#riwrite

[fatepowered]

" mu qing can be as rude as he likes. i'm the one his highness married, at the end of the day. "

[deiscension]

Has the distinct feeling of being talked about. Surely the topic of discussion is about how BEAUTIFUL and VIRTUOUS and FUN and NON-CATASTROPHIC they are!

[diivineray-archieve]

a teenager showing affection is always going to be a little awkward, but here, with just himself and only yet-living man who raised him, jin ling can shed his newly-given and heavy responsibilities for just a moment and remember what it was like to be the little boy running around lotus pier while his uncle called after him not too many years ago. it's a quick hug, but a heartfelt one, with a somewhat embarrassed, " happy birthday, jiujiu, " spoken softly into violet robes.

              Jiang Cheng never imagined he’d get the chance to watch someone he loved grow up. Yet here he was, years later, seeing Jin Ling not as the scrawny, headstrong bundle of chaos who used to tear through the docks and force his uncle into wild, breathless chases, but as a young man. A strong one, at that. Still, there were fleeting moments that pulled Jiang Cheng back — like the flash of Jin Ling’s yellow robes at the edge of his vision — reminding him of the laughing child who used to fly into his arms and dissolve into giggles. He hadn’t expected Jin Ling to come today. But when he did, Jiang Cheng’s heart filled up, brimming with warmth he’d almost forgotten he could feel.

           Jin Ling carried echoes of his father: sharpness in his features, stubbornness in his bones. Yet he had his mother’s eyes, gentle and searching, and a stubbornness so tangled with Jiang Cheng’s own that it almost made him laugh. Jiang Cheng missed those nights in the quiet, when Jin Ling was still small enough to carry. He missed rocking him to sleep, even if it meant waking up a dozen times to soothe his cries. Holding him through those nights — when Jin Ling’s lashes fanned over chubby cheeks, and his tiny fists curled around Jiang Cheng’s finger — had been worth every ounce of exhaustion. Now, no matter how grown Jin Ling became, or how embarrassed he pretended to be, those rare, lingering hugs were treasures Jiang Cheng would never take for granted.

          So he held his nephew tight, letting the tide of memories pull him back to those first uncertain days of parenthood — when every smile, every sleepy sound, felt like a miracle. He’d been unprepared then, floundering in a sea of grief and responsibility, but Jin Ling had turned out brilliantly. Against all odds, the child who’d lost so much had blossomed into someone strong and bright. Jiang Cheng knew, deep down, this day would come: the boy he’d raised as a son would inevitably outgrow him, take his place in the world, and light the way forward for others. He ached at the thought, wishing he could slow time, just for a heartbeat. But some part of that little boy would always be his — no matter how many years passed.

      “Thank you, Jin Ling,” Jiang Cheng whispered, his voice thick with feeling. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Jin Ling’s head, just like he did when he was a baby, something he hadn't done in years, holding on a moment longer, gripping the warmth and the memory before letting it go, sure that when this embrace ended, he would miss it fiercely.

                                      HAPPY BIRTHDAY JIANG CHENG !!! 

[musaeon]

akira says nothing, just leans almost his entire weight against futaba's small frame. average brother behavior.

unprompted/inbox call // always accepting

     They don't look away from the game they're currently playing when they feel something press against them. Or rather, someone. Futaba can't even say they're surprised. This is exactly what they would expect from Akira. And it's not like they haven't done the same to him before.

     Still, it's not exactly comfortable for her.

     "Akira," she whines, struggling just a bit. "You're squishing me... Can't you ease up a little..." Especially when she's trying to game over here! How dare he...

[frexiasought]

@riwrite // plotted starter.

       bandages, dark circles, and clammy skin defined her now. tugging on her outer robe every morning felt like climbing the tallest, most treacherous mountain. the muted deep browns and blacks of xuan zhen palace still carrying the scent of embers and sea water despite a thorough scrubbing and hasty mending looked more put together than the head deputy herself. the standards she committed to memory over three centuries persevered over all else. she barely allowed herself rest, committing every waking moment to the survivors, the reconstruction, and, most importantly, tending to general xuan zhen himself.

       never in three centuries had she bore witness to such injuries on her god. general xuan zhen, wielding the imposing zhan madao, was one of the strongest martial gods in the heavenly court. he returned to the palace time and time again with perhaps only scratches. never has he needed such attentive care.

       ( she still remembered how the blood drained from her face when she first saw his burns. for the first time, she felt a deep fear and worry for her god that etched itself into her bones. )

       yet never would zhao xiang turn away when her god needed her. even if the weight of her responsibilities and the brambles of grief, shame, and guilt threatened to crush and suffocate, she bore it all without complaint. she only took a page out of her god's book: she donned a mask. she buried it all, knowing that if she allowed her pain to breach her defenses for more than a moment, she would crumble. 

       ( her pain could wait. the still-healing burns under bandages 'round part of her face that hurt whenever she tried to smile for her god, for her fellow deputies could be tended to in the evenings out of sight. the still-healing burns under robes that protested when she stretched her arm and back too much could wait until the evening. the guilt and shame at surviving when others in the palace did not could wait. her grief could wait ).

       in the crook of one arm, she cradled scrolls and rolls of bandages while managing to hold onto bottles of medicine. the sun was high in the sky over mt. taicang, where heavenly officials established their temporary capital following jun wu's defeat and imprisonment. despite the circumstances, middle court officials worked tirelessly to answer prayers.

       xuan zhen palace, in particular, had much to catch up on, given the abrupt cessation of all activities while their god was under investigation. ( she still seethed with fury at the thought of those horrendous, baseless accusations. just as she still boiled in anger over jun wu's betrayal ).

       zhao xiang entered his tent with only a brief announcement of her presence. at the doorway, she took a moment to attach a silencing talisman to the fabric entrance with her free hand. even if she couldn't spare her god from the disgrace and the vulnerability of needing help from his head deputy, she could at least spare him the humiliation of others overhearing.

       ❝ general xuan zhen, ❞ she abandoned the scrolls on his makeshift table. her visible eye was a molten brown pool of concern as she knelt by his bedside, yet she respectfully kept enough distance to not corner him. ❝ general xuan zhen, it's time to change your bandages and check your meridians. i've got more updates for you about the reconstruction progress like you asked. ❞

[peachrote]

--> @riwrite​

it’s been some time since the events of that fateful day. for clover and light, it had meant reliving their nightmares in full, albeit with new participants... and even upon discovering the truth, the culprits had vanished without a trace. nobody knew where the kurashikis had gone. not even junpei, the closest to akane, had the faintest idea where she might be or what she might be doing. 

and so it was that, with time, they managed to put the past behind them as much as possible.

the past has a way of coming back to haunt you, though. and this time, the ghost comes in the shape of an ordinary looking young woman, like any other clover might see on the street opening the door. but this woman is anything but ordinary to her, or to her brother, as she stands there at their front door, holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

“...it’s... been a while, clover.”

[heroar]

     @riwrite​  liked (x)

  ❝ –  I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE THAT PLACE AGAIN...   ❞

    SAURA MURMURS, there’s a shake of her head,  a hand pressed into her crown and fingers slightly buried in brown hair; she half-expected to reopen her eyes and find herself in her bedroom -- it had been monday, she always napped after school on a monday and it was some crazy dream, she ate cheese or something beforehand that made her dream of that place again...    but sure enough, she had opened her eyes and stood before the infamous delinquent and his friends somewhere in her street, in the backallies that lead to her house. the aftermath, she was exhausted, yet her mind was racing the whole time after like a buzz that wouldn’t leave, the same kind you get when you slam the breaks on the bike when a car pulls out on you and misses you by inches, adrenaline that jumps so high then leaves you cold and vulnerable after, despite all this, the second her head hit the pillow she was out like a like ( she never was one to struggle with sleep ). now, next day, on top of the school roof; after texting akira’s number who had given it her yesterday to keep in touch if something came up... whatever the hell that meant, she didn’t question it at the time as her mind was still in the metaverse, even now... everything felt like a total blur.   she was getting answers.           ❝ –  ... it really happened, right? i mean -- we both saw it.. and you were--  ❞     dressed all weird, the world was distorted and surreal, just thinking back and trying to piece together words to even describe it made her head hurt.

[nonsix]

@riwrite​​​ ( for light. )

ever since what happened at dcom, crash keys’ plans had taken a dramatic shift. alice and clover were freed from their short-lived cryogenic sleep  —  and akane, requesting an audience with their organization, had been accompanied to sois’ headquarters. of course, she was met with reasonable suspicion, a watchful eye, and a lengthy interrogation, but when it came to it: their goals aligned, and they came to an agreement. they needed to work together to take down the fanatic.

junpei and aoi, along with clover and lotus, had stepped out for some fresh air; leaving akane and the others inside. placing down her paper cup of coffee, she decides to approach a familiar face, breaking had been an awkward silence in the room. 

❛ hello, snake —  well, light, rather. it’s... been awhile. ❜ akane’s hands fold above her skirt. her tone is unsure, almost hesitant to speak, fearing how he might respond. but in a way: she was glad to see him after what happened a year ago. after the nonary game she orchestrated. ❛ i’ve read your book, by the way ... and i enjoyed reading it. ❜