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Harbour
Mei Nianqing blinks. “Lose? I won’t lose.” “Of course. But rules are rules, and so you must state the terms of your eventual loss regardless how impossible it seems to you.” “Then… then…” Mei Nianqing looks at Xie Lian. “Then I bet the hand of the Crown Prince of Xian Le in marriage.”
Mei Nianqing plays a game of cards. It goes exactly as expected.
[ Accidentally, yours part 3 • rated G • 3,8k words ]
AO3 link
of death, and love, and absolution; chapter 14
[ rated M • WIP • enemies to friends to lovers Hualian • 53k so far ]
Every year, a ghost king roams the night in search of lost souls and leaves only destruction in his wake. Every year, Hua Cheng's temples are burning.
Or: a story in which Xie Lian is a Devastation, Hua Cheng is a Heaven Official, and nothing is what it seems.
“San Lang?” With a non-committal hum, he turns to Xie Lian, small and so odd-looking in a merchant's robes. The furrow in his brow is an old thing, so deep it’s almost etched into his forehead. Hua Cheng’s hands itch to rise and smooth it out. A travesty, the world’s and Hua Cheng’s greatest failure is the fact that Xie Lian suffered woes in his life. “You seem tense. Is something the matter?” With a flick of a hand, butterflies take flight. Some Hua Cheng orders to patrol the edges of what he’s decided to think of as his territory, his lair, his offering to his god; others fly over the lake between the ghost fires flitting about there. A particularly obstinate one lands atop Xie Lian’s head and stays there. The glow of its wings mocks Hua Cheng’s desire to bury his face in Xie Lian’s hair, to grab and hold it, too, like he imagined doing when he was still alive on nights that were long and full of baijiu. “Just making sure there are no intruders anywhere, gege,” he says and hopes his voice doesn’t betray his wayward thoughts. His desires bring him no shame, but they are for him alone to know. “And?” “We’re safe. I cannot offer you a bed yet, though. My apologies.”
[ Chapter 14 ] [ Read from the beginning ]
Nameless
Vignettes written for Wulian week 2025.
Chapter 1: Temple.
You hold you god in your hands. His skin, torn. His bones, shattered. His blood, spilt. His tormentors, burnt to ashes.
Full chapter on AO3.
The Void Looks Back, chapter 2
In which Sherma considers the concept of polytheism.
[ rated G • outsider POV • WIP • 2,6k so far ]
“Have no doubt,” he told his fellow pilgrims as they all huddled in the meagre shelter of the once great shrine at the heart of Songclave. “The red maiden is doing her best to bring an end to this disaster.” “Her best will do us no good if we all perish,” said one particularly distressed pilgrim, and what could Sherma do but sing for him, for them all? Song has carried them through that dreadful cycle. Song has seen the dawn of another, and beheld the silence it brought. Sherma dares not doubt. Doubt invites disasters. He prays instead, first with trepidation, then, when the black threads don’t return and the quakes don’t resume, with fervour growing with each passing moment of peace. He prays through the sound of the Ventrica, swishing up into its stop in the corridor above them. No traveller comes down from it. No red cloak stands stark against the gilded splendour of the Citadel walls. He’s got half the mind to climb it himself when a gust of wind comes down and a muted, distant rumble ripples through the walls. “The overview from the terrace below is much better,” comes the red maiden’s voice, and Sherma nearly keels over in relief.
Full chapter on AO3
the place you once called home
She cuts. He follows with an arrow. Each step is a dance they’ve practised to perfection. She is silent as she fights, so is he, and the goblins they slay sing them a hymn of death.
“Care to share why you’re killing our minions?” he asks when she slits a drow’s throat. “Far be it for me to ever begrudge you slaughter, dearest, but I would at least like to hear an explanation.”
Gortash sees a familiar face through one of his scrying eyes and decides that an intervention is in order. It goes spectacularly poorly.
Or: Durgetash impulsive marriage edition. Featuring amnesia, field surgery, and Gortash at the ends of his patience.
> AO3
Dance and die and live forever, Silent voices shout and sing, Stand before the Troupe's dark heart, Burn away the Nightmare King.
[ Chapter 15 ] [ Read from the beginning ]
The care and keeping of an aspiring Gestral champion
“You will go to Lumière,” Clea says in a voice of steel. “My sister needs a guardian.” Oh, merde. “Hasn’t she got parents?” “They gommaged.” “Someone must be taking care of orphans.” “The latest sorry excuse for foster parents have returned her to the orphanage. None of Aline’s painted dolls seems capable enough of looking after Alicia longer than a few months at a time.” “I am one of Aline’s painted dolls.”
It takes a village to raise a child. This time, the village is a depressed immortal, a legend, a leg-collecting Gestral, and, sometimes, an actual (Gestral) village.
AO3 link
Harrowhark Nonagesimus and the mortifying ordeal of being heard of
The Emperor summons the heirs to the Nine Houses to Canaan House for Lyctor trials. Harrow heeds his order only to find the majority of Houses doing absolutely nothing to chase the promise of infinite power. And that's not even the worst thing. Everyone knows her name. Why does everyone know her name?
Chapter 2 is up! In which:
Harrow continues to fail spectacularly
Palamedes calls out bullshit and becomes a Lyctor's enemy number two
[ chapter 2 ] [ part 2 from the beginning ] [ part 1 of the series ]
