#‧ coughing up feeling just for you. → 「 shi qingxuan. / deiscension. 」

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. Despite the last days of autumn still clinging to most of the land, the mountainsides of the northern territories are already blanketed in drifts of snow. The lights of a village nestled against the mountain flicker far, far below. That was where they had spent the better portion of the day, tending to a prayer. But as the sun sank low, instead of arranging to return to the heavens she had set off toward the mountain, looping an arm through Ming Yi's and promising him the trip would be worth it. Now, beneath a full moon and bright stars winking from behind the clouds, snow drifting down to adorn them with ephemeral crystals of pure white, she turns and raises her brows as a smile blooms across her face. "See? I told you. It's gorgeous up here. There's even more snow than last year!" she exclaims. Holding her arms out, Shi Qingxuan twirls, sending snowdrifts dancing away into the night, her delighted laughter following close behind. One arm drops back to her side, the other remaining held out in Ming Yi's direction. She cants her head towards an outcropping. "Come on, I want to show you what the sea looks like from here." Mirth sparkles in her eyes, smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "You're the only person I've taken here, you know. Doesn't that make you happy?"

cold does not touch the divine, and neither does it touch the dead. but where shi qingxuan is blanketed in warmth, kept comfortable and safe by words of faith whispered by her devoted, by the sliver of golden heaven she cradles in her innocent and undeserving hands, he xuan is simply unfeeling, the pieces of mortality that once allowed him to long since gone.

and perhaps it is beautiful up here, moonlight on pristine snow casting the world in stunning silver. perhaps shi qingxuan is radiant as she twirls, glittering snow arcing from where it meets her joy, smile warm enough to thaw this frozen mountain. but he xuan has no need for beauty. when all he is is a turbulent ocean waiting for conditions to allow him to swallow all that touches his unstable surface, what use has he for delicate moonlight, or ephemeral snows, or hands held out in offering for shared happiness ?

the one thing he wants is out of reach at the moment. and, truly, he otherwise cannot care less where he is. if he were back in the heavens avoiding the foolishness of the gods, if he were alone in his sprawling manor with his family's ashes on his wretched island, if he were here, allowing his day of dutiful prayer answering to be extended on someone else's whim ( but she is not just someone else, is she ? ) ; it is all the same to him. his murderous fingers ache for blood, but not here, not now. as much as he likes the idea of staining this snow red, it is not her blood he wants. at least, not hers alone.

   " why would i care who else you've brought here ? " he asks as he falls into step behind her, not taking the outstretched hand he pretends doesn't make him feel something. he is enticed by the sea, nothing more. not the fragile shards of hope that when the time does come, she will make the right choice. he can stand with her above the waves, and he can fantasize about pushing her into their dark depths, her white robes swirling as she plummets into cold blackness. the ocean is his domain as much as it is her brother's — there is not only one man who runs the seas.

   " just show me what you want so we can go back. "

[riwrite]

he is deliberately looking away. if he pretends they're not there, he can't be giving them attention, can he ?

they are waiting for you to pay attention to them; after all, it should be fairly obvious that since they are in your peripheral, it is only right that you give them attention. come now. there's no need to escalate this, is there?

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. "Miiiiiing-xiong," Shi Qingxuan sing-songs, voice thick with wine and laughter. She had invited him over for a 'light evening meal', knowing full well he would do all the eating while she chattered away. She had not intended on drinking anything other than the exquisite brew of chrysanthemum tea gifted to her by an acquaintance, but at some point she had traded the tea set for a bottle of wine and two cups. She has no idea if the Earth Master has so much as glanced at his cup. What she does know is despite such good company, food, and aesthetics, he is still frowning. "I know you have a smile in there somewhere. Don't make me come over there and find it for you." But she's already doing just that; sleeves trailing across the low table, coordination not quite as graceful as it ought to be, Shi Qingxuan leans until a finger pokes against the corner of his lips. She pushes just enough to lift them into an artificial half-smile. Eyes narrow as she studies her handy work, scrutinizing mouth, then eyes, then brow, then his face altogether. She grins. "I've done half the work for you! Come on, give me your best smile and I'll give you my best frown. We can trade for the night."

if he xuan were a generous man, he might allow himself to turn his gaze to shi qingxuan. he might allow himself to see her bright eyes, alight and creased in joy, or the faded red of her smiling lips, lipstick wearing away to kisses on the rim of her wine cup, or the delicate flush painting her cheeks pink, alcohol slowly deepening the embrace it shares with her. but he xuan is not a generous man, and he lets her laughter settle into him only for his poison to churn mirth into irritation. she is annoying as ever, her laughter too loud and her chatter too meaningless, the very picture of undeserved happiness.

from the corner of his eye, he watches her lift her hand, torn between flinching away and, inexplicably, horribly, leaning in. he does neither, and her nail digs lightly into his skin as it makes contact with the corner of his mouth, pushing upwards in an attempt to force an expression he hasn't made in an eternity. if he didn't know her better, didn't know that she genuinely, for whatever unfathomable reason, wants to see him smile, he might think she's drunkenly mocking him. the officials of heaven love to gossip, and they love to talk behind each others' backs. he xuan has enough eyes and ears in the middle court to know that his dour stoicism makes him a target to some of these people.

but shi qingxuan — she's different, isn't she ? she sees the best in people, only complaining about others when they've wronged someone or behaved poorly. she's generous and sociable and yet she's the subject of a lot of those hushed whispers, herself.

what a foul place, the heavens are. not a day goes by where he doesn't yearn for what was rightfully his, but he's not blind to the faults he can only now see that he's dead. he can fall further into dread by thinking in circles about it too much, and he very much has. now, though, all he can do is scoff and bat her hand away, his lips falling back into its usual discontent frown and his eyes sharpening into a glare. she didn't really expect that to work, did she ?

   " i'm not playing your stupid games, " he says darkly, the underlying threat offset by how it's immediately followed by a large mouthful of food being shoved into his mouth.

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. dear ming-xiong, do NOT come to my palace. i made some absolute dogshit jiandui. just completely fucked it up. i am so sorry.

stares at the letter. lights it on fire. turns around and walks back into his palace.

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. [ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger + reverse (equivalent of a pomeranian trying to guard a doberman)

before he can do anything, a whirl of white and teal robes obscures he xuan's line of sight, buffeted around the wearer's figure by a strong wind summoned by the wave of a fan. her movements are practiced, elegant even, and she seems every bit the force of nature her domain suggests in the face of danger — though that danger wasn't a threat to the one she protects.

he has no love for his fellow undead. they're something to consume, to feed to the abyss under his sunken skin and grow his power, and they're an annoyance when they can't be that. they say he is a king, but his hollow manor, in which he has naught but bones and ash for company, tells a far different story than the bustle of ghost city. and that suits him just fine — hua cheng can fill the void in him by lording himself above the fools that live there, but he xuan knows better than to pretend he's anything more than empty.

so, when shi qingxuan dissipates the opposing ghost before it can reach out to so much as touch the perceived earth master, he xuan feels nothing. a prick of irritation, maybe, if he reaches far enough, that he didn't get the satisfaction of ridding them of the nuisance himself. or perhaps it's more that shi qingxuan bothered to step between him and the unruly ghost in the first place when he could have destroyed it with hardly a finger lifted ( not that he would have done it that way with her watching. he has a mask to keep up, and he can't display power unbefitting of an elemental master. which is often to his disdain — he hates that ridiculous shovel and it seems that inasmuch as it can feel, the feeling is mutual ).

the more he thinks about it, the more that irritation bubbles up from within the cold depths of whatever's left of his emotions. why does she always insist on this ? keeping him safe ? he's the last person to need her protection. she is the vulnerable one, always baring her wrists and her neck and all the softest parts of herself with no idea that he has teeth capable of tearing her apart. and she risks it, and for what ? for an empty old thing with plans to destroy her ? for the miserable wretch who was forced to swallow her doomed fate ?

for a best friend to whom she is oblivious — he chokes on her brilliance and she can't even see it. ( that brilliance should have been his. would he wear it as well as she does ? maybe it's the allure of it that keeps him by her side. )

   " i had it, " he says darkly, a threat getting lost somewhere. " that was reckless and stupid. what would you have done if it hurt you ? "

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. Please continue sitting still Ming Yi, Shi Qingxuan has only worked through three of the six layers of your hair she has managed to section out. There is an infinite amount more of combing and oiling she must do.

when was the last time someone else's hands were in his hair ? sure, with how affectionate shi qingxuan can be, it's not the first time it's been her. she's smoothed flyaways before, or righted his guan for him when it sat askew on his head once or twice. but this is... new. he remembers blurred moments from his life — his father ruffling his child self's ponytail in affection, his mother gently combing the tangles out after a long day of playing with other kids, his sister practicing all kinds of hairstyles on him, his fiancé taking his hair down and massaging out the tension from having it up all day... he thinks about them, unbidden and only briefly, and he feels hollow. the void that sits under his ribs expands, threatening to swallow his still lungs and unbeating heart, his insides eternally at war between grief and apathy.

and shi qingxuan, blissfully unaware of it all, seems to be having the time of her life now that he's finally relented to this particular desire of hers to care for him. she pulls a comb of fine jade through his hair, and the air around them smells of the flowers that scent her oil of choice, and sometimes she chatters about nothing and sometimes she scolds him for slouching too much or grumbling when she pulls too hard ( it never hurts, not really. not enough to matter to someone as numb as he, anyway ), and his traitorous thoughts can't help but find it all nice. it feels nice to have her hands in his hair. it feels nice to have her attention on him. it feels fucking nice and he wants to simultaneously lean into her touch and whirl around to squeeze his hands around her neck until it breaks. he knows he can do neither, not if he one day wants to get his vengeance, so he can only sit and let her do as she wants as he stares darkly at the wall in front of him.

   ( he could get up and leave. he could bark at her to get out. he doesn't do these, either. )

what kind of fool does this to themself ? only the starved and the desperate. there is nothing one of the three most powerful ghosts in history is if not starved and desperate.

she's only about halfway through, he thinks. it's horrible. he can hold on until she's done.

   " would you hurry up, " he complains flatly anyway. it'll be better for them both for this to be over with.

[riwrite]

from @deiscension. For perhaps the hundredth time this year, Shi Qingxuan is seated beside Ming Yi at a banquet. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it. Except, the Middle Court attendants have begun clearing away platters and steamers and pots a fair bit earlier than she would expect them to. A discreet glance over the shoulder of a martial god who has been talking at them for the past few minutes shows her most of their fellow officials have meandered to this palace's many balconies for further socializing. Oh dear. The host seems to have forgotten since she was in attendance, then the Earth Master would be too. Eyes never once leaving the god's face, Shi Qingxuan lifts two soup dumplings from her own plate and onto Ming Yi's. A portion of squirrel fish follows closely behind. She nods along to the official's chatter, laughs or gasps when appropriate, shares an anecdote of her own, and suggests the other tell his tale to others while everyone is gathered in one place. "Take note, Ming-xiong." She punctuates her sentence by scooting a few lotus roots in the direction of his plate. "That is how you get your space back, not by glaring at them so hard their ancestors feel it."

the only reason he xuan attends these things is for the food ( shi qingxuan would be fine by herself, no matter what she says when she begs him to join her. she's a social butterfly, always spoiling those around her and bringing laughter in her wake. yet... do the others here see her as more than someone to get drunk with ? someone more than to hang around in the hopes that she'll toss them a handful of merits in a bout of generous whimsy ? ). he couldn't care less for the social aspect — every last heavenly official is a fool and an idiot, pretending they're above humanity all for the fact that the power granted by their worshipers spares them of the need for food or sleep or other such earthly things. they get to choose to indulge.

but a ghost is driven by their hunger, and he xuan starves. in the most literal way possible, yes, unlike others of his kind, but for other things as well. revenge, love... all things more typical of the undead. at least of those who were lucky enough not to be deprived of food in life. but that literal starvation, the endless abyss in him — that's the easiest one to feed. so, when the idea of eating doesn't make him want to claw at his false skin ( it doesn't usually, but it happens. there is truly no in-between for him ), he eats far more than any living thing should be able to stomach. but it hasn't given him away yet. as far as anyone else is concerned, it's just an odd quirk of the earth master. heavenly officials are fools and idiots, yes, and it really does benefit him that they are.

he pays no attention to the conversation between shi qingxuan and the god sitting across from them, their voices washing over him in wordless nonsense, too focused on his chopsticks and the plates in front of him. he makes no acknowledgement to her passing him extra bits of food, either. this is the normal for them, it'd be stranger for him to thank her.

   ( he doesn't even notice other officials beginning to get up and socialize elsewhere, their food being cleared away. )

her words register once they're directed at him, though. teasing and light, with the knowledge that he would sooner renounce his ( supposed ) divinity than glare with all the power of a hundred or more resentful spirits when he's annoyed. ming - xiong might as well be his true name now for how easily he answers to it, as much as that sickens him. maybe one day he'll finally hear he xuan said in her voice. in reverence, in fear... the manner in which his name is delivered doesn't matter. only the distant promise that it might happen. someday.

he directs his glare to her, softened, out of the corner of his eye, not even bothering to face her. and he says nothing, only shoving a lotus root into his mouth with an annoyed grunt.