#cquilibria

[prideofnoxus]

then: nice art. now: stop making blogs u whore. also nice art.

FIGHT MY ASS ABBY. (also ty bb<3) 

[shadowedorder-blog]

“ be nice ”

Shen’s assertion does nothing for Zed’s anger.

In fact, it becomes kindle that plumbs in the hearth of a growing fire. His hands are clasped into hard fists, face blistering in a shade of colorful red.

Be nice.

Zed swallows the urge to spit.

“It’s not fair,” he finally says. “He disrespected you. He disrespected all of us. And yet--”

He shakes his head, eyes fixed downward. “--and yet Father lets him walk away.” Not even an acknowledgement let alone an apology. Zed could swear he heard that bastard whistle on the way to their quarters.

For a moment he stands there, fuming. Zed is a still sort of rage, the kind that swells deep in his heart and paralyzes all motion save for premeditation of revenge. When he releases himself, he only wagers a distant gaze with Shen.

“I know what I’m going to do.”

He seats him with a look and marches off.

And it’s not going to be nice.

[shadowedorder-blog]

@cquilibria--

Zed patted his knees with flush, crimson cheeks.

“Kazuhikuuuuu,” he wheezed, “yoouuuu diiiidn’t beat meeee!”

He smiled, coughed and gasped all in one. Pausing until he could stand upright and not hold down to his legs, Zed laughed.

“Running that fast... really hurt.” He squeezed another breath again. “IthinkI’mgonnasitdown...”

Plop.

The grass felt colder than usual for autumn, but as hot as Zed felt, he wasn’t complaining. He curled up, halfway on himself and halfway on the grass, panting quietly. His eyes roamed from Kazuhiku to the ground and settled on the dying evening sky.

Huff.

“You put up a good fight, Kazuhiku,” Zed said, hands clasped on his chest. “Want to watch the stars come out with me?”

[shadowlovd]

a simple huff was acknowledgement to his own phrase being ignored. it was no matter. he knew shen’s answer just as much as he knew him. something he despised . he was  a much different man now. yet shen still was very aware of zed. 

he chose not to answer. rather just following shen. despite their differences, he knew in instances like this, shen had no ill trap set up. simply words. and sometimes, zed founds tho unbearable from the other.

@cquilibria  /// c.

[shadowlovd]

“I know you won’t understand.”

‘ perhaps if you go on to explain. perhaps. ‘

he knew they disagreed on much. and even the largest topics of who they are. once of the same bird; now ripped of two. however, rationality was still present within a changed man. 

with a sentence leading in like so, zed could only expect something he may immediately refuse. but he still urged his brother to speak.

‘  i won’t force your speech . ‘

@cquilibria

[timoriia]

Shen sat back and shook his head, at a loss. His forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his spine was aching from the crouching he had been doing. "I'm sorry," Shen said, "but I don't know how to fix this. This -- I don't know what this is. Even what was in the box in the Kinkou ... its contents were never revealed to me. I'm sorry."

   Save me, save me, save me.

   The desperate thoughts of an even more desperate man, experiencing for the first time the merciless, icy fear he’d forced upon his own prey. And what a terrifying, distinct shift it was from slow decay to the cusp of death; how could he have ever guessed that his existence ( even as the corrupted, horrific thing he was ) was bliss compared to dying? To bear the burden of Pallas was one thing, and Varus had always thought he was being slowly consumed - and he was wrong.

   He had not known true devastation of self until Pallas gained the strength to overcome him.

   Sleep, Pallas tells him, and even now it is gentle and nurturing. All is well.

   As the corruption creeps over the long-standing tattoos of his villages ancient protectors, Varus feels a stab of guilt. He should not have asked of Shen something so great; what right did he have to burden a man who did not deserve it?

   “Forgive me,” he breathes, struggling against the creeping weight of Pallas against his skin. “Forgive me.”

   Double-edged words; forgive me for asking this of you, forgive me for everything that came before.

   Rest, Archer. Your fight is done.

   The finality in the whisper of Pallas spurs one last thing from Varus, who so terribly wanted to cling to even the rotten life he had; he sits upright, grabs a fistful of Shen’s shirt, searches for solace in his tired face and silver eyes.

   “Will I see them again?” he asks, feverish, mad, desperate. “When my soul is gone, will I see them once more?”

   Corruption crawls along his neck, his face, and Varus falls; in the darkness that overcomes him, he begs once more of the ninja to forgive him, and hopes that at long last he will find the peace he has searched for.

[tracelcss-blog]

He appeared, a wraith, at Shen's door. How he got in without Shen being notified he could only guess, although the stars had hinted at an unexpected traveler coming this night. Shen, with a second cup of tea ready, gestures to the table, inviting Fate to take a seat. He leaned back and said, "It has been a while, Fate." He took a sip of tea and continued, "It is good to see you again. Tell me of your travels this time."

          fate may as well be a wraith, at this point. his impulse visits to shen had become far in between, as they had lost a lot of their ... tenacity. a lot of the desire to see shen had been swallowed forcefully, in hopes of furthering himself into the den of shadows he’d created for himself.

         to lose himself was easier than reoccurring truths.

         but he smiles, sly. he practically slides into the room and sits, respectfully though casually, at the table. he takes the tea in tired hands, letting that heat relax his bones. 

         “i could ask you the same thing.” he says coolly. “my travels have been all fairly similar... you know, keepin’ balance in the world by avoiding justice, keepin’ myself alive somehow.” he laughs, eyelids low. “all the same, really.”

[tracelcss-blog]

❛ He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. ❜

( literature ) || ( accepting ) 

           his chin is resting on a closed fist while the other sits devilishly at his bent elbow, toying with a spare card. shen’s voice is somehow still, even, despite the rumble and the sternness in his tone. it soothes the constant, dry windstorm in fate’s mind as night would crawl over a desert. 

          he grins. it’s false, but his eyes are relaxed. “i’d snap, but i think that’s more of a piltovian poetry practice.”