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#ldwya au
saunne · 3 months
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Jing Yuan had been raised for his position, trained, carved, forged, sharpened into a weapon, into a symbol, into a hope.
(Jing Yuan, Luofu’s future.) 
The next General-Arbiter, the one chosen by the Lightning Lord itself. But one was not chosen by the Lightning Lord, was not chosen by The Reignbow Arbiter, by being mellow and pliable and pleasant. 
Jing Yuan was The Hunt, in the more conciliatory guise of The Erudition. A sharp blade in a leather sheath, an iron fist in a velvet glove, a sharp mind behind eyes as bright as the Lux Arrow.
And just like the Reignbow, he knew how to aim right, true and where it would have the most impact.
“You're worried, you say," he chuckled, his voice dark and cold, cold, cold. “Now that the crisis has passed ? Now that the fighting is over ? Now that everything is safe ?”
“Lieutenant-General I’m not sure I like your tone,” Preceptor Xuepu hissed through her teeth, all pretense of cordiality abandoned in a heartbeat. “Be aware of who you are talking to.”
“Oh, I am well aware that I am speaking to cowards who, despite their powers, were nowhere to be seen on the battlefield or in the field clinics for the entire duration of the crisis,” Jing Yuan snapped, as Starfall Reverie shimmered with a sickly yellow golden glow behind his back, bathing the tent in an unearthly light. “I think on the contrary, Preceptor Xuepu, that it is you who should be more aware of your tone.”
"Who do you think you are—”
“General Teng Xiao is dead,” Jingliu cut in dryly. “Under martial law, Lieutenant-General Jing Yuan has full authority until the crisis is resolved.”
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Collaboration with @itsredpaint based on their AU. Please read the authors notes and the tags carefully.
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saunne · 3 months
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People will talk for years about the day Shuhu, Emanator of Yaoshi, met their end on the Xianzhou Luofu. 
Without ever having been there, they will talk about what an absolute slaughter of a fight it had been. They will sing the glory of the Xianzhou Luofu and its Cloud Knights, speaking of the sacrifice of the brave and a duly earned victory. Epics will be written about this battle, commemorating yet another triumph of The Hunt over The Abundance.
Yes, one day this devastation will be glorious, Jing Yuan thought. But right now, it was just that. A destruction beyond measure, an undeniable bloodbath. 
A victory that felt more like a loss.
There was a mournful sound discernible as he made his way through the remains of this carnage, made of weeping and doleful vocalizations. A hypnotic song of captivating melancholia, whose reverberating echo sent shivers down Jing Yuan's spine. If he had been more ignorant, he might have believed it to be the mesmeric and forever-lasting song of a pod of Void Song Whales, whose laments crossed the light years of the sidereal void without faltering.
(But he knew, didn't he ? He knew better than that.)
(He wished he didn't.)
A Vidyadhara elegy.
A growing sense of foreboding made him quicken his pace, as he finally became aware of the otherwise quiet of the battlefield. The Vidyadharas were beings of community and sharing, their elegies being no exception. The fact that none of the Vidyadhara roaming the battlefield made their own contribution to the threnody could only mean one thing...
It had to be Dan Feng.
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Collaboration with @itsredpaint based on their AU. Please read the authors notes and the tags carefully.
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saunne · 2 months
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“What are you going to do now ?” Jing Yuan finally asked, while Jiyi had gone to curl up in his armchair, absent-mindedly playing with his elaborate hairpin.
“Retire and devote myself to writing, I think,” mused the poet with a distant look. "And... I'm thinking of returning to the Fanghu."
This news, more than that of his retirement, made Jing Yuan's heart sink. "You're going to leave ?"
Jiyi turned towards him, eyes weary and lips in a tight smile but unable to hide their quivering. “I can't... I can't stay, Jing Yuan. Not after all of that,” he confessed under his breath, his gaze falling on the pin in his hands. “Not after him.”
Him. 
Yingxing.
“You loved him too, didn’t you ?” he muttered in realization, late, too late. 
Jiyi laughed in response, a soft and lovely sound like bells or wind chimes, joyful despite his sadness, affectionate despite his sorrow. “Yes Yuan-er, I loved him. Not like you or Yinyue loved him, but A-Xing was….”
He left the sentence hanging, his gaze lost in the distance as the hairpin dug into the fat of his palm, his grip suddenly tightening before he released it with a small breath of laughter that sounded hollow.
“We, Vidyadhara, are tragic creatures for whom love is both the greatest strength and the greatest sin. There's a reason our greatest songs are elegies, Yuan-er.”
The Vidyadhara looked at him with a half-lidded gaze, the pale green of his eyes almost emerald in the semi-darkness of the dying day. Jing Yuan felt himself shuddering with unease at the intensity of his gaze, having always felt deeply uncomfortable when Jiyi dropped his cheerful persona to reveal the hidden and severe depths of his psyche, the exact thing that had made him one of the finest poets of their generation.
“Take care of Dan Feng, Jing Yuan. Because if I can only offer immortality to Yingxing through my works, our dear High Elder and all his following incarnations will never escape the memory of this love bigger than themselves.”
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saunne · 3 months
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Jing Yuan woke up to the heat, stifling and all-encompassing.
He woke up to the heavy weight of a body above him, fingers intertwined in his, a tight and almost painful grip, claw-like nails digging behind his knuckles, almost to the point of drawing blood. A gesture of possessive affection, which looked almost more like shackles, almost more like trammels.   He woke up to lips pressed against his, wet and soft and greedy, determined to steal the very breath from his lungs. Teeth nibbling his lower lip teasingly and small, trembling breaths like sighs, like sobs, like prayers.
He woke up to the iron smell of old blood and the bitter smell of the ashes of an ancient age, surrounded by the warmer scent of coumarin and embers, of flowering lotuses and sea air and a past broken into pieces, like a mirror dropped to the ground in an excess of passion.
(And it was wrong, it was wrong, wrong, wrong and Jing Yuan should push him away, should stop him, he should—)
Jing Yuan woke up and whatever common sense begged him to do, he did nothing of it.
The "shoulds" died in the hollow of his throat, along with all the unspoken words that had died there over the decades, with all the feelings suppressed and twisted to be more acceptable, more correct, more presentable. Where he had buried greed to let only affection through, where he had decapitated anger to accept only annoyance, where he had stifled longing to leave only the barest shadow of the desire. 
(Where he had swallowed romance, with the gluttony and despair of a starving man, until he choked on it and gave himself indigestion, accepting on his tongue only the softer and quieter forms of platonic friendship and care.)
Jing Yuan woke up with the fatigue of a world resting on his shoulders and selfishly stopped fighting. Yielded, like a flower bowing its head to the rain, like a cloud driven by the wind, like a cliff eroded by the waves. Let the armor fall to the ground with a crash, let the walls collapse to the ground, let the glass shatter. 
(But did he let himself be caught, or was he the one who seized, plundered, ransacked ?)
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Collaboration with @itsredpaint based on their AU. Please read the authors notes and the tags carefully.
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saunne · 3 months
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(Inhale, exhale.)
He remembered a thin hand cupping his cheek, cold and hard like the fiercest winter days. Soft lips against his forehead and murmurs of apologies that rolled like marbles, like pearls, like tears. It sounded like sea salt and tasted like hopeless despair.
He remembered multiple grips, reverential and weighing like chains, like expectations, like hopes. Touches like scales, scratching teeth and pleas. Thick and heavy encrusted blood-rust.
He remembered the darkness of The Roiling Depths and a roar that sounded like a nightdream or a daymare, of a sea that existed only in the sanctuary of his mind, waves singing secrets in incomprehensible whispers lost in the rolling waves and strangers who all bore his face. The water was red, red, red.
He remembered a comforting warmth, the shape of a body against his, a weight pressing down on the mattress. Long pristine locks and lips soft and soft and alive, alive, alive. Moans swallowed like ambrosia, to the point of nausea. Liquid gold moist with dew-tears rather than polemony-lilac-wisteria and screaming, shouting, howling. 
Breaking, once again.
He remembered that he didn't want to remember.
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Collaboration with @itsredpaint based on their AU. Please read the authors notes and the tags carefully.
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