Heaven Official’s Blessing/Tian Guan Ci Fu (TGCF) | Hua Cheng/Xie Lian | T; 2.9k - Chapter 1/?
“Then, I consider myself lucky to have gained San Lang’s favor,” Xie Lian said definitively, eyes crinkling. “My luck is terrible, so I don’t know how I managed it. But—”
“My favor,” Hua Cheng repeated woodenly.
The remainder of his sentence petered out, lost to quiet shock. He was certain Hua Cheng had never interrupted him before. “Yes? Like I said, I feel very grateful—”
wrote a short little (2.7k word) huaxuanlian fic -- very unserious silly fic, with yanzhen and established huaxuanlian its a crack treated (semi)seriously fic.
the virtuous truth
hua cheng/he xuan/xie lian; 2.7k words; T
Summary:
“It’s my fault, Your Majesty.”
Xie Lian feels his shoulders instinctively relax at the mellow, bored voice cutting in to save the day. The Earth Master steps forward from the shadows, coming to stand at Xie Lian’s side without an ounce of shame or embarrassment. Xie Lian’s relief is short-lived, however, when he hears the murmurs of confusion that ripple through the room.
Wait. No. This will just cause even more problems — how on earth is he going to explain how he knows Ming Yi?!
Or
Having met and married He Xuan and Hua Cheng earlier than in canon, Xie Lian's run in with Yanzhen goes...a little more awkwardly this time around. Fortunately (?) He Xuan is there to swoop in when things start going south. Surely this couldn't make things more complicated, right?
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! I got distracted by Tomdachi Life lol!
Darling Can't You Hear Me?
The sun dripping between plush green leaves first came into focus. A little blurry to begin with, but with enough blinking, it cleared right up. Then the wind followed, tangling in his hair. Johan grimaced. He could see the strands moving and yet…
“What’s with that face?” Judai laughed. Light and airy. Head using Johan’s lap as a pillow. Brown eyes turning into a mixture of gold and amber in the light. Johan’s brows furrowed. What was he thinking about again?
Judai just smiled. “It’s a nice day isn’t it. And I found us the perfect spot.”
“It is.”
“See what you can do when you skip?”
Johan rolled his eyes, hand instinctively curling in Judai’s hair, scratching against his scalp. Johan frowned slightly. The strands weren’t as soft as he imagined. His grip tightened. They didn’t feel like anything.
Judai suddenly sprung up with an ‘ouch’. “What is with you today?” he groaned, rubbing where Johan pulled. “You keep spacing out on me.”
Dread frosted over his insides. He clutched at the blades of grass. Nothing. No tickle, no smoothness. Was the grass always this blindingly green?
Right. The wind. He was thinking about the wind. He couldn’t feel it brush against his cheeks even as it whipped lightly at their hair.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Judai murmured. He crawled onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Johan and pulling him close. Finally, something solid. Not warm like he expected, like he dreamed of, but solid. Something he could dig his fingers into. His shallow breaths evened out as he clung onto Judai, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered quickly. “I-I don’t know what but…”
Judai peeled Johan’s hands off him, pulling back until they faced each other once more. He reached out to cradle Johan’s face. “What are you talking about?” he chuckled. “Are you worried about getting in trouble? Because I’ve been skipping regularly since first year and I’m fine. One little skip out day with your dueling prowess and good grades, you’ll be more than fine.”
How easy it would have been to just lean into that touch. Sure, it wasn’t warm or cold, or anything. But it was solid. And it was Judai. And he had always wished for something like this. Yet it did nothing to stop the panic bubbling in his gut.
“It’s not that, Judai. Don’t you notice—”
But he was silenced with a kiss. Johan’s eyes widened, and instinctively he tried to jerk away. Judai didn’t let him get far, still gripping his wrists. He pressed against him harder, lips hungrier. Yet cold. Everything was so cold suddenly. Even as the sun’s rays continued to trickle down.
“Johan!” The voice was muffled, but definitely feminine. Familiar. “Say something! You’re in there aren’t you?”
Johan began thrashing, eventually shoving Judai off of him. He was left panting against the tree trunk.
“Johan!” another familiar voice shouted.
Judai just stares at him, expression blank. Not even flush dotting his cheeks. A chill ran up Johan’s spine.
The voices began to merge, all familiar, until he was pulled under into a deep darkness. His muscles trembled despite the lead-like feeling starting to encase them. At some point his eyes fell shut, but he didn’t remember closing them. His fingers twitched, feeling something cold, something smooth, something solid below him. Like a crystal?
He winced, trying to force his eyes back open. “Someone’s…calling me…” he whispered to himself. He needed to open his eyes for them. Even just a crack.
He was met with a cavern-like sight, greenish blue gems jutting out of the walls, providing a dim light. Panic jumped from his stomach all the way to his throat. But an even brighter light cut through it all.
“Isn’t that…” From that light familiar figures came into view. “The others.” Sapphire Pegasus, Amethyst Cat, Emerald Turtle, Cobalt Eagle, Amber Mammoth, Topaz Tiger, and of course little Ruby Carbuncle all accounted for. And amongst them…Johan’s heart pounded out the rest of his panic. “Judai! I’m right here! Judai!”
“Johan!” Judai called back.
Johan’s knee jerked, ready to leap out to them, but he nearly stumbled into an abyss, trapped on one of those greenish blue gems. He violently shook his head. No. This couldn’t be happening. The picture of his family and Judai blurred in the crystal window. He needed to be there for him. He promised. The voices grew muffled.
He could make out Judai hesitating, staring at a card in his hand. The sickening feeling that had been growing curdled into a pit in his stomach. He shook his head. No. He couldn’t sink into despair. Judai would save him. And Johan would take him into his arms and never let go again. Tell him everything would be okay.
A blinding light emanating Warmth flooded the space, seeping into his heavy limbs. There was a tug and he stumbled forward. Yet he knew he was safe, knew everything would be okay. Knew Judai was waiting for him.
“Judai!”
“Johan!”
Then everything was sore again. And dark. The air carried a chill, but nothing like the cavern. He forced his eyes open, just a crack. Judai stood across from him. “Ju…dai…” He lifted a trembling hand, seeking that warmth of his friend once more.
There was that hesitancy again, in Judai’s shaky legs.
“Johan!” he shouted instead. “Are you alright?”
“Judai…” Well, if Judai wouldn’t come to him, he’d just have to go to Judai. His arms shook as he tried to raise his body off the ground. “So…You saved me?”
Judai skidded a few steps, only for a piercing cackle to freeze him in place once more. That sickening feeling reared its ugly head. Static sparking at the back of his skull, zipping to his ears. He knew that laugh. It had rattled in his skull over and over alongside memories of blood, of screams and of a boy who looked just like…
“Johan!” Judai cried. The wind was knocked out of him as Judai crashed into him, pushing him out of the way of some blast. Johan might have blacked out again. Next thing he knew, his cheek was against Judai’s chest, Judai’s arms squeezing him tightly, a heart hammering in his ear (his or Judai’s he couldn’t tell).
“Now then…” Yubel smirked. “Are you ready, Judai?”
Judai’s grip grew even tighter. “Johan, I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Johan tried to suppress a grimace. Oh, how he wanted to reach out and caress his friend’s cheek, brush away the pain in his eyes. But for now, he could only offer him a smile. “You’re the one who saved me.”
“That thing was the one behind all of the setbacks that happened to us…But still, I was the one who started it all…”
Johan shook his head weakly. He wouldn’t believe it. Not the boy with the hero deck who saved the world twice. And would do so a third time. But before he could give a proper protest, Judai turned away. Johan followed him to find Professor Chronos and Sho standing there, Ojama Yellow hovering beside. So many questions crowded Johan’s mind.
Professor Chronos nervously stepped forward. “Signor Judai.”
“Take care of him.”
“What are you planning to do?”
Judai looked over at him again, eyes hardening with determination, yet that earlier hesitancy still lingered. Their fight wasn’t over yet.
“Stop throwing my friends into all of this,” Judai growled, rising to his feet. “This whole thing is between you and me.”
Johan’s vision fuzzed around the edges as Chronos came beside him, seating him upright. Johan blinked rapidly. Now wasn’t the time to slip away again. If he couldn’t duel, he could at least cheer for Judai. Reassure him he wasn’t alone. That he trusted everything would be alright. But of course, Yubel would have other plans. His attention finally perked up enough at “interference-free field.”
“Judai, wait a sec. Don’t tell me you’re—”
Judai smiled down at him tightly. “Yep. You can’t stop me.”
Johan’s chest squeezed until he couldn’t breath. Judai, hero of the world once again, his allies powerless to do anything. Johan powerless to—
“Rubi?” It was a small little coo, but Johan heard it. He pulled out his deck, extending it to his friend.
“I’d fight with you if I could, but in the shape I’m in…At least take my deck with you, Judai.”
“Alright.” Judai knelt back down, carefully taking the pile of cards. “I’ll battle with your deck.”
As their fingers brushed against each other, Johan’s thoughts drifted back to that dream. Even with death hanging over them, he couldn’t stop himself from staring and Judai’s lips. Would they be warm too? Like it was in his arms. If there was a chance this was the end, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to finally give in. While he was real and warm and here.
He swallowed thickly. No. That would be selfish. So instead, he watched as Judai floated up, the weight of the world on his shoulders once more.
So I wrote a little 5+1 WangXian/pre-WangXian mini-series; two fics called, "Welcome" & "Welcome Back". Canon compliant, showing 2 sets of 7 dinners from each of WWX's lives.
(Seven, because I couldn't resist adding a purely WangXian extra bonus +1 at the end of each!)
The first is set during WWX's first life, while the second is post-resurrection; during and after canon. Both are complete.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
5 Times
Wei Wuxian Sat Through A Dinner Where He Wasn't Welcome
& 1 Time
Where Wei Wuxian Was There Because He Was
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
5 Times
Wei Wuxian Sat Through A Dinner Where He Wasn't Welcome
& 1 Time
Where Wei Wuxian Was There Because He Was
Post-WWX Revival Edition
* Please note that these are not particularly JC-friendly. He doesn't play a large role; but when he does he is behaving in his canon-typical manner towards WWX. WWX demonstrates his canon-typical internal justification of JC's behaviour, but it is not treated positively. No bashing; for the most part he's only mentioned, and nothing is said that isn't canon.
The Foxes get concerned when a Raven player falls like a corpse on the first match of the Spring season.
They turn into panic mode when the helmet is taken off to reveal that his beloved lost striker, Neil Josten, is the one dying.
Kevin Day is the only one who can explain what that means.
Andrew Minyard is the one who will fight nail and teeth to keep his promise.
Even if it means becoming the new Moriyamas hitman.
No one will ever take away what is his.
It's a promise.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Fanfic Rec #118
Chapters: 1/1
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts), Axel & Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Characters: Axel (Kingdom Hearts), Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Mid-Canon, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort
Summary: For the past few nights, Roxas's sleep schedule had become lacking. Periodically, he'd wake up with nightmares about losing Axel, losing Xion, or losing both of them. ... Though they weren't supposed to feel emotions, Roxas couldn't describe the sensation as anything but a feeling. A heavy, empty, crushing feeling.
Drabble: srodulv is now following you. Or the story where Lucas realizes whose IG page he had just come across.
Notes: I mean, come on! Lucas posts on IG stories like he doesn’t know what it means to be away from neither his phone nor the app, so of course we needed this scene.
Lucas stares at the screen, eyes dully focused on nothing in particular. In one scene, a thin paper is strung on the wall, his curiosity piquing as he notices the casting of an easel, far-off in the distance, not whatsoever relevant to what was being shown.
It’s a re-run episode of the Bureau and from what he remembers, this was the scene where Malotru, the dude with the penchant for watching paint dry, somewhat trying, failing miserably, to convince his lieutenant on a co-op he wants to join in on.
It’s just a set-piece yet it does nothing but unnerve him. Because somehow, despite the canvas being shoved behind a dresser, he’s able to take notice of it, as if the white was not a splotch but consumed the entirety of the screen.
He doesn’t dwell on it for long because his phone buzzes, which happens to be plugged into the charger that is plugged into an outlet, which is on the opposite side of where he has found himself tucked under. Lucas kicks his feet in an attempt to extend one of his leg to thumb the corner of his cell.
He knows it’s counterproductive because there was no way in hell he could even get the sole of his foot to kick it towards him, rather far, way farther away.
When it ends up dropping onto the floor, a resounding thump drowning the not-so-silent room, he pushes off of the sofa and goes to retrieve it.
Lucas’ bends stealthily, only to tilt his head. Mika grits bitterly under his breath as he appears from the bathroom, makes his way past Lucas before halting.
“Lucas, tell me. Do I look like what Vincent Cassel would if he was thirty-two years younger and drank less?”
He fists his phone into his palm, blinks as he processes what exactly he was being asked and more particularly on what to expect from how he answered.
“Not in this lifetime.” He settles for, as he pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to avoid whatever point Mika thinks he was going to make.
It’s a little after ten. The couch has become a tenth less uncomfortable since the last time he had inhabited it. He’s had a sandwich, wheat bread, ham and butter-the only three things needed to make anything delicious, really.
He’s pried the window open, let’s the cool, heavy air settle, the kind that holds the promise of a rainstorm.
Lucas manages to avoid Mika’s thigh shoving unwittingly into his hip, scooches back hastily as Mika presses, instead, up against his shoulder, tugging his cover down. “Lucas, this is a case of mistaken identity.”
“M-what?” He flips through the channels, pressing on the button until there’s not an inkling of white to be seen. He’s gone through at least twenty before he switches the T.V off, in vain.
Lucas has a feeling, though, that white would be a color he’d grow to dislike.
Just because.
“Maybe he just has the dexterity of a toad.”
From what he’s gathered, there’s a guy. A guy who DMs Mika after following him on snapchat, asks him whether he looks like someone, behaves surprised when told no and does just enough to have Mika going on a spirited tirade on the merits of making social media accounts private.
Mika gets to his feet, a wayward look appearing on his face. He jabs a pointed finger at Lucas, mutters with indignation: “Do you plan on having the borough to the hamlet following you on Instagram?”
Lucas chortles at what’s being insinuated.
“What’s wrong with that?” He’s aware of the fact that some-how he’s accumulated a significant audience in the past couple of months, but what can he say. It’s endearing. They’re following him for a reason, a reason unbeknownst to him, but present nevertheless. “It’s the eyes.” He jokes, because Mika’s irked and pupils are supposedly Mika’s characteristic trait. He knows he’s pressing a nerve when he’s met with a glare.
Lucas raises his hands over his chest, apologetic. “I’m kidding.” He grins, kicking his feet on top of the table.
Mika resumes to snapping bitterly under his breath, brisk as he makes his way back to his room. A room, with four walls, and a door. A door that could be closed and opened whenever he wants it to be.
He misses having a room. He misses having the choice to sprawl his clothes on the floor, kicking his shoes into a corner and fixating on books that seem haphazard but, in his mind, they were placed in schematic.
Lucas rubs at his temple as he slips his hand back under the duvet. He curls inward. There’s warmth that emanates from his fetal position. It’s comforting and reminiscent of a bed he’s no longer sleeping on.
He lowers his gaze when a green bar appears on his screen.
Arthur: I think if we’re getting free food, I’m in.
Lucas swipes his thumb. He opens their group chat, reads with promptness, to get a gist of the messages he’s somehow missed and have accumulated to the point that there’s a plan in unison for them all to meet at the foyer, tomorrow, and work on that fucking mural.
Lucas: Yeah, no.
Basille: Daphne’s going to really have a good impression of me. Okay, fresco, 8 hands, an hour, free lunch.
Yann: What part of I’m paying for my own meal did you interpret as free-of-charge?
Basille: Yeah, complimentary food. Can’t get any better.
Arthur: I have no ideas. So, I wanted to make that clear. None, whatsoever.
Basille: I’ll be on her good side, right? Every time she looks at that wall, she’ll know that I had a part in it.
Basille: Luc, we’ll be walking together from 4th anyway so it’s okay. I’ll carry you there. You won’t have to use much of your stamina.
Lucas is aware of what they are doing. He’s thankful that there were them, who are trying to soften the blow of a moment that has him feeling wretched, shameful, angry—all at once. He appreciates their endeavors, albeit ridiculous, more than anyone.
A bar appears from the top of the screen, interrupting his thoughts.
srodulv is now following you.
It’s instinct, or an inherent roundabout way of Lucas, having been somewhat preoccupied, in extant, by the conversation he just had with Mika, to click on the notification. He’s re-routed to the app, an unfamiliar profile pops up.
He doesn’t scroll much, doesn’t have to, because he finds himself, breath abated, fingers halting, frozen in their spot, vision bleary—staring at a familiar sketchpad, at the caricature he’s seen a countless number of times, notices the date—it’s stamped 26.02.19.
Shit.
Lucas takes a deep, shaky breath. He lowers his gaze, curls his toes into the carpet, wants—no, needs to feel the ground because it ceases to exist as his head starts to spin. Lucas grits down on his jaw as he forces himself to be levelheaded.
He’s deliberate, conscious, alert and painstakingly awake, as he goes from one picture, to the next, to the next. There’s a glimpse of the racoon’s ears behind a brick wall. There’s Mike Walters and a scene from My Own Private Idaho. There are pelts of fucking raindrops, right after. There’s an idyllic excerpt from a book.
All of it seems too intentional, distinct, clear-cut.
Lucas stomachs his way through an obfuscated racoon, a video of that face of his, a clandestine painting (mostly rattled by how permeated the canvas was by something so noir), a wonky sketch of a keyboard—he doesn’t have to look at the date to know when it’s posted. It sears into his mind, that all of this, every. Single. Fucking. Post. Is. too. Deliberate. To. Be. a Goddamn. Coincidence.
It’s when he notices the cat. The cat and the racoon, affectionate, huddled, together—does he glance at the time-stamp: 03.01.19.
Weeks, it’s weeks before they’ve met.
He knows what he’s insinuating, what he’s convincing himself of.
Blithely, Lucas exits out. He grips at his phone, a little too tightly, the flesh of his palm becoming a ghostly white. He lets out a harsh, rugged, rough exhale, blinking in despondence to clear his mind of that fuckingcat.
He knows who that cat is. He also knows that it’s way before—
Lucas clamps down on his jaw, biting his tongue until a cascade of blood pools out from his gum.
What the actual fuck is this.
Lucas can’t help the way he goes tense. It’s not that he’s envious or angry or anything like that. He doesn’t, precisely, feel shitty. He just...
Okay, no, he feels kind of shitty. And weird. The whole situation is both shitty and weird, and Lucas doesn’t know how to make himself feel better about any of it. He hasn’t seen Eliott since that morning, although he’s mostly grateful for that, because it’s a glimpse. It’s all he needs, even though it’s all he’s getting.
But this-
This is all too telling without disclosing jack shit.
Lucas huffs, fingers arranged in a cursory manner over his screen as he types out: Drag me out of class. I’ll be a willing participant. He shoves the phone under the sofa, slams his face into the pillow as he nestles his neck in a position that isn’t too awkward.
Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he decides on taking a nap. Sleep, he had foregone. But a nap, yeah that would help him become somewhat sane. Maybe even eliminate the moping, the fairly unreasonable amount of moping, he’s been displaying.
He jabs his forehead into the padding of the cushion, whispering to himself the lyrics to smells like teen spirit—over and over again—With the lights out, it’s less dangerous. Here we are now, entertain us—just to erase the clout of susceptibility, the wistful hope rising from the solitude corners of his psyche—I feel stupid and contagious.Because there was no way in hell he was going to be stirred by this. Here we are now, entertain us. Screw, cats. Screw, Racoons. I’m worse at what I do best, and for this gift I feel blessed. Fuck that fresco. Fuck that white easel. Go to hell, Vincent Cassel.
