☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]
{☆} characters furina, neuvillette
{☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings none
{☆} word count 1.9k
{☆} previous [ 1 ]
This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.
She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.
But it'd been almost a week since then.
The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.
That counted for something.
Not much, but something!
..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.
There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.
She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.
So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.
Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.
Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.
Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.
She really didn't like it.
There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.
She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.
She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.
That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.
Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.
But he wasn't.
He was out running her nation, instead.
And what was she doing? Nothing!
She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.
Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.
Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.
..She wasn't ready.
What was she supposed to say?
Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?
She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.
For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.
Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.
Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.
It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.
"Focalors?"
The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.
She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.
"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"
The silence is deafening.
She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!
"Lady Furina?"
Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.
"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.
Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.
Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.
"Why aren't you killing me?"
The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.
She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.
"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."
The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.
He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.
..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?
How unfair.
"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"
She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.
..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.
She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.
For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.
Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.
For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.
Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.
She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.
She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.
She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.
"Again."
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Please consider: Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu role-swap
[LiuJiu, 2300 words]
After the fire, Shen Jiu doesn't sit around, he's aiming straight for Cang Qiong. Wu Yanzi tempts him, but if he is to ever find out what happened to Qi-ge then he can't play around with rogue cultivators, so he ditches the man before Wu Yanzi could take him as a disciple.
He arrives to the sect at a year when they are not doing the disciple selection - the women at the Warm Red Pavilion say it's because the Sect Leader is busy monitoring his cursed head disciple and if the Sect Leader doesn't take part then the rest of the sect has to wait too - but he's tipped off that Bai Zhan is always open to those who are determined enough to climb the mountain and demand admittance.
So that's exactly what he does. The Peak Lord sets him against one of his junior disciples and tells him there are no rules, if he can beat them he's in. It's a test he's not supposed to win, to see his determination and his reaction to failure, as a malnourished slave boy should be no match to someone in good health who has two years of training under his belt. But Shen Jiu doesn't know this, he has come too far to give up now and unlike the scrappy, but well-fed farmer's son he's set up against, he fights dirty.
He sets the basis of his future nickname - The Rabid Wolf of Bai Zhan - that day when he claws the boy's eye out and forces him to yield. His rise among the disciples is almost as meteoric as Yue Qi's and people are on the lookout for when the upstart slave boy will plummet back to the earth, but he never does. When the year is up and the sect is abuzz that Lingxi caves are finally opening again because they are letting the cursed disciple out, he's there in the front row among the curious onlookers and throws himself in his Qi-ge's arms as soon as the other boy steps foot into the light again.
Shen Qingqiu grows up tall and willowy and unpredictable, an unconventional physical cultivator that bends with the wind, but never breaks. With Yue Qingyuan's support as an unshakeable mountain behind his back, he is untouchable. He never bothers to hide what he is, not his scars or his sharp edges or the slave brand burned into the meat of his shoulder, often bared to the world by his choice of outfit; he stands as testament that even the lowest wretches can claw their way up to stand among giants.
Liu Mingqu yields to his rich family and allows himself to be enrolled into Qing Jing. He is not as suited for spiritual cultivation and he has no head for arts, but he is still a prodigy and a really hard working one at that. He learns all there is to learn for a scholar and doesn't rest until he perfects them all - music, calligraphy, painting, poetry - and even if he's ever uninspired about pursuing them, the Peerless Beauty of Qing Jing is a competent teacher who stands head and shoulders over his peers. He masters his temper and his manners and takes to hiding his face behind a fan or sometimes a veil like his sister to discourage people from staring at him.
Their roles may be different, but their nature remains the same. Shen Jiu has always been more clever than he was strong and nothing changed about that now that he's essentially a spiritual cultivator playing at star athlete. He plants a bamboo forest on his mountain - for meditation and ambush practice, he says, but everyone knows he just needed a bubble of calm for himself in the endless war zone of Bai Zhan - and mercilessly beats any disciple who dares to damage the forest. In the serene calm of his little house he hoards books and maps and all the culture he can get his calloused hands on, always thirsty to know more, an endless pit his Qi-ge happily pours obscure knowledge into. He uses the standing feud between Bai Zhan and Qing Jing to spy on them, learn their cultivation methods by sight and listen to the senior disciples do ad hoc concerts, so he can practice music in the brothel or under a silencing array just behind his house.
It's during one of these trips when he discovers Liu Qingge behind the Qing Jing Peak Lord's manor, restlessly shuffling through the steps of a formal dance. Liu Qingge yearns to move, he yearns for the exertion of his wild youth, but there are only so many acceptable options for a scholar and as a cultivator he can't channel his restlessness into hunting or horse riding. That leaves dancing, but Liu Qingge is not a creative person. He sticks to the dances he half-remembers learning as a rich young master and maybe asks his sister for some more, but that's where his resourcefulness runs out on this venture.
Shen Qingqiu watches him go through the steps of the same dozen dances, swap to a few rounds of sword forms - perfectly executed and ethereal, an immortal beauty that earthbound Shen Qingqiu will never be able to replicate - and then swap back to the dances, increasingly frustrated and restless.
"If Peak Lord Qingge wants to learn some better dances, this shidi can introduce you to someone." Liu Qingge startles and almost turns him into a pincushion with a barrage of bamboo leaves.
"What do you want?!" They are secure in their respective positions, but they still don't like each other.
"Peace, shixiong. I'm just looking out for the sect. How would it reflect on me if I let my fellow Peak Lord work himself into a qi deviation and didn't step in?" Shen Qingqiu shrugs and smiles with an easy, predatory grace that makes Liu Qingge wish he had fangs to match the Wolf of Bai Zhan, but there's no malice in the offer. "Come now, shixiong. There's nobody else here. We don't need to do this stupid game of social posturing. Tell you what, as a sign of my goodwill I'm going to teach you a meditation technique to calm your qi after exercise, free of charge."
Almost everything with Shen Qingqiu is a transaction, so Liu Qingge knows better than to pass up the chance to get something from his shidi for free - and the meditation does help settle his roiling qi.
"What do you want in return, then?" It's almost terrifying how intensely Shen Qingqiu's eyes light up.
"That trick with the leaves - teach me how to do it."
Liu Qingge doesn't bother to point out that it's a spiritual technique. It's an unspoken secret that they would be better suited to each other's cultivation styles than that of their own peaks. Shen Qingqiu has a storm of razor sharp leaves dancing in the air before Liu Qingge is even done explaining.
He almost regrets agreeing when Shen Qingqiu takes him down to the brothel, but the women his shidi introduces him to are truly masters of dance - they were stars of an imperial dance troupe before their owner was executed for offending the Emperor and they were sold to the brothel. They take him to the back and teach him dances he could never have imagined, dances that make his heart soar and his blood rush hot in his veins, while Shen Qingqiu lightly dozes among the women in the main reception area, his very presence frightening all but the most unruly patrons into behaving.
Liu Qingge is an honest man and he knows, deep down, that he got much more out of this exchange than his shidi. He’s on the lookout to see how he could repay him, but Shen Qingqiu seems to want for nothing. What he can’t get on his own Yue Qingyuan gifts to him, doting relentlessly on his sharp-edged little brother. So when he hears that Shen Qingqiu is to set out to assist in a night hunt against a particularly dangerous demonic beast that made its way over the to the far shore of the sea, he hops to the opportunity to compile a scroll of all the unspoken rules and etiquette of the island, as well as a short history on the ninja clan that asked for their aid. It’s all information that Shen Qingqiu has no way of learning otherwise, but should ease his time on the hunt.
When he can’t find Shen Qingqiu at the bamboo house he goes looking for him and that’s when he finds the silencing array, that’s when he sees his shidi sitting with his guqin in a clearing, composing music. Liu Qingge’s mouth goes dry, his heart skips a beat - his shidi is like a vision from the heavens and for the first time since he started this scholarly lifestyle, Liu Qingge wants to paint. He wants to etch this scene in his heart and condense it into a poem.
He slinks away before his shidi can notice him and leaves the scroll in the bamboo house. In the three years Shen Qingqiu is gone, hunting that elusive monster that decimates one village after another, he becomes a man possessed - or more accurately, a tender hearted young maiden yearning for her first love. He paints picture after picture, sometimes of a wolf stalking among the bamboo, sometimes of Qingqiu with his guqin as the scene lives in his memory. Rarely he paints his shidi stretched out on a couch in the brothel, languid with feigned sleep and one eye opened a crack as he vigilantly watches over his sisters - he gifts one of those to the brothel, much to the ladies’ delight. He starts writing poetry, yearning, horrible poetry his sister mocks relentlessly, but slowly he finds his words and his latest attempts are almost good. He is the first to hound Zhangmen-shixiong for news on Shen shidi and learns every word of every letter by heart, no matter how short or impersonal the progress reports are.
Liu Qingge knows that his martial siblings are not blind to his obsession - he has caught Shang shidi muttering “bro, really?!” under his breath more than once. He’s not familiar with the expression, but he can understand the sentiment. Yue Qingyuan watches him with patient exasperation, but he knows that the man doesn’t disapprove from the mild comment about how Shen Jiu will need a new ceremonial robe for his return celebration because his old one is ten years out of fashion.
Embroidery is, technically, within the skill set of the Qing Jing Peak Lord. He hounds An Ding until someone supplies him with Shen Qingqiu’s measurements and the finest materials he can bully Shang shidi into acquiring - “That’s the same stuff demon royalty wears, try not to waste it, my contact had to go through the royal seamstress of the northern kingdom to get it in that color.” - and sets to work. Bai Zhan’s color is steel blue, but that never fit his shidi, so he picks greens instead to match his striking green eyes. He creates a design that accentuates the deceptive slimness of Qingqiu, then embroiders the robes with bamboo patterns and a wolf on the hunt and when they are done he crafts a matching fan - Shen shidi hides from nothing and nobody, but Liu Qingge thinks he might enjoy being a little mysterious.
He is daydreaming about his shidi during the next Peak Lord meeting when the Sect Leader breaks the news: the beast has finally been slain and Shen Qingqiu will be on the next ship back home. Liu Qingge stays barely long enough to not be impolite at the end of the meeting before he rushes off to finish the last touches on the robes. He wants to leave it all set out for his shidi in the bamboo house.
In his haste he misses the look Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan exchange behind his back.
“So, about those arrangements we made…”
“Yes, please. Let’s get Xiao Jiu home before Liu-shidi pines himself into a qi deviation.”
“Yeah, he’s down bad isn’t he?”
“Are you certain your prince doesn’t mind? If you are in any danger, shidi…”
“No! It’s fine, I’m fine, he already agreed to it! In fact, my Xuebao likes your brother so much I’m almost a little jealous.”
“Really now?”
“Zhangmen-shixiong, please stop looking like you are plotting murder. It’s not like that. As the Mobei prince, he really doesn’t have a lot of friends. Of course he misses A-Jiu.”
“If you say so, shidi.”
Liu Qingge is all jitters when he walks down the path to the bamboo house. He can’t understand why because Shen Qingiu won’t be back for months, but he still feels like a maiden on her way to ask out her love on the first date.
He almost drops the package with the robes when he opens the door and finds Shen Qingqiu standing there in the sunlit room. His shidi is too solid, too real to be an apparition, his clothes worn from travel, his heavy pack still unpacked by the table. He stands with a letter in one hand - Qingge recognizes his sister’s wobbly, childish handwriting - and with Qingge’s notebook in which he wrote all his stumbling, horrible poetry in the other and Liu Qingge wishes nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
“Are those my new robes?” Shen Qingqiu asks, as if they have only met this morning, as if that was a reasonable thing to ask when Qingge’s heart is about to explode from nerves. He can only mutely nod at his shidi. “You know shixiong, I can see that you have put enormous effort into courting me. I would have loved it if it happened when I was here to experience it.”
Shen Qingqiu sets the notebook and the letter down and stalks up to Liu Qingge, his eyes sharp with an emotion he can’t interpret, but it makes Liu Qingge want to bare his throat to his teeth and be devoured.
“So, Liu-shixiong. Are you going to help me try on my new robes?”
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