virginia while adrian was turned in new york. so i tried to reconcile that and the fact that gaius had isolating adrian in a manor alone in bb: origins by making it around two weeks after adrian was turned. gaius is a busy bitch.

2. sacramentum is latin for sacrament, which in ancient rome meant a soldier's oath of allegiance. this was eventually adopted by christianity, and now you have the sacraments. the story is meant to reference four sacraments. you get my love if you can guess them.

3. bible verses are referenced thrice. you get my love again if you caught them. i love using the bible for yaoi.

#playchoices #choices #bloodbound #gaius augustine #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #marcel lafayette #banner westbrook #gaius x adrian #my writing #vampire yaoi be upon ye! #ive been wanting to write this since hte first bb origins chapter dropped LOLZ

[ying-an-sanren]

I was a bit hesitant to whether post this here as well, bcs it does have mentions of nsfw, but truth to be told it's quite vague and far from as detailed as I would write a scenario that is only supposed to be nsfw, so we'll see we'll see.... But anyway;

(Also contains angst coming from misunderstanding and assumptions but turns into happy ending); 

One thing I really crave when I feel a bit melancholic and/or sad and/or lonely are arranged marriage AUs - the type where Xie Lian is to be wed to this mysterious king that nobody really speaks nicely about, and he expects the worst to come from the loveless marriage, but Hua Cheng only gives him the opposite. 

Imagine a scenario where Hua Cheng is this fearsome Ghost King that all of the Heavens fear. He's powerful and unpredictable, and above all he's known to despise Heavens and its officials, perhaps even hate them - after all, he destroyed 33 of them on a whim.

And when Xie Lian ascends for the third time, the gods come up with a brilliant plan. 

This prince of Xianle is more problems than he's worth, really. Just think of the poor bell and all those collpsed palaces! 

Well, here's a way he can even his debt; what if they gave him to that Crimson Rain Sought Flower as a peace offering?

They can call it a marriage - a union that would ensure that the Ghost City and Heavenly Court won't go after each others' necks as long as the married couple is still alive (as much as ghostly possible). And whatever Hua Cheng decides to do to him, why should that brother them? 

It's not like anybody particularly cares about him anyway. As said, he's more trouble than he's worth. 

For all they know, Hua Cheng can have fun torturing him or using him for his perverse pleasure to his evil heart's content, no problem.

And yes, it's practically condamning him to the life of endlesss suffering, but why should it bothered them - it's not them in his place. 

To him of course they convey the whole situation as if he's their only hope, and how only through his noble sacrifice the Heavens can finally be rid of the greatest threat. And what about his cultivation? Well, it's not like he has any spiritual powers anyway. 

In reality though, it's just them killing two birds with one stone; they get rid of Heavens' arch-pain in the arse, and also Heavens' least favorite official. 

And so Xie Lian, this (in their eyes-) worthless little god with no spiritual powers worth mentioning is sent off to become the property of the easily most powerful being, that rules over the lands where heavenly officials aren't welcome. 

The wedding ceremony is taking place in the Ghost City but none of the heavenly official's sty longer then needed - too afraid of even being this close to Hua Chengzhu. 

As soon as the pair is proclaimed a married couple, all the heavenly envoys, chosen to accompany Xie Lian and see to the whole ceremony dart out of there so fast they leave only a cloud of dust, leaving Xie Lian to his fate in the hands of the Ghost King.

Xie Lian befallen with the full weight of his situation. He's alone and helpless in a strange place, and although he had come to terms with his fate - martyrdom for the good of Heavenly Court - he can't keep his hands from trembling, as the tall man by his side leads him away from the loud noises of the wedding feats, until the only sound left is the sound of his own footsteps and the soft chiming accompanying his husband's steps. 

One would think that escaping the uproar of Ghost City's celebrations would serve to calm him down but in reality it does quite the opposite. If possible it only makes him feel more on edge. Making him think of all the thing's he's heard of his husband and his resentment towards heavenly officials. 

The anxiousness is clawing on his chest from the inside, and it's only growing stronger all the way through the quiet halls of Paradise Manor, all until they reach the door, leading to the newlyweds' room, all until the long pale fingers brush the hem of his veil.

The veil. The veil is the last curtain separating him from his predicament. 

His throat clenches at the thought of what's to come when the veil is lifted but there's one thing he understands well. He ough not do anything to Hua Chengzhu's anger - not because of himself, but because of how Hua Cheng's wrath might affect Heavens. That is the final thought, before the red curtain is lifted from his eyes, revealing the face of the Ghost King himself.

Amongst rising surface of the sea of anxiety, that had been filling him up since the moment he agreed to this marriage, there's quite an odd thought - his husband is quite handsome. Despite that, Xie Lian doesn't dare put his mind at ease - after all, looks rarely mirror one's heart.

However, in spite of his worst anticipations Hua Chengzhu does not strip him right then and there, he does not push him onto the bed, and doesn't force himself upon him. Instead he... quite politely assures him not to fear, that he's not going to do anything that Xie Lian doesn't want to, before turning towards the door.

But instead of relief, Xie Lian only feels panic. Did he do something wrong? Was the Ghost King displeased with what the Heavens gave him? The anxiety mixed with the fear of failure, and the thought of all of Heavens suffering because of him - because the Ghost King deemed him useless, and not worth to even stay in his presence, not to mention share a bed with.

And wouldn't that be true? he thought bitterly. His cultivation forbade indulging in the pleasures of flesh. Didn't the Heavens practically diddle Hua Cheng by giving him Xie Lian?

And yet as it was already a custom, he would do what he could to change that... He would let Hua Chengzhu do anything to him if it meant keeping the Heavens safe from his wrath. Even if he knew that no one in Heavenly Court would ever spare a thought for him...

During his journeys across the Mortal Realm, many a time he had heard the women on market complain about their painful, violent experience - but it's alright, he's a martial god. He can endure pain. He can endure violence... And yet he cannot hide how he's trembling, when he's sunken in the silken sheets with the waterfall of inky hair cutting his vision off of everything, leaving only the sharp-cut face and the piercing eye, howering mere inches above him.

...However, once again Hua Cheng shatters all his expectations, when instead of using Xie Lian's body for his own pleasure, his first and foremost priority is to make his husband feel good. 

A surprised whimper escapes Xie Lian's lips before he can stop himself. But soon follows another and another, as the gentle touches ignite a feeling so foreign, so frightening, and yet so nice. 

It leaves Xie Lian lost in confusion because... Up til now he thought their nights together are supposed to be pleasurable for his husband, his lord... Not for himself, he doesn't matter. And yet the perfect the way Hua Cheng treated him was such a perfect balance of gentle and rough, constantly asking whether he feels comfortable, and coaxing the kind of sounds out of him, Xie Lian never knew he was capable of.

He cried when he reached his first climax, speared open beneath his husband, a low soothing voice whispering sweet words of praise into his hair. 

He hadn't stopped crying even when both of them came down from their high. The sea of anxiety, that had been piling up inside of him over the past few days rose above its tide, making him break into sobs. 

It felt so selfish to cry for the fleeting gentle touch, because he knew that come morning, he would most probably be thrown away into the corner, like a used toy, until the moment when the Ghost King will be in mood to play with him. It felt so selfish to wish for the gentleness to last longer than a night.

Hua Cheng doesn't say anything. Instead Xie Lian feels strong arms wrap around him, bringing him close. Those arms craddle him like the most precious thing in all of three realms, and he couldn't help but let himself fall, knowing they would be there to catch him. Even if only for tonight. He stays in their embrace, until his crying fades away, and until he falls asleep.

Yet fate is a strange thing, that likes to play strange tricks on folk. The next morning Hua Cheng surprises him for the third time.

That morning Xie Lian wakes up to his head resting on a pale well-defined chest, a long slender fingers gently combing through his hair, and when he looks up, he's met with smile of fondness and an eye full of affection, beforethe familiar low soothing voice speaks up,

"Good morning, beloved."

#hualian #arranged marriage #tgcf #hua cheng #xie lian

[gusu-emilu]

hermitage

Rating: T | Wordcount: 4k

Hua Cheng/Yin Yu

Pre-XL’s Third Ascension, Nonsexual Intimacy, Hair Braiding, POV Yin Yu

Written for the MXTX Rarepair Gift Exchange

“Yin Yu, answer a question for me,” Hua Cheng says. “Do you think I am hiding from the heavens?”

It is not uncommon for months to pass without Crimson Rain being seen in the world.

Yin Yu knew this even before serving him. What must be done, Hua Cheng can almost always do without need for a personal appearance. He prefers it that way. Prefers solitude. Secrecy.

A few years into Yin Yu’s service in Ghost City, Hua Cheng brings up the topic with him.

While reclining on the black jade divan in Paradise Manor, Hua Cheng spins a still-amorphous wood carving in his slender fingers, staring more through the wood than at it. Music floats in from unseen skeleton performers in an adjacent room, an eerie combination of springy melody and jangling bone percussion. Hua Cheng rarely likes the quiet, so the musicians play day and night, but he never seems to listen to the music he requests.

Yin Yu stands a few paces from Hua Cheng’s divan, quietly sifting through records of high priority events in the heavens to find one that needs extra investigation or is important enough for Chengzhu to take a look at himself. Most of the reports are supplied by Black Water. Although the Supreme is skilled with words, he has an unhelpful tendency to record unnecessary information as long as it is marginally related to Shi Wudu, while underreporting cases related to Shi Qingxuan. It is up to Yin Yu to filter through both the face value of the cases and Black Water’s biases.

Reading the affairs of the Heavenly Realm always makes Yin Yu feel a bit awkward. Sometimes it makes him feel like a flower trapped under the earth with no sun, pale and shriveled. Sometimes it makes him bitter. Sometimes it makes him want to crush every heavenly temple to dust.

That is, if he lets himself lean into those emotions. He spends so many hours on the job that he can easily distract himself from his feelings with his duty. He is overworked by choice. Hua Cheng is gracious enough to enable it.

Still, he is glad when Hua Cheng’s voice beckons his concentration away from the reports.

“Yin Yu, answer a question for me,” Hua Cheng says without moving his unfocused gaze from the carving in his hands.

“Yes, Chengzhu.”

“Do you think I am hiding from the heavens?” The corner of Hua Cheng’s mouth lifts into a barely noticeable smirk. He speaks languidly, sounding bored, as if the question is no more significant than the untouched bowl of lychees next to him—an accessory, presented only for its comfort and aesthetic.

But Yin Yu knows Hua Cheng well enough to recognize when he has an agenda.

“It is the heavens who are hiding from  you,” Yin Yu replies.

Hua Cheng’s lips curl into a sneer. “You’ve learned to tell me what I want to hear.”

“It is my duty to tell you the truth, and the truth is what you want to hear.”

Hua Cheng leans farther back against the cushions of the divan. “I want your opinion. Your opinion is not truth.”

“I understand.”

“Tell me why you think I visit the world so rarely.”

Yin Yu does his job: he gives his honest opinion.

He has observed three reasons for Hua Cheng’s secrecy. One is to maintain his fear-inspiring reputation, his intimidating air of mystery as the scourge of the heavens. Another is to influence the three realms while only allowing events to be traced back to him if he wants the credit. Another is to reduce the number of pleas that the ghosts and mortals approach him with.

He tells Hua Cheng these three reasons. He does not tell Hua Cheng that he has observed three additional reasons.

He does not say that Hua Cheng spends too much of his time reading, collecting treasure he doesn’t care about, and creating sculptures of a forgotten god to be bothered with personally interfering in outside affairs. Pulling the strings from behind a red curtain is not only better suited to Chengzhu’s style—it is far more efficient. It has given him hundreds of years of valuable time for his…hobbies.

Nor does Yin Yu say that Hua Cheng has built a flourishing city that he does not feel worthy of enjoying. That he has garnered the respect and devotion of thousands of ghosts yet resents their affection.

Nor does Yin Yu say that Hua Cheng trusts no one.

Part of the job is knowing when to omit information.

When Yin Yu finishes speaking, Hua Cheng looks up from his unfinished carving. His gaze is cold and penetrating but not hostile.

“Is that all?” Hua Cheng asks.

“Yes, Chengzhu.”

Hua Cheng narrows his eyes, and a shiver runs down Yin Yu’s spine. He wonders if Hua Cheng can sense that Yin Yu understands him better than he lets on. Better than he is  permitted  to.

Yin Yu has always been good at reading people. It is a skill that rarely comforts him.

He dreads the day Hua Cheng realizes that his right-hand man has begun tracing the patterns in his behavior, has caught one too many glimpses into his private life, has begun to  understand  him—and then he banishes Yin Yu before he can become a threat.

In the Ghost Realm, knowledge is power. Hua Cheng strives to be well-informed for a reason. Understanding a person, a place, or an object grants one power over them.

Yin Yu held ultimate power over a person once.

He can understand why Hua Cheng would not trust him with anything like it again.

The sharpness of Hua Cheng’s gaze says that he knows that Yin Yu has not fully spoken his mind. But Hua Cheng just nods and resumes staring at the piece of wood in his hands, his expression softening as if he is actually pleased for once.

Maybe this conversation was some kind of test. Someone as solitary and guarded as Hua Cheng might be glad to have one person who understands him without forcing him to acknowledge the vulnerability of that connection.

Yin Yu silences the part of his mind telling him how much he  likes  being that one person to Hua Cheng.

“And what about you?” Hua Cheng asks playfully.

Yin Yu raises his eyebrows. “Pardon, what do you mean?”

“Why are  you  hiding from the heavens?”

“Forgive me, Chengzhu. I am not hiding,” Yin Yu says, voice small but level. “I only stopped reading the reports on the heavens because you asked me a question.”

Hua Cheng laughs. “You’re right. It is the heavens who are hiding from you, too.”

Hua Cheng knows every detail of Yin Yu’s ascension and fall. Knows why Yin Yu prefers to go nowhere near the heavens. Knows what weighs on his mind.

Although the teasing feels a bit acerbic, maybe this is Hua Cheng’s way of saying,  I understand you, too.

  It is not uncommon for months to pass without Hua Cheng being seen in the world, so no one in the Ghost City thinks it strange when he does not appear for a few days.

Hua Cheng cycles through an irregular schedule of enjoying the facilities of Paradise Manor, embarking on random outings, and locking himself in his workshop for weeks. This is clearly one of the weeks when Hua Cheng shuts out everything except his art and his silver butterflies. No servants are permitted to disturb him. It is nothing new to Yin Yu.

Yin Yu has gotten used to being the exception during these weeks. He is the only one Hua Cheng allows to enter his workshop or speak to him. Sometimes Hua Cheng even requests for Yin Yu to help him with his artwork.

But this time, Yin Yu is locked out like the rest of the ghost servants.

He should not be surprised by this, nor be offended. He learned in childhood not to expect recognition or special treatment. He can never rely on being the exception.

The gnawing ache in his chest is born only from concern for Chengzhu, not from any personal feelings.

At least, he wishes that were true.

Yin Yu plans to leave Hua Cheng alone until he requests Yin Yu’s presence. But when he notices the wards around the Ghost City faltering and cannot find a wraith butterfly anywhere, worry eats at him like a voracious spirit devouring organs in the Ghost Market. After reinforcing the city’s spiritual energy as best as he can, he decides that he must disobey his master and intervene, if only to check that Chengzhu is unharmed.

It is preposterous for Yin Yu to think he will be qualified to help if Hua Cheng is suffering from some kind of weakness. Impossible to think that Hua Cheng could be weakened at all. From the day they met, when Hua Cheng helped liberate Jian Yu’s resentful spirit in the Ghost Realm and heal Quan Yizhen in the Heavenly Realm, Yin Yu has never seen a feat that Crimson Rain cannot accomplish.

But…Yin Yu must check on him. Negligence is a form of treachery, and Yin Yu will not repeat his mistakes.

He navigates the elaborate maze of halls to Hua Cheng’s private quarters. As he proceeds, the red tint of the manor’s light grows denser and richer, like he is diving deep in a crimson sea. At the tall door to the workshop, Yin Yu pauses, deciding how to ask for an audience.

Attempting to contact Hua Cheng’s private communication array might be too intrusive. Besides, Yin Yu is always running low on spiritual energy thanks to the cursed shackle that hugs his wrist, and there will be no point in coming all the way to Hua Cheng’s workshop if Yin Yu just uses the communication array.

Instead, he forms a palm seal and waves his hand beside the door. A golden hand-sized gong appears, and a mallet materializes in his hand. But he looks at the gong for a few moments, then waves it away, deciding that using the official gong is too impersonal.

Feeling a bit silly, Yin Yu settles for softly knocking on the door and calling, “Chengzhu?”

Yin Yu tries several times. He is about to give up when a silver butterfly flutters through the door—the first wraith Yin Yu has seen in eight days. The sight is enough to give him some relief.

“Leave,” the wraith commands in Hua Cheng’s voice.

Yin Yu does not know how to convince Hua Cheng to explain why he is secluding himself more extremely than usual—secluding himself to the point that the Ghost City’s spiritual energy seems to be receding into him.

But he  does  know that if he reveals that he is worried about Hua Cheng, Hua Cheng will just tell him to go away. Maybe if Yin Yu presents himself as the vulnerable one, they might get somewhere.

“Apologies for intruding, Chengzhu,” Yin Yu says. “But I need your help.”

“I am occupied,” Hua Cheng snaps.

“It is urgent.”

The wraith butterfly shimmers quietly for a few moments. It looks pale, its silver glow transparent and muted, as if it is about to vanish.

“Fine. Spit it out.”

Yin Yu can hear the fangs in Hua Cheng’s voice. He has a sharp tongue, but he rarely uses it on Yin Yu. Now, his bite seems to come from something more deeply rooted than irritation.

“I…I must tell you in private.”

“Are the halls of my personal chambers not private?”

Yin Yu swallows. “I want to use a Soundproofing Spell.” That would require them to be in the same room.

Normally a Soundproofing Spell would not be necessary considering the fortifications Hua Cheng has established around his chambers, but Yin Yu has a feeling they are both aware that the Ghost City’s spiritual energy is waning.

“…It’s that serious?” As expected, Hua Cheng does not question the request for extra security, confirming their unspoken agreement that something is amiss.

“I'm afraid it is very serious,” Yin Yu replies, hoping that Hua Cheng does not catch his lies.

“I’m busy.” The wraith butterfly continues to slowly fade. “Get Black Water to help you. He still owes me a favor.”

Black Water owes you more with every favor he does,  Yin Yu refrains from saying out loud.

“He cannot know about this,” Yin Yu says instead.

The butterfly flaps its wings more forcefully, and Yin Yu imagines Hua Cheng rubbing his fingers into his temple in vexation. “You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you, Chengzhu!”

The butterfly disappears, and the door opens.

Hua Cheng’s workshop looks no different than usual. Paintings and statues of every size and material (but always of the same subject) are everywhere, interspersed with hoards of supplies and rare art pieces that Hua Cheng has collected over the centuries. The monstrously large ivory walls and ceiling are composed of hidden layers that can magically shift from inside to outside, allowing Hua Cheng to paint new murals and flip through the old ones like a giant sketchbook.

Yin Yu has assisted Hua Cheng with his artwork many times. It is one of his only jobs in the Ghost City that he might consider fun. He knows the intricacies of this workshop, and since the last time he set foot in here, even more art has appeared.

The only thing missing is Hua Cheng.

“Chengzhu?” Yin Yu calls.

“Either cast the Soundproofing Spell or leave,” comes Hua Cheng’s voice from nowhere Yin Yu can pinpoint.

Yin Yu only has ten minutes, so he decides to press his luck in coaxing Hua Cheng out. “This one cannot cast a spell that compares to Chengzhu’s strength.”

“I told you I’m busy.”

Yin Yu’s stomach sinks. A Soundproofing Spell is so simple that it would not even require a snap from Crimson Rain.

Evasiveness is typical for Hua Cheng. But the dwindling spiritual energy of the Ghost City, the paling wraith butterfly, the refusal to cast a simple spell…something is definitely wrong.

Like the rest of the Ghost City, Yin Yu is running low on spiritual energy (lower than usual, that is), so he cannot cast the Soundproofing Spell without drawing an array on the door. Although drawing the array gives him time to think, he does not know how to stretch his bluff any farther. He has never been good at lying.

“I have cast the spell,” he announces when he has finished.

“Speak freely.”

Yin Yu’s chest tightens. Attempting to comfort himself, he rubs the cursed shackle on his wrist, the mark he knows is there but cannot feel.

“Um…”

“Is it important or not?” Hua Cheng snaps.

“I need to…show you…”

“Tell  me.”

Yin Yu sighs. There is no point in stumbling over false words.

He faces a statue that is the same height as Hua Cheng and addresses it with his head ducked, hoping this alleviates the eeriness of speaking to a voice he cannot locate. “The spiritual energy of the Ghost City is weakening.”

“You know how to reinforce the city’s strength.” Nervousness ripples beneath Hua Cheng’s smooth, cool voice.

“I have ensured that the necessary reinforcements are in place.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Mouth dry, Yin Yu clears his throat. He knows what to say but does not want to let it out.

He and Hua Cheng have been playing a game of Gold Foil Palace over the years—stacking thin gold sheets higher and higher into a grand palace that can be observed but not entered. If the palace is entered, even touched, the gold sheets will collapse to the floor.

Their partnership works so seamlessly because they do not venture behind the walls of the relationship. I understand you, I care about you, I like you, are words that Yin Yu must keep behind the walls.

If Yin Yu speaks his mind now, he will be entering the palace, and the golden walls will fall.

But if he does not, the palace might be damaged anyway.

“The city is fine,” Yin Yu says. “It is...you that I am worried about.”

Hua Cheng is silent for so long that Yin Yu wonders if his ten minutes have run out.

Residents of the Ghost City have expressed care for Hua Cheng before. The incessant attention of the ghosts is one of the main reasons for Hua Cheng’s reluctance to walk the streets without disguising himself in an unrecognizable skin. The ghosts have cooked for him, given him gifts, asked to serve him, and he has always either scorned their offers or accepted them with bored indifference.

But he has never just…not responded.

“Chengzhu?”

“Get back to work.” That same nervous turbulence ripples under Hua Cheng’s voice, more noticeably now.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t!” Balling his fists, Yin Yu looks up at the stone statue. “I don’t know what happened to you, why your spiritual energy is dwindling, or how to help you. I’m worried about you!”

Hua Cheng falls silent again. Yin Yu’s fingers wander to his cursed shackle, stroking it as he waits for a reply.

When Hua Cheng finally speaks, his voice is thick with self-loathing. “I tried to obtain an artifact from Mount Tong’lu. Instead I contracted an infection that is sapping my spiritual energy. I have enough spiritual energy to keep the city safe, but not much more. I’ve already taken medication. The infection will be gone in seven days. I want to be left alone until then."

Yin Yu sighs with relief that the affliction is not permanent, although he suspects that the sickness is more debilitating than Hua Cheng is revealing. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Your ten minutes are up.”

“Is it contagious?”

“No.” Hua Cheng sounds offended. Yin Yu finds it strangely endearing.

“Then why are you…” Yin Yu swallows the word  hiding. “Why are you refusing to see anyone?”

“…I can’t change skin.”

Oh.

“Side effect,” Hua Cheng adds like an afterthought. Like being trapped in his true form is not excruciating for him.

Yin Yu has never seen Hua Cheng’s true form. No one has.

Legends tell of countless theories for what Crimson Rain’s true form is and why he never appears in it, most of which assume that his true form is so horrifying and overflowing with resentment that no one can survive the sight of it.

But Yin Yu has spent a lot of time with Hua Cheng. Has seen how much he dislikes even his finest skins. Has seen how much he hates E’Ming, a weapon so inseparable from him that it is like a body part.

Those had been the first clues.

Yin Yu’s theory is much simpler than the legends: Hua Cheng hates his true form.

Yin Yu has been fleeing his own dark side for years, the parts of him that sometimes feel like his true self—his jealousy, his impatience, his bitterness, his hopelessness. The vitriol buried inside him. The words,  Go die.

He does not know why Hua Cheng hates his true form. But he understands it.

Yin Yu gives a small bow to the statue, although he is not sure if Hua Cheng can see him, wherever he is. “I have used up my ten minutes. Please let me know if you have any extra jobs for me.”

“None.”

“Yes, Chengzhu. Thank you for…telling me what happened.”

No response.

Yin Yu turns to leave.

“Yin Yu,” Hua Cheng calls, and this time Yin Yu can pin a location to his voice: the far right side of the room.

Footsteps approach. The crisp clinking chains of Hua Cheng’s boots. Yin Yu’s heart pounds.

Hua Cheng in his true form emerges from a forest of statues. Other than wearing a black eyepatch over his right eye and appearing older and taller than his favored skins, he does not look much different than usual. He even wears the same smug smirk, although there is a hint of something like trepidation in his eyes.

Having expected the worst, Yin Yu is surprised by how familiar this Hua Cheng feels. Yin Yu gives a small nod.

“Your next assignment is to mix paint,” Hua Cheng says like it is the most boring command to ever leave his mouth, then turns and strides away.

Suppressing a laugh, Yin Yu follows him.

Internally, Hua Cheng must be struggling to keep spiritual energy coursing through the Ghost City—if he was not stretched thin, he would have at least cast the Soundproofing Spell for Yin Yu. But the reinforcements that Yin Yu set up will help ease the burden on his spiritual energy, and he seems pleased to pretend that nothing is wrong for an hour or two. That it is just another day in the workshop as Yin Yu mixes paint while Hua Cheng paints a mural of the interior of a royal palace.

Yin Yu finds himself stealing glances at Hua Cheng. His hair is longer in his true form, elegant and silky but with an impression of hidden wildness. It drapes over his shoulders, sometimes brushing the paint on the wall.

“Ah…Chengzhu?”

“Mm?”

Heat rising to his cheeks, Yin Yu clears his throat. “May I…may I tie your hair back? It's getting in your way—"

Hua Cheng’s brushstrokes do not falter, but his eyebrows shoot up. He glances over at Yin Yu, smirking. “If it bothers you that much.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Go on.”

Hesitating at first, Yin Yu combs back Hua Cheng’s soft silken black hair with his fingers and begins to braid it. Hua Cheng seems to be trying not to show any sign of the sensation affecting him, but sometimes the rhythm of his brushstrokes falters, or his shoulders tense and relax several times, like he does not know what to do with himself.

Yin Yu wonders when was the last time someone braided Hua Cheng’s hair. If someone  ever  braided it.

With a pang, Yin Yu thinks of Quan Yizhen. The boy had lived on the streets for years, so when he finally had a home and a shixiong to take care of him, he had been overwhelmed. He had always seemed caught off guard when Yin Yu tended to him, but he had never wanted Yin Yu to stop, either.

Yin Yu shakes away the unwelcome grip of fondness for a shattered past and instead channels the emotion into his hands, braiding Hua Cheng’s hair with adoration.

Not for the first time, he wonders what kind of past Hua Cheng had.

Yin Yu has been sheltering himself behind Hua Cheng, has begun to understand how he thinks, but still knows so little about him. Maybe instead of keeping distance between them, he should put as much effort into closing the distance as he puts into his work. That is, if Hua Cheng would accept it.

The softness of Hua Cheng's hair, plaited under Yin Yu's fingers, tells him that Hua Cheng might accept more than he expected.

It still feels strange for Yin Yu to end up in the Ghost Realm after he had spent so much effort toward ascension, toward being a good martial god. Like his full set of scales had finally grown in—armor that glistened, that would protect him, would commemorate his work—but it ended up not fitting him, and he shed his skin to become an entirely new creature who slithers in the shadows.

But he is starting to look forward to as much from this life as he misses from his old one.

Maybe one day he can straddle them without losing his balance, one foot in Ghost City and one in his memory of the heavens.

“Chengzhu…” Yin Yu says, not fully thinking through his words. “What would happen if I stopped hiding from the heavens?”

Hua Cheng stops painting. “You mean, if you go back?”

Yin Yu knits his brow. “No, not like that. I can never go back.”

Hua Cheng turns around to glare into Yin Yu’s eyes. “Damn right you can’t,” he snaps. “The heavens don’t deserve you.”

Yin Yu’s heart nearly stops.

Without another word, Hua Cheng turns back to his painting.

An odd warmth swells inside Yin Yu as he finishes the braid.

Maybe they have stepped inside the gold foil palace without knocking it down.

#mxtxnet #tgcf #hua cheng #yin yu #huayin #emilu fics #emilu creations

[maryniss]

burn the letters so that you never find the burn in my heart

‘Today I came back. And I hope that you are still somewhere there, I am still here waiting. I am going to search for you, so just stay there and also wait for me. I am still your most devoted believer.’

Hua Cheng looked over at his horrible calligraphy, feeling rage burn deep inside him. He didn’t want to blame himself, he knew that he was still a little weak, proof in how his hands were shaking uncontrollably, proof in how his head was spinning with the past events, with the past feelings that the death of his soul couldn’t wash away. He wanted to burn it all, his love and his hatred because he felt so confused, and he felt so unworthy, unworthy of even worshipping the god of his life.

He could die a million times more and he still wouldn’t know if His Highness would feel the love Hua Cheng himself had felt when Xie Lian caught him during the parade. He wants to show Xie Lian just how much that meant for him, how his heart and will to live were light up, fireworks to mirror the ones Hua Cheng associated with the Crown Prince.

It was the first time somebody looked at Hua Cheng like that. It was the first time when a glance didn’t stab his bloody soul that had been cut and torn to pieces so many times again and again and again; it was the first time Hua Cheng thought that he maybe wasn’t that bad, that he maybe was worth something, that he could now maybe find a meaning to his life.

He knows he didn’t ask for that much, yet why does it feel like two deaths weren’t enough to show Xie Lian his utmost devotion?

He could not put it into words, he could not show it with his actions. Then what was left for him do to?

‘I don’t know what to do, but I’ll continue to follow you even with my eyes closed.’

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

‘It was only the moment when I died, that was the moment when I saw you looking at me from the other side of the field. It was dark and maybe I didn’t see it right, maybe the glint in your eye wasn’t worry, but I like to think that at that moment you looked at me and you felt the love that exploded once my body which contained it disappeared. Even a ray of it would have been enough, a fraction for you to know that you are not alone, that there is somebody still believing in you.’

Hua Cheng was somehow relieved that his handwriting was so ugly and that no one could actually understand it. He rested his head on the paper and he thought that he could hear a breath somewhere far away, whispering soft words he could not understand in his ear. How warm he felt at that moment!

But then why was he crying and dirtying the pages he tried so hard to write? Why couldn’t he control his face? From under his eyepatch, trails of blood fell down on the words and mixed in with the ink.

He felt so alone. He wanted to feel again loved and worthy of something.

‘I, will never leave your side, for which I know how it is to be left in the dark with only the dogs of your thoughts to bite and scratch at you over and over.’

It was cold. It was empty.

Hua Cheng could wait for the sun to shine, though. He knew that, at some point, golden streaks of light will set his heart’s fire up once again.

‘I don’t know what to do, but I’ll continue to follow you even with my eyes closed.’

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

‘Today I cried. For no reason at all. It’s getting tiring. There are too many things to do, all at once, there is so much pressure that I can’t handle. I have to be perfect in their eyes or else they won’t accept me as their leader. I have to scare them off, I have to be the strongest.

But it is so, so hard to scare somebody when you can’t even look at your own reflection without wanting to punch it so hard, to shatter the mirror and never see that face again. I am getting scared of myself, what should I do?

I am still following you. I haven’t found you, but one day I will and I will make sure that you will never have such bad thoughts about yourself as I do.’

Hua Cheng folded the letter and stacked it next to the other letters that have been growing over the years. He had been writing to His Highness for over 200 years, but he never found him, he never caught a glimpse of that brightness again.

He wondered if that’s how Xie Lian felt. He wondered if that was the pressure Xie Lian felt daily, the weight of a smile that hanged hard above his shoulders, pulling the corners of his mouth down. How did he deal with all of this, alone, on his own…?

Hua Cheng tried to be there for him. He did everything he could, he tried so hard, but he in the end failed. If His Highness is still out there in the world, does he know that he is still not alone? Does he know that? And if he would, would it help revive some of the pain that built inside of his rose shaped soul?

Hua Cheng wants to be there with Xie Lian, every day, at any time, whenever he is needed. He wants to at least have the chance to worship his god properly. Is that really too much to ask?

He guesses maybe it is. Maybe he doesn’t deserve that. Maybe he had already used up all of his chances.

He rests on the bed in Paradise Manor, falling asleep with the thought of bringing Xie Lian there one day.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

‘Today was such a great day! I saw a white flower and I thought of you again. Its petals were so delicate when I looked at them, holding up big tears of rain; I picked it up and I brought it back home. I put it below the altar and I still hope that one day I can find you again, maybe just by chance, as I did with this flower.’

That was the only letter Hua Cheng still had after somebody sneaked in and stole his chest with treasures. It was during one of his moments of weakness, when his head was throbbing with unbearable pain and his eye could no longer concentrate enough to connect with the butterflies.  

He didn’t care about all of the gold and jewelry that was there; but the letters, the letter were so important to him, it was his whole soul on thin papers, written in an ugly and unreadable handwriting, a reflection of his feelings and mind.

Those were only for Xie Lian to see. And he wanted nothing more than for them to find him.

Hua Cheng continued to write after that incident happened, he wrote everything that felt important to him. It was weird to think that he found comfort in exposing his soul to a person that was not there, to a person that might not be there anymore even.

He could hope still. He dedicated his life to Xie Lian, was there anything left other than hope?

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

When the vendor offered Xie Lian those pieces of paper, he was reluctant to take them. He had no need for such objects, so why would he?

“Here, take them, please, I don’t know what to do with them. These are some letters, and some of them seem to be so old, yet the handwriting is the same. Please, take them, I don’t want the one who wrote these letters to come after me!”

Xie Lian wondered why the man stole them still? But such questions never left his mouth and after a lot of pleading, even begging by Xie Lian’s feet, the past god ended up with a pile of letters almost as tall as him. There were a lot and he, not knowing what do, stood down under the shadow of a tree and opened the first one.

It felt like his eyes had been gouged out with a fork. How could anybody have such a handwriting, such a messy handwriting? His head started to hurt as he looked at the letters on the paper. He looked at the words splayed unruly across the page, starting to distinguish some of the characters. The first letter he opened was nothing like he ever read or hear before. It almost seemed like the person who wrote it was talking to their lover after not being with them for a long time.

He started to get accustomed with the writing and soon he could easily read what was written there.

‘I didn’t know it would be this hard. To live. I was foolish back then, but looking at it now, I still don’t regret listening to you. It would just be so, so much easier if you were here. I can handle it still.

But there is no day that I don’t think about you. The warmth I felt when I met you for the first time; it burned me, it was the first time I felt like that. I told you this before in previous letters, but I need to show you, even by repeating my words a hundred times, how much I owe you.

I often find myself asking what you would do if you were in my place. I still hope one day we will find the solution together.

And I am sure we will, as I still follow you, even with my sight not as good as before.’

Xie Lian laughed at the last bit for a second, before wondering what happened to the person’s eyes. It was endearing, there was something about the letters that made Xie Lian want to open more of them up and read them, to find out the secrets hidden between the walls of that thorny writing.

But, as he swam through the emotions exposed there, he felt like he should give some of his story too, to reciprocate the accidental sincerity he was being faced with. He took a coal from his sleeve and started gently writing on the back of those pages.

‘I am glad that you think your love is still worth fighting for. In this world, you must always have something that makes you go forward. It’s just so much easier. I-I remember how I once told someone to keep living for me.

Now that I think about it, it really was foolish of me and too much to ask. I was young back then, I didn’t know how easily trust could be betrayed and how easily people left. I am still thinking about it till this day. I am thinking about that person that listened to my words so carefully and I wonder what he’s doing right now. Truth to be told, I would want to meet them again, to apologize to them. I don’t know if they are still around though.

I want to tell you something, as I’ve seen you struggling. I know it’s hard without somebody by your side; but you can fight for them if that’s what you want to do. Continue on fighting even if you start to bleed, if that’s what is the right thing to do or so you appreciate.

Maybe I am not the best to talk about this. I was stubborn when I was young and I always tried to fulfill my goal, to never give up. And I ended all alone, but I managed.’

Xie Lian stopped for a second and looked up. Clouds were gathering above his head, but something told him it wasn’t going to rain. He let out a soft chuckle and then a sigh.

‘I honestly don’t remember so much of my teenage years. I wanted to save the people all of them, that’s how I was thinking back then. I know it’s not possible, but I am still trying to this day. I can never let it go; it’s just my guilt creeping up on me for letting all of those people die back then.

I remember that there was once a ghost that helped me when I was at my lowest. I couldn’t save them in the end, I couldn’t and that has haunted me for more than I can remember. I wake up in cold sweat remembering how I couldn’t, at the end of it all, save them. There were other people before that that I couldn’t reach out to. But my memory has caved itself and everything from that period is a little blurry. I still remember some things…to well even, things I wish I could forget.’

A drop of water landed on the paper and Xie Lian didn’t know if it was his tears or the rain that started contrary to what he believed. He folded the letters and run quickly back to his improved home in the village, to hide from the rain.

It wasn’t so bad, talking to somebody who would listen. Shame they were not there.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It was a rainy day at Puqi Shrine when Xie Lian found that letter again. It fell from the sleeves of his robes and he picked it up curiously. Where did that come from?

“What did you find there, gege?” Hua Cheng peeked over Xie Lian’s shoulder, nestling his chin in the crook of his neck. It was still something new for them both, and at the same time, something that they were long used to, each other’s presence.

“I am not sure, San Lang, let me take a look.” He unfolded the paper, holding it gently, feeling that it may disappear under his hands if he handled it without care. Xie Lian was met with Hua Cheng’s messy writing and he was confused for a second.

“San Lang, did you write this now…” He could not finish his thoughts as he read the first words; they seemed so familiar, a mirror made out of water which his arm could only pass through. Why did he suddenly feel surrounded by a warmth enveloping him like honey, smothering over him, cradling him close? Was this…?

Hua Cheng took the letter from Xie Lian’s hands. “Gege, where do you have this from?” Xie Lian looked as surprised as him.

“I thought you wrote it? Shouldn’t you know? Didn’t you put it there?” Hua Cheng flipped it over and his eyes roamed the back of the paper.

“…but this is your writing here?” said Hua Cheng as he handed the paper to Xie Lian. The Crown Prince glanced at it and he remembered.

He remembered the vendor that wouldn’t let him alone no matter what, he remembered the cloudy day and how he cried that day. It struck him, all of sudden and he could not stop himself from putting the pieces together. He looked up at Hua Cheng.

“Did you…Were these letters meant for me?” Hua Cheng glanced down, red in the ears, and Xie Lian was stunned that something like this could make him flush so darkly. He smiled fondly.

He loved him.

“Gege shouldn’t look anymore,” murmured he as he stepped out with the intention to take the letter away from Xie Lian, as far away as possible, burn it afterwards so that Xie Lian never found the burn in his heart. “They are unfit to be read by Gege. I was just saying nonsense there, don’t worry about it…”

“But if I can’t look once more time, again, at San Lang’s words, neither can he read my response,” said Xie Lian promptly. Hua Cheng took in a deep breath, something gleaming in his eyes. Hope, love, or just the stars that could be seen splattered across the sky?

“Gege’s…response?”  Xie Lian smiled again and started to read aloud what he wrote that time, under the alone shadow of a tree. His face was getting a little bit pink, he knew it, but Hua Cheng was way worse than him, almost as red now as his robes.

When he finished reading, he looked up and to his surprise, tears were rolling down Hua Cheng’s reddened cheeks. He stepped closer and ensured one of his arms behind his beloved’s waist, keeping him close, the other hand wiping away the tars gently, stroking the pale skin there.

“I am sorry, gege…” Hua Cheng took Xie Lian’s hand into his and tenderly kissed it. “I just…Back then I didn’t expect you to be alive, I…” He let out a shaky breath. “It’s just… I don’t know how to say to say it but I feel like I gained another part of myself right now. I feel so full. I am so happy. I always wanted to show you these letters. Yes, I did wrote them down for you and I…” Xie Lian brushed his lips across Hua Cheng’s erratic ones, shutting him up.

“I remember reading the letters and thinking…” Xie Lian’s eyes glanced down at Hua Cheng’s mouth and he thought about all of the words that came out of it, about all of the kisses laid on his skin with that mouth (his face got a closer to red) about everything that Hua Cheng ever said to him and how those simple words hold him up for so long.

“…that they were probably for the lover of the one who was writing. I never thought they would turn out to be for me.” He could see Hua Cheng shivering as his hot breath gasped over the cold skin. And maybe that was love, hope or maybe just the stars reflected in his eyes.

He leaned down and kissed Hua Cheng, slow, molding their lips together, not pushing too far. It was a sweet moment draped in even sweeter honey. He wanted to say so much to Hua Cheng but his mouth would get tired of all the unspoken words his soul had to carry alone.

But, he never grew tired of kissing Hua Cheng. Of the striking feeling that that man was him to kiss and love and adore and exchange secret letters. It was a feeling that bathed him completely, almost drowned him in his magnitude.

Hua Cheng shyly licked at Xie Lian’s lips and the Crown Prince slightly parted them, letting his beloved explore him once more time, like the first time. It was always going to be like the first time.

Words were not enough.

Kissed were not enough.

So how could the two possibly show their love for each other?

Maybe it should be a secret, maybe it should be a surprise like the letters.

Or maybe they should wait for the burn in their heart to heal sot that their soul could once again feel as light as once. Then, they could share their love and fill each other’s hearts.

But, for tonight, kissing didn’t seem so bad. They had an eternity ahead of them.

An eternity and a death. And it still didn’t seem enough.

‘I don’t know what to do, but I’ll continue to follow you even with my eyes closed.’

   and they were infinite like the stars in the sly, they were infinite because of the path their loved set ahead of them

reblog if you enjoyed it!

#hua cheng #xie lian #hualian #hualian fic #fluff #tgcf fluff #tgcf fic

[professorwilliam]

Hi......if you don't mind me asking, can I ask, who are your top 5 favorite characters from TGCF? And why? And what are your top 5 (or top 3) fav moments from the novel? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks.....

HELLLO !!!!! THIS IS SO CUTE AND AHHH

ITS A HARD QUESTION i literally love all the characters so much fuck so to pick top 5 feels like a punishment fjfkssk

1. Mu Qing : cause duh he's best boy. plus i relate to him in alot of way. ive done many things in past that he also did in the novel that make me feel less shitty about myself. both of us tend to come off people who only think about themselves, so it was nice to finally resonate with someone.

2. Xie Lian : i like how realistic he is and how he was portrayed in all the glory and in all the bad stuff. something about him is so insanely human that it doesn't feel like im reading a fictional character. especially in book 4 with everything that was happening it felt good to see a character break apart in all the ways possible and hit rock bottom. (plus both of us are shit cooks meant to be fr)

3. Hua Cheng : he's a bastard. so am i. we will get along. Also i really like that he didn't become a blind dog after xie lian, during the time they were apart hua cheng grew as his own person and found new perspectives.

4. Yin Yu : i just desperately want him as my best friend he's literally so cool and calm most of the time (ahem, leaving behind that one go die scene but it's fair) imagine being able to work in the paradise manor with him ahhhhhhhh

5. He Xuan : i really don't have any big words to say for him and except he gets to live in the ocean and has skeleton fished as pets that's enough to make anyone cool in my eyes. also he's such a mood, my man is trying to stay out of trouble and just eat but here comes his butterfly bff crying about his crush.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS : SHIN QINGXUAN, FENG XIN, PEI MING, LENG WIN, LORD RAIN MASTER, QI RONG, I LOVE THEM ALOT SOBS

(honestly all the characters are awesome it's really hard to pick wjdjwke)

And my top five moments from the novels

1. Xie Lian getting drunk and sleeping in an empty grave.

2. Hua Cheng punching He Xuan three feet underground for no reason at all.

3. Mu Qing's confession (the fact that he immediately jumped off in lava afterwards)

4. THE CONFESSION SCENE SCREAMS (the whole cave of ten thousand gods tbh, nothing beats it)

5. When Xie Lian had nail in his foot and hua cheng was scolding him and taking care of him

thank you for the ask !! it was very fun :D sorry if i was all over the place i just woke up ho ho

#heaven official's blessing #tgcf #ask

[jcmcisvu]

        (𝐧.) 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭. part one.

        the girl with the iridescent parasol is five years old when she’s found dead in paradise river, golden curls torn out in clumps and chopped to her shoulder, and glossy wings clipped off at the base.

        the girl with the iridescent parasol is five years old when the sky cries for her above all else, drowning maninora forest in it’s crystalline tears.

        the girl with the iridescent parasol is five years old when the spirits of the forest find her and deem her death as unjust and unvirtuous.

        the girl with the iridescent parasol is five years old when she is restored, repaired, replenished, and given a new chance at life.

        the girl with the iridescent parasol is five years old when she gives herself a name and a place in the world.

        he swallows hard, pressing his eyes closed tightly and pulling the blankets up and over his head. he cups his hands over his ears, shakes his head, and shoves his face into his pillow.

        ❝ there’s nothing there ... nothing there ... ghosts aren’t real ... they aren’t real ... ❞

        he keeps his eyes closed, though, keeps his head turned away. he doesn’t want to risk looking, just in case something is there, just in case something is waiting for him at the foot of his bed.

        ❝ you’re not allowed to leave the confines of your chamber, do you understand ?? never are you allowed to leave. ❞

        no. he doesn’t understand. he never had and he probably never will, but he doesn’t question it. he can only assume that it’s because of what is happening outside of his chamber that he isn’t allowed to leave, for he hears the screams and cries, feels the earthquakes and rolling thunder --- his papa must be trying to protect him from the outside.

        never, in a million years, did he think that it’s because of him, because of something as simple as his touch, because his papa was trying to protect everyone else.

        pathetic sobs fall from split, bloody lips as he drags himself across the marble floor in some desperate attempt to get away. it’s harder than it should be, but every ounce of strength he had has been forcefully ripped out of him and magic, even in good condition, has never been his forte.

        ❝ oh, come on !! stop being such a baby and get up !! ❞

        ❝ i -- i ... can’t --- ❞

        all he can do is cry against the beautifully embellished, but now bloodstained floor. his head shakes slowly, fingers grasping at nothing but a futile attempt to escape.

        ❝ oh, my gods !! this is your own fucking fault, you whiny brat !! ❞

        the slightly older boy grasps onto a fistful of his brother’s shirt and yanks him up and off the floor.

        ❝ i said get the fuck up --- ❞

        he’s cut off by an earsplitting scream finally forcing its way passed the smaller boy’s lips, and he just barely manages to gasp out a broken, ❝ c-can’t ... ❞ before he goes limp in his hold.

        odd eyes widen in a fit of shock, his hand unfurls from its previous place grasping at his brother’s shirt, and he winces as the limp body hits the marble floor with a thud.

        ❝ i -- get up ... get up !! i didn’t --- i didn’t mean to !! i didn’t mean to !! get up !! she’s going to hate me !! get up !! get up !! ❞

        a knock on the wooden fence catches the attention of the young boy and he quickly sprints across the yard to poke his head over the fence.

        ❝ oh, hi !! ❞

        ❝ i have a ... uh, extra large fan, battery powered engine, and three shipments of steel pipes and cables to be delivered to this address ?? does that sound ... right ?? ❞

        the confusion in the man’s voice is evident, and all the boy does is smile brightly.

        ❝ yep !! that sounds exactly right !! you can just bring it through the gate !! ❞

        ❝ ... hey, kid, aren’t you a little young to be doing all this ?? ❞

        a soft laugh spills into the warm, summer air. ❝ yes !! yes, i am !! ❞

        he’s sixteen years old and he is the most important thing his world has ever known.

        that’s what he’s told as the silver needle is pressed into his neck, as his veins fill with cold, and as the liquid numbness and induced paralysis set in. it’s what he’s told as he’s lifted from his bed and carried unconsentingly from his chamber, through the crystalline hallways, into the palace’s brightest, most beautifully iridescent room.

        ❝ the security of our world hinges on how perfect you are. ❞

        that’s what he’s told as unfamiliar hands grab him, pet him, touch him all over. as he’s forcefully kept in a state of complete consciousness, and yet as he has no idea what is truly being done to him.

        it’s what he’s told as he’s made out to be the epitome of perfect to benefit everyone, everyone, no matter what it does to him.

        each and every hair is perfectly in place. lips are the perfect shade of honeysuckle pink. porcelain cheeks hold the perfect rosiness. mismatched eyes are so beautifully glossed over. mind is so delightfully blank.

        he is beautifully dressed, and delightfully drugged, and elegantly stripped of all senses.

        he is lifted and contorted and put on display like the utterly captivating, utterly perfect porcelain doll that he is forever made out to be.

        pathetic cries fall from bloody lips as he stares up at the beautiful mix of light and dark that his father holds in his hand. he twirls it around, holds it up, lets it shine like it’s some humane jewel, there to be admired.

        a feeble hand slowly lifts from where it had been previously pawing at the floor, as if reaching out for the mix, as if trying to draw it to him, trying to draw it back to him.

        a foot comes down, crushing his hand against the floor as a sinister laugh spills into the harsh, cold air.

        ❝ it’s such a pity that such magic has been going to complete and total waste for so many years. i know it’s been used in ... small incriminates, but ... this is far more efficient. ❞

        ❝ pl -- please... please, that --- i-i'll --- ❞

        a loud sob escapes his lips, his eyes press tightly shut, his head lolls limply against the floor as he tries so desperately to tear his attention away from the scene. all too abruptly, though, a hand grasps at his jaw, cruel fingertips pressing purple bruises into his skin, and his eyes are forced open, forced to watch, to stare so intently as his own magic, as such an important piece of him, is fed so eagerly, so maliciously into his cruel, sinister reflection.

        he wants to cry, wants to plead for it back, for them to just give him his pieces back. he feels empty, broken, completely incomplete. not a word, not a sound leaves his lips, though. silent tears simply fall down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that’s pooled beneath his head.

        it’s a silent eight months that follow.

        a loud, pained screech sounds throughout the manor, awakening everyone within as images flash across his mind at a speed faster than light. he stumbles from his bed, one hand pressing at his eyes as the other grasps at his nightstand in some desperate attempt to hold himself steady.

        he sounds like he’s being murdered and soon there’s familiar hands on him, all trying to gently guide him back to bed, to make sure he’s alright. he’s stiff, though, clutching the nightstand like it’s his lifeline and pressing his eyes closed so tightly they seem glued shut.

        when he finally settles down, when the strange images slow and come to a stop, he’s breathing heavily and there’s a dull ache in his head. the feeling isn’t foreign, but it’s also not entirely familiar.

        ❝ ... it was only a night terror. go back to bed. i -- i’ll tell you all about it in the morning if i must. ❞

        ❝ in the coming years  ... this ceremony will begin fall upon your shoulders, dearest. it may seem like an abundance to take on --- our kingdom depends on it, after all --- but i already trust that you hold shall magnificent festivals in the years when it is finally your time. ❞

        the shrill screams and earsplitting shrieks, the loud cries and harsh sobs, the terror-filled ambiance fills her ears as her pastel pink eyes meet her father’s own silver ones. she searches such eyes for love, for adoration, for anything at all, but all she finds is a sinister pride hiding away in his crystalline irises. she forces a smile to come to her rose petal pink lips.

        ❝ ... i promise i won’t let you down, daddy. ❞

        she stands under the old oak tree, hand gently placed on its trunk as she glances around, evidently waiting for someone. it’s been hours since she’d arrived. her long, pure white dress is getting drenched, soiled in the rain. her curls are falling quickly and her mascara is sure to be running down her cheeks. yet she continues to wait, perfectly manicured hands gently clutching the bag of jewels she’d managed to steal from her mother’s jewelry box.

        the tall clocktower in town square chimes three times, signalling that it’s three in the morning, and he still hasn’t shown. she’s starting to lose hope, and a soft sigh leaves her lips as she drags her hand down the rough trunk of the old tree and turns to leave.

        and her ice blue eyes meet a dark silhouette of a man. her heart beats fast and loud, her hands clutch the velvet bag in a vice grip, a smile comes to her cherry red lips, and ---

        a loud shriek is the final noise she makes. crimson blood slips with ease from her neck and spills through the grass. she awakes in an unfamiliar world with her jewels missing, but with a new cold and lonely feeling hanging over her.

        she walks through the front door with her head hung low, ribbons in her hair torn and tattered, and skin covered in scratches and bruises. she drags her backpack behind her on the floor as she makes a beeline for her bedroom.

        ❝ baby sis ?? is that you ?? i was waiting ‘til you got home to film my new --- oh, my god, what happened to you ?? ❞

        she bats worried hands away as they reach out to touch her, to see if she’s okay.

        ❝ i’m fine. just leave it alone, okay ?? and please, just ... don’t tell mom and dad. ❞

        ❝ don’t tell mom and dad ?? you’re --- you’re a wreck, of course i’m gonna tell mom and dad !! if i don’t, you’ll probably get yourself killed next time you --- ❞

        ❝ maybe that’s what i’m trying to do !! ❞ it’s loud and abrupt, and she hadn’t intended to say it. ❝ ... maybe --- maybe if i get hurt, if ... if he somehow hears that --- that something happened --- maybe he’ll finally just come home !! ❞

        his face falls and his heart drops to his stomach. he steps toward his sister, a soft, ❝ baby sis ... that --- that’s not the way to get him to come home ... ❞ spilling into the air.

        ❝ than how ?! ❞ she screams as loud as her lungs will allow. ❝ than --- than how ... ❞

        he pulls her into a hug, her face pressed against his chest as broken sobs spill from her lips. he’s never seen her so upset, didn’t know that she’d been so affected by something that had happened years ago. perhaps he’d been too focused on himself all this time, on trying to forget it all, on trying to pretend it had never happened.

        ❝ i ... i don’t know ... ❞ he admits, ❝ i don’t know. ❞

        the whisperings are louder than intended as she passes them by, but what they whisper of is no secret at all. in fact, it’s something she’s always known, something she’s been aware of all along.

        ❝ her magic is nowhere near as powerful as her sisters’ ... i mean, does she even practise her magic ?? ❞

        she doesn’t.

        ❝ i don’t think so. and she’s not very social ... i guess it’s a good thing she’s not the heir. ❞

        she’s not.

        ❝ yeah. or even just an ambassador. i’m not sure that would be good for anyone involved. ❞

        it wouldn’t.

        she knows all this. she knows that she’s the middle child. she knows that she got the short end of the stick in regards to just about everything. she knows that she’s not exactly good enough and probably never will be, but she’s long since accepted it.

        she holds the necklace up to the light, head tilting slightly to one side as it glimmers in the bright lights of her dressing room. she knows her accessories backwards and forwards, but this piece ... this necklace is far too unfamiliar. she doesn’t recall purchasing it, she’s not sure she’s ever even seen it before, and yet ... it feels so right as she clasps it around her neck; it feels like it belongs with her.

        he’s frozen in place as he stares into the room, unable to even scream in a fit of terror as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. the screams of his parents fill his ears, but they dull in comparison to the sound of flesh tearing and fire blazing.

        he manages to look away from the scene, his own eyes accidentally meeting a familiar pair of golden and red ones.

        ❝ find your sister and run. ❞

        the words aren’t uttered aloud, just mouthed to him from equally familiar bloodstained lips, but he makes them out all the same. yet he doesn’t run, doesn’t move an inch as he’s too utterly mortified to so much as even think properly.

        ❝ i said run !! ❞

        the door slams in front of him and, for the first time in that moment, he’s forced into a state of acceptance. a heavy breath escapes his lips, his heart pounds in his chest; he takes off, abandoning his childhood home and the people who raised him in it, his sole focus on doing exactly as he was told before it’s far too late.

        the typically soft and smooth fabric feels rough against her skin and she winces at its touch, but that doesn’t stop her from twisting it around herself, from twirling herself into a cocoon, a prison of red fabric.

        when she was young, she’d loved the feel of it against her skin, she’d loved practising and competing, loved simply doing it for fun. it was silly of her to think that it would always be fun, though, that she would always enjoy it without so much as a care in the world.

        perhaps that was why she’d run away, why she’d disappeared without so much as a word, abandoned the only home she’d ever known, stolen a daughter, a sister from her own family like a thief in the night. perhaps she was trying to find a love for her art again, trying to find the love that had been stripped away from her by the very people who were supposed to do nothing but love and support her.

        it doesn’t matter now, she tells herself as the tent to the bigtop opens for general admission, right now, only tonight’s performance matters.

        the earth shakes with cosmic proportions, the ground cracking open, splitting apart, and crumbling beneath such epic power. dark, pitch black clouds form like puffs of sinister smoke in the ash grey sky, furling tragically and rolling with ease across it like some wicked blanket from hell. bloody tears fall from such clouds, hitting against the ground like sharp pins, drowning the earth in the messy, red liquid.

        the lightning flashes, the thunder crashes, a wildfire blazes in the distance, terrorising and burning down small populations and civilizations in their entirety.

        ❝ ... the be all, end all ... ❞

        divine screams spill into the air.

        ❝ ... the perfect weapon ... ❞

        bloody fingers claw at the marble floor.

        ❝ ... the end of times ... ❞

        a loud snap is heard as an invisible weight comes down against his spine, as invisible claws tear his chest open, as the dam opens and blood fills his lungs, floods his throat, and spills, like velvet ribbon, from plush lips.

        ❝ n-noire !! hes -- ‘estia !! dea -- ros --- ❞ he tries to scream, calling out for help for the first time in his life, between gushes of blood.

        ❝ ... all you were intended to be ... and all i have is this ... pathetic. ❞

        a scream louder than any crash of thunder, sharper than any bolt of lightning, more sinister than any dark cloud, more searing than any wildfire, more epic than any earthquake imaginable sounds throughout earth and the lands above and below as another harsh snap sounds, as an endless river of red spills from his lips and pools beneath his head, and as golden and red eyes gloss over and stare blankly into an empty nothingness.

        she stares at her phone, an amused smile coming to her lips as she admires her own image on the screen. she doesn’t bother reading the words that accompany it. she already knows what they say. they just flash across her mind effortlessly at the human of it all.

        world-class con artist. grand heist. shot and killed. vatician museum.

        a soft laugh bubbles from her lips as she shakes her head, tucks her phone into the pocket of her jeans, and leaps off of the roof of the building. she disappears into the night.

        she’s far too used to the murmured arguments that fall through the thin walls of her bedroom at night when they think she’s not listening. she’s far too used to the topic of conversation being herself. she’s far to used to having to pretend that she didn’t hear them the next day when they ask how she slept the night before.

        ❝ nothing she does ... ever ends in anything good. ❞

        ❝ i know, i ... we were doing some healing earlier and she --- it was my mistake of letting her even try ... ❞

        ❝ we have to do something about her before she --- before she does too much bad. ❞

        ❝ ... she’s only sixteen. she has ... a few more years. we’ll give her a few more years. ❞

        ❝ two more years. when she’s eighteen. ❞

        ❝ when she’s eighteen. ❞

        she doesn’t know what they mean, doesn’t know what her age has to do with anything, but ... she tries to ignore it. she trusts her parents, trusts the people around her. so, she simply turns over, pulls her pillow over her head, and forces herself to sleep.

        skilled feet glide across the glossy, wooden floor that has somehow become her god. toes are perfectly pointed, arms are excellently bent. tangled locks of brown hair scatter across her face as she twirls, twirls, twirls.

        she takes a leap, momentarily falls to the floor, keeps twirling.

        bloody footprints scatter beautifully across the floor.

        stop, stop, stop. but she can’t. she will keep twirling. she must keep twirling.

        a ballerina in a music box, twirling endlessly upon command.

        a fit of sobs escapes from her lips and spills into the air as she’s dragged by her hair across the cement. she kicks her feet and thrashes her head back and forth, screaming at the very top of her lungs for help as she tries so, so desperately to get away.

        ❝ no !! no, please !! please !! just let me go !! just let me go !! please !! please just let me go !! ❞

        ❝ just shut the fuck up, brat !! it’ll be over the sooner you shut up !! ❞

        ❝ no !! just let me go !! let me go !! ❞

        a burst of light escapes her. his grip on her hair loosens and he falls to the ground.

        when she opens her eyes again, all she sees is stars.

        ❝ come on !! come on !! let’s go play, we --- we have to go play !! ❞

        his words appear to fall on deaf ears, and he stares up at his only companion, his only friend before he tries again.

        ❝ we haven’t played in forever !! can we please go play now ?? ❞

        he’s met with an annoyed sigh and an irritated. ❝ you’re not real. fuck off and go play by yourself. ❞

        ❝ will you marry me ?? ❞

        the question falls from her glossy lips with such hope laced with each word. her eyes sparkle as if they had stolen a million stars from the sky.

        ❝ what ?? ❞

        this question comes out fast, hard and cold.

        ❝ will you --- ❞

        ❝ no, i heard you the first time. are you fucking insane ?? we just met, like, two days ago. you were a good fuck and all, but ... seriously, the fuck ?? ❞

        this time, her eyes sparkle with tears, glossy lip quivering as she tries not to cry.

        you’re worthless if you’re not married. you’re life is meaningless if you never marry. marriage is the only way. it’s the only way.

        ❝ but ... but you have to marry me. you --- you have to !! you have to !! ❞

        ❝ i can put his spirit in the lantern. as long as the flame stays lit, he will live on inside. take on the task of lantern bearer… or watch your brother perish. come here. ❞

        ❝ there has to be another way ... there has to be some other way. ❞

        ❝ no. there is only me, there is only my way, there is only the forest, and there is only surrender. ❞

        the mirror must be warped, she tells herself. she stares into the reflective glass and she swears she sees her naturally green eyes flicker red, then black, before settling back to green. the mirror must be warped.

        something touches her shoulder and she spins around to face it, but her eyes fall upon nothing more than the lonely emptiness of her bedroom.

        ❝ memento mori, secundarum, memento mori. ❞

        the words are far too familiar. she screams as she stares down at her hands, now covered in what she can tell is her own blood.

        ❝ not again, not again !! please, please, not again !! ❞

        they all think she’s going crazy, but she knows what she sees.

        ❝ i’m sorry ... but it has to be done. for the sake of all of these people. you understand. ❞

        no. they don’t, they never do, but they’re not meant to. not really.

        ❝ your sacrifice is keeping an entire population alive and well. you are doing good. ❞

        she lies through her teeth, she knows better, and yet she can’t stop. she knows what will happen if she does.

        ❝ it’ll all be over soon. just ... close your eyes and try to be very still. ❞

        you’re too much of a burden. too much of a burden.

        she messily shoves as many of her clothes as she can fit into her backpack, followed by a few necessities --- a toothbrush, a hairbrush, her phone.

        you have to do this for her. you have to.

        she sniffles, brings her hair around to tie it into a loose ponytail, and slings her backpack over her shoulder.

        it’ll be better this way. she won’t be so sad all the time.

        she closes her eyes and, with a deep breath, leaps from the window, running as fast as her short legs will carry her across the sidewalk and down the street.

        shaky hands hold the gold tray carefully, balancing the delicate china tea set as she walks slowly down the golden hallway. she’s not typically so nervous, far too accustomed to the life that she was condemned to from the time she was born to fear anything within the palace any longer. she supposes that’s it’s not truly anything within the palace that she fears, though. she supposes that it’s the words that had fallen into her ears upon her visit with her parents that scar her.

        she doesn’t really love you. she never will. you’re not even meant to pay any attention to her. she doesn’t hold your soul. he does. him. stop being so silly all the time. forget about her.

        a soft sigh escapes her lips as she reaches the door to her chamber. she takes a deep breath, puts on a smile, and gently knocks, knocks, knocks away at the door.

        there’s blood everywhere --- on the bed, on the floor, all over her skin. every breath she takes she feels like her lungs are on fire, and she’s surprised that they’re not when every couple minutes she leans over the side of her bed and coughs and retches endlessly as thick, red liquid pours from her lips.

        everyone is rushing around, yelling at each other. she thinks they’re trying to help, trying to think of some way to help her, but --- she doesn’t want them to worry. she didn’t mean to cause them so much stress and pain. this had only happened because she’d wanted to help. she’d wanted to help and she didn’t even think of the dangers that she knew came with outside world as of late.

        a soft sob leaves her lips as she tries to speak, tries to tell everyone that it’s okay, that she’s okay, and that she’s sorry.

        she’s silenced before she can say anything, though, as an all too familiar hand gently touches her shoulder and an equally familiar voice murmurs something to her, something that she can’t quite make out, before her hair is ruffled and the familiar presence disappears.

        the last thing she remembers is being told to stay awake.

        brown eyes stare at the golden flames that dance across the skin of the hand that’s outstretched in front of him.

        ❝ oh, come on !! it won’t hurt !! it’s just to seal the deal !! for official purposes !! ❞

        ❝ ... you swear this will bring her back ?? ❞

        ❝ you have my word !! i would never tell a lie from the tip of a golden tongue !! ❞

        whatever that’s supposed to mean. still, he reaches out, allowing his own hand to meet with the flame-covered hand of his companion.

        ❝ thank you for shopping with zazzy universal !! no refunds, exchanges, or returns !! i’ll be back in a year to drag you to the pit !! ❞

        a cloud of golden smoke is all that remains, and that’s when such words finally set in.

        he’s eighteen years old and he has one year left to live.

        ❝ i will get to the bottom of this ... i promise. ❞

        bruised and bloody hands hit against the cold floor. the room is silent saved for the pit, pit, pit as stray teardrops hit the cement.

        why wouldn’t they listen ?? why wouldn’t anyone just listen to him ?? he’s not just some crazy kid. he knows what he’s talking about. if they had all just listened, maybe they would have been able to stop it. maybe none of this would be happening right now.

        his woodland companion cowers in a small fit of fear beneath a nearby table.

        ❝ i swear ... no matter what comes of me, anybody who stands or has took in my path ... ❞

        they are going to pay.

        ACTION: POWER         >MODE         >>ON

        SUBJECT: IDENTIFY         >INHUMAN         >>ALIEN         >>>ARGENTI

        TASK         >ERROR         >>ERROR         >>>DESTROY         >>>>ERROR

        TASK CANNOT BE COMPLETED

        she runs. she shoots. she slices. she kills.

        the adrenaline that rushes through her on the battlefield is nothing in comparison to the absolute adoration that floods her upon laying her eyes on the one that she loves.

        so long that you are alive, i will fight to keep you safe. i won’t let anything touch you. i won’t ever let harm come your way.

        ❝ star light, star bright ... first star i see tonight ... i wish i may, i wish i might ... have this wish i wish tonight ... ❞

        a soft gasp escapes glossy lips, sparkling with stardust as she rushes to her balcony, fingertips reaching out to gently run over her crystal ball. shining, silver eyes peer into the crystalline glass, black locks falling over her face as her head tilts to one side.

        a face appears in the glass, a smile comes to her lips.

        ❝ ... i wish to be put out of my suffering ... i wish to die in my sleep tonight ... ❞

        silver eyes widen in shock and a horrified scream falls from her sparkly lips and into the air. she clutches the moon-shaped pendant that hangs from her neck, head shaking in a fit of absolute panic as she steps back from her crystal ball.

        you’re the princess. you have a duty. you must grant every wish that comes to you. the words of her parents come to her, and a soft sob leaves her lips as she sinks to the floor, stardust falling from pale skin and sparkly tears spilling down rosy cheeks.

        ❝ whoa !! this shit is funny looking !! ❞

        ❝ oh, yeah !! he’s kind of ugly ... lets take him to the science lab and cut him open !! ❞

        ❝ yeah !! see if we can figure out what he --- shit !! ❞

        quick hands grab the small creature from the desk of her classmates and hold it safely in her grasp.

        ❝ you so much as lay a hand on him and i’ll cut you open !! ❞

        the threat is probably too loud for a classroom setting, but in that moment, she doesn’t care. she simply turns away from her classmates and holds the creature up to her face, murmuring a soft, ❝ hey, little guy ... i won’t let them get you, okay ?? you’re safe with me. i’ll take you home later and feed you and everything ... i won’t let anyone hurt you again. i promise. ❞

        ❝ the ringing of the bell commands you ... kill him. ❞

        ❝ yes, master. ❞

        a smile comes with ease to her bubblegum pink lips as beautiful pink shimmers and sparkles fill the tent, causing absolute but such ethereal distortion in the eyes of all who watch. it takes no effort at this point. it’s second nature to her, giving such entranced people such magnificent illusions.

        her routine comes to an end. the audience’s applause only makes her feel stronger. she blows a kiss out to them, leaving a sparkly, bubblegum kiss mark on everyone’s cheek before she smirks and turns away, disappearing in a cloud of pink smoke.

        she’s met offstage with a familiar hand grasping her shoulder and a comfortable face smiling down at her. ❝ that’s my star. ❞

        he watches from a distance, always from a distance. it’s all he can do in the state that he’s in. he’s tried interacting with them before, tried speaking to them once or twice, but ... they never seem to hear him, or if they do, they’ve chosen to ignore him, which he would understand entirely, considering all things.

        so, he continues to watch, occasionally blocking a window from being broken or catching a vase that’s been knocked over before it breaks. he’ll sometimes find missing objects or finish odd chores for them. but, mostly, he watches.

        he watches and wishes to, someday, be a part of their family, too.

        ❝ you’re not one of us. you’re ... human. what are you doing all the way out here ?? these woods aren’t a place for humans like you. they aren’t kind to humans like you. ❞

        ❝ i know. i’ve ... i’ve learned that, but --- i’m trying to find my brother. i’m trying to get us home. ❞

        ❝ well, you’re a long way from home now, kid. probably even more lost than you started. ❞

        ❝ ... yeah, actually, but i --- i can’t go home until i have him with me, so ... i just have to keep wandering. ❞

        ❝ wandering, huh ?? what do you say, wanderer ?? how do you even know that this brother of yours is even alive anymore ?? what with the argenti out there and all --- ❞

        ❝ he’s alive. i know he is. ❞

        ❝ but how do you --- ❞

        ❝ he has to be. ❞

        she sniffles, wiping at her eyes with the too long sleeves of her sweater as the deerfox snuggles up against her side. it was silly of her to think she was big enough to stop something so much bigger than she was, so much stronger, so much more powerful.

        ❝ i should have listened to you, mum. all i did was fail. i should have known. ❞

        ❝ you tried, though, sweetheart. that’s far more than most people would have done. ❞

        another sniffle. ❝ i -- i just didn’t want to have to leave home, that’s all ... ❞

        ❝ i know, but ... look at it this way: some day your home may be somewhere else, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave your other homes behind. ❞

        a hand touches her shoulder, her small woodland companion slowly climbs onto her lap. she looks up and is met with a warm, perfectly familiar smile.

        ❝ the wilderness will always be a part of who you are. ❞

        she twirls through the field of wildflowers and thorny weeds, soft strings of giggles spilling from her glossy pink lips as vibrant butterflies and delicate ladybugs land in her hair, decorating her so elegantly. she feels free for the first time in her entire life.

        for once, there aren’t guards watching over her shoulder or spying on her from within the tall branches of the trees. for once in her life, she doesn’t feel like she’s being watched; she feels like she finally has a foreign moment of privacy.

        ❝ princess !! ❞

        she sighs. she spoke too soon.

        ❝ you’re not allowed beyond the garden !! ❞

        ❝ ... right !! silly me. i’m coming !! ❞

#◤♛◢ — jcmcisvu. ✧ 「 paras. 」 #this is BAD n only half of my muses but u know WHAT #.................. i jus' wanna do repliesKJHDKS #also ! some people ? share one ? #n some people hav two ! or like ... one in a half moreso ? #yeahkshdkjs

[satire-please]

Play is the Work of the Childhood

Summary: I once saw a fanart of Hua Cheng snuggling a kid Xie Lian. Therefore this fic was spawn.

Perhaps Xie Lian should have seen this coming.

After all, in his 800-year experience, what goes around, comes around. What misfortune you see and witness will eventually happen to you.

Life enjoys being fair in that aspect.

Still, he didn't expect to be in this position as a wave of green smoke bellows from the mouth of the monster he and Hua Cheng just fought, just slain, it rushing at him and encasing him in a smoggy fist.

For the vile creature's last attack, it shakes Xie Lian like a child throwing a tantrum before throwing him across the cave.

He smacks into the stone wall, the pain makes him gasp...and the smoke rushes into his mouth.

It burns.

His lungs, his head, his bones twisting, his skin shrinking.

"Dianxia!" Xie Lian hurts, his brain rattling in his skull but he can still hear the desperate panic in Hua Cheng's voice, the ring of steel clashing in the background. "Are you alright? Answer me!"

Xie Lian coughs a few times. His ears ringing, he collapses down the rock face disoriented and forces his eyes to open. Hua Cheng's form is blurry but he can tell the man is sprinting towards him. "I'm fine–"

"Your voice! What's happened to you?" What was wrong with his voice? Well, it does sound different. The tone is off. Higher, younger.

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

Xie Lian puts a hand to his throat and rubs it. He tries to prioritize. "It was just the monster's deathblow, a curse I think–"

Hua Cheng swears loudly.

"–But I'll recover, will you destroy the body? Its remains could still harm any that come across it. It would be unfortunate if the villagers still had trouble after they worked so hard to get us for help."

"Yes. It won't ever bother them or Dianxia ever again," Hua Cheng declares vindictively. "Where are you? I can't see you, the smoke refuses to clear."

"Here. Over here." Xie Lian calls. He tries to get up, but his legs catch in sometimes, he looks down to see what's the matter and finds entire lower body trapped in his robes. They tangle over his limbs oversized...why are they so big?

He knows why. Yet please allow him to deny it a little longer. The clues of his voice, his clothes and the small hand he brings to his face are obvious and sooner or later he must accept reality.

He's been changed.

The curse turned him younger...much, much younger.

"There you are! Let me take a look at you, we'll figure out the contents of the curse and break it to–" A red tunic fills the corner his vision and Xie turns toward it.

But his friend, no his companion, freezes in place.

The man is not even breathing. True neither of them need to breathe but Hua Cheng has always been very courteous to do so in the past, so it’s alarming for Xie Lian to see him stop. The demon king is a statue harder than any stone.

“San Lang?” Xie Lian attempts to free an arm from his tangled nest of fabric, but the large sleeve flops over his wrist. Hua Cheng is so tall. Then again everything is so much bigger from this point of view. “What's wrong? Did the creature hurt you too?”

Hua Cheng moves fast.

One moment he’s a few feet away, the next he’s crouched in front of Xie Lian, hands cupping his cheeks to verify that this image is no illusion. Xie Lian notes the coolness of that skin and how those fingers reach the back of his skull easily.

He blushes and glances to the side. Hua Cheng’s hands are one of his favorite things about his man.

“I am blessed.” Is the first thing the demon king says in a minute. His one eye drinking in every change to Xie Lian’s form, his head cocked to the side. “Huh. I never knew I wanted this.”

“Wanted what?” Xie tilts his face or tries to. In Hua Cheng’s tender hold the action has him leaning into his palm.

Hua Cheng makes a trapped sound at the back of his throat. "You're so little."

Xie Lian should take offense, but honestly, he is...little. He had always been a terribly small child once upon a time, or he supposes in the current present. He attempts to calculate his age based on appearances. He'd barely come up to Hua Cheng's hip, his arms are chubby, oh dear, he must be around five or six and his–

"Your hair is so short. Is this how you felt when I was transformed against my will?" Hua Cheng muses, fingers twisting in the dark locks that fall right below his chin. "I have every inclination to lock you up and do all that I must to protect you. You're beyond precious."

“Ah. Now I understand why you were so embarrassed. This is humiliating." Xie Lian murmurs in reply. Xie Lian view’s blocked by a curtain of black hair and there’s a cold press of lips on his forehead. “San Lang!”

“Sorry.” But then he feels the same sensation on his temple. “Excuse me.”

Xie Lian’s cheeks are not left alone. A pepper of kisses rain down on his nose and his eyelids and Xie Lian is going to die if his face gets any redder.

“S-Stop!”

“Must I? Very well.” Hua Cheng finally leans back on his heels, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. However, he keeps Xie Lian trapped in his embrace, especially as he stands up. Xie Lian’s tiny hands scramble for broad shoulders as he’s basically manipulated to sit on one arm, the other moving around his back protectively. “I apologize, I truly can't help myself, Gege. You are honestly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

"You were just as cute. No, cuter!" Xie Lian pouts.

"I doubt it."

"You were!" He insists. Xie Lian watches Hua Cheng reach into his red coat for the dice. He tosses them up absentmindedly before the portal opens to the Paradise Manor.

“Nonsense, most considered me to be a vile and ugly child. They called me a feral cat.”

“I didn’t’!”

Hua Cheng smiled. “This is true. Only you.” And he kisses Xie Lian on the cheek again to end the argument.

The hallways echo with the sound of Hua Cheng's heavy boots before they enter the bedchambers, the closet.

It's larger than four Puji Shrines put together and a whimper leaves Xie Lian before he can stop it.

“Now let’s see what we can do about your clothes.” Good cheer has never been so menacing.

During the length of an incense stick or two Xie Lian is tortured with good taste. The large robes replaced with a barrage of outfits Hua Cheng fishes out of the abyss of the wardrobe.

It takes a while before Hua Cheng plants the new child in front of a mirror to work on the final details. The demon king is pleased to find that even a scowl on the younger face is adorable

“Is this really necessary?”

“Now, Dianxia it’s only fair and just. I recall when I was forced into child form, I couldn’t leave your arms for at least a day. You kept carrying me around and playing with my hair.”

It was soft. Who could blame the martial god?

"You were a treasure,” Xie Lian mutters.

“Yes, and now you’re mine. So enough objections and stay still enough to let me put this on.”

Well, Xie Lian can’t stop Hua Cheng from doing anything, not really, therefore he sighs and keeps his arms up as Hua Cheng fixes his sleeves. “I meant the clothes. This is a lot of work for a temporary situation. Where did you even get these?"

"Secret."

Xie Lian wrinkles his nose. The reflection shows the spitting image of his five-year-old self. In fact, he believes these are the exact same hair ornaments his own mother placed into his hair so long ago. A bright golden dragon with ruby eyes, glaring at all, perches on his head to keep his hair half up and out of his face.

All so Hua Cheng can cup, squeeze and poke his cheeks better.

Which he demonstrates.

Quite often.

It’s as if there’s a time limit to how long those fingers can stay away. Thirty seconds or less.

The mirror reveals a victim draped in layers of the finest silk, pictures of flowers and fighting scenes race across the fabric in dark heavy thread. His feet have matching slippers with twinkling small bells to give away his location immediately. He hates them. He shifts minutely and they ring. They sing. It’s been a long time since he’s been decked in such ridiculous finery.

Hua Cheng loves it.

“So this is how you were as a child.” Hua Cheng coos. Dressing him has taken over an hour, yet much to Xie Lian’s dismay instead of complaining, he seemed to relish picking out every single detail from what sash goes best, the golden one of course, to the bracelets and rings that cover Xie Lian’s fingers. He hums happily, “How did they ever let you out of the palace?”

“They didn’t.” Xie Lian was only allowed to start making public appearances at thirteen. And then only by his father’s side or securely placed in his mother’s lap. Just like how he's in Hua Cheng's now with a tug on the back of his robe so he falls right perfectly into the bowl those crossed legs make.

“I’ve been incredibly fortunate to see so many sides of you.” Xie Lian closes his eyes, Hua Cheng reflection is beaming. It’s unbearable. “My luck just keeps getting better and better if I get a chance to see you like this too.”

“San Lang, please! Do you ever tire of making me look like a tomato?” Honestly. Consider Xie Lian’s poor blood vessels.

“No.” Hua Cheng snuggles up to him, smugly rubbing his face into his soft fluffy hair. “Never. Tell me how you were like as a child?”

Xie Lian’s brows knit together in thought and then he answers honestly, “I was a brat.”

Helpless chuckles are muffled into his hair. “Oh really?” Xie Lian picks at the leather boots under him in retaliation, yet the arms around him just tighten.

“I was! I had rooms of toys–”

“And of swords?”

“Yes, and of swords too, they were separate chambers. I made castles out of gold leaf cards and demanded to continue sleeping with my mother far after it was considered appropriate.”

“Now that's a request I would never reject.”

Xie Lian smacks Hua Cheng’s arm with his tiny palm. It just makes the chest behind him shake more with glee.

“What else did you like to do?” Hua Cheng nuzzles the tiny god, the hair jewelry poking dangerously but he doesn't care. He adores how Xie Lian fits completely in his arms with this new size.

It's a good size. He loves this size.

Xie Lian chews on his lip. It was a long time ago. That part of his life barely a blur, a wisp of light if he concentrates too hard it'll flicker away. “I remember I used to like playing on the...swings.”

Hua Cheng’s whole posture straightens. “I need to find a swing set immediately.”

“That’s not important.”

“I assure you it’s suddenly very important. To me. I need to push you on the swings.” To Xie Lian's absolute dismay, the man gets up and his own feet dangle as Hua Cheng settles him over his shoulders. Like a father with a child. The dice reappear and rattle as they land in Hua Cheng's palm.

"Shouldn't we care about finding out how to break the curse first? That should be our first priority!" He's careful to rest his hands on the crown of Hua Cheng's head, making sure not to jostle the eyepatch.

"Later."

Xie Lian sighs and plops his chin on top of his hands exasperated. The moment Hua Cheng has left the Manor when they hit the street, the eyes of every nearby ghost bulge and pop.  

No one can resist not saying anything.

"MY LORD WHEN DID YOU GET A CHILD?" The phrase has more heads whipping in their direction.

Over at a vendor, a ghoul squints and then screams, "WAIT, IS THAT GRAND UNCLE?"

Xie Lian doesn’t have any time to swear. Not when a twitter of painted ladies screech and bombard the pair, "LET US TOUCH HIM. HE'S SO PRETTY. HOW DID HE GET SO SMALL?"

"A curse," Hua Cheng says. "And no. You do not get to touch him."

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly more merge with their group, it becoming in a strange parade as the curious trail behind them. There are hunched goblins with moldy green skin that run a few paces before giggling at the sight. Ghost flames that hover playfully darting here and there. From the willow female sirens to the largest ogre they fall in line with brightest horrible grins. A few offer Xie Lian odd sweets made from rather questionable ingredients.

"TRY THIS LITTLE GRAND UNCLE, MY SUGAR SPIDER WEBS ARE THE BEST!"

"NO HE'S TOO SCRAWNY, HE NEEDS MORE MEAT ON THOSE BONES. HERE. HAVE MY ARM! I DIPPED IT IN CARMEL FOR YOU."

Others wave an assortment of meat buns as close as they dare since no one has forgotten that one time in the gambler's den.

“COME ON, EAT SOMETHING PLEASE! OH, YOUR FACE IS SO CUTE. LOOK UP FOR US SOME MORE." Xie Lian firmly buries his face into Hua Cheng's hair and shakes it back and forth.

"Make them stop." He begs. “Please.”

Hua Cheng hums. "Now, now don’t ruin their fun Gege. We've become a proper Ghost Parade by now. Why I don't think I could stop them even if I tried. You know how they get when you 'visit,’ you're just that popular."

Xie Lian groans.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING, MY LORD?"

Hua Cheng's eye twinkles. "Your dear Grand Uncle has told me he used to like playing on the swings, so we are on a quest to find them. Any idea where we may find some nearby?"

The colorful crowd goes wild. "SWINGS? DOES ANYBODY KNOW ABOUT SWINGS?”

“NAH!”

“NO.”

“I’VE GOT AN IDEA. WE CAN MAKE SOME. RIGHT NOW. DON'T MOVE."

In seconds what used to be a simple plaza becomes the weirdest playground Xie Lian has ever seen. The 'swings' are made from chains the large monster butchers carry around and they connect to three or four large thighbones tied together with pretty silk ribbons.

Xie Lian hopes those bones are not human.

Let him hope.

Hopes are dashed when they tell him they were very enthusiastically donated.

Hua Cheng slowly settles him on swings and makes sure his fingers are wrapped around the chains securely. He fusses before pulling the swing back with a few steps. The crowd cheers.

Xie Lian wants to die.

He feels another kiss to his temple and huffs with a twist to his lips. He guesses he should let Hua Cheng have his own fun and amusement at his expense. He did when the demon was a child. And perhaps he shouldn’t ruin the entertainment the ghost inhabitants somehow crave. As lame as it is. Who wants to watch a child being pushed to extreme heights on a gory swingset?

But he did...really like the swings.

“Are you ready to fly, Little Prince?”

"Are you going to let me touch the ground anytime soon?"

"Nope."

And Xie Lian should have seen that coming too. Oh well. They’ll find the cure to this aliment...eventually.

“Then let’s see how high you can make me go. Can you make me ascend a fourth time, San Lang?” He dares.

Hua Cheng’s fingers tighten on the chains above his, a wicked smile in voice. “There’s only one way to find out, Dianxia.”

Only the ghost city witnesses the figure in white and silk fly so high but their master never lets the small boy fall.

Not once.

Not ever.

#tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #my writing #kid fic #fluff