Mxtober 2022 - Tumblr Posts
Day 1 - Scars
Shen Yuan – no, Shen Qingqiu – tried to track the history of his new body through its scars, but cultivation had long since wiped away all but the most grievous of its wounds. A faint line here, the smallest raised skin there; that was all there was to see, and yet he would swear that he could feel invisible lines tracing beneath his skin, nerves either overly sensitive or deadened. Despite this body's previous occupant's efforts, there was no denying the truth: this body once belonged to a slave.
Luo Binghe treasured the only scars that he allowed to remain on his body. They were a curse, a blessing; a gift, from the one he loved and wished to be loved by. Even in his darkest hours, he could tell – they're a sign that the man who gave them to him, never truly wished to kill him. (After all, if that were so – there would be no scars, for he would simply be dead.)
Shen Jiu hated, hated, hated his scars. Each and every one of them was a memory of pain, humiliation, failure and worthlessness. (And if the most painful scars were the ones that never left a physical mark, well. At least no one else would ever see.)
Yue Qingyuan cared nothing about his own scars, but each mark left on Shen Qingqiu's skin is a sign of how much he failed him. He knew the stories of some, of the first scars that they gained together on the streets, but the rest – oh, it ached to not know, but it pained him worse to imagine. Even then, those visible marks are nothing compared to what life has done to his Shen Jiu's mind – a fact hammered home when Shen Qingqiu seemingly forgets those scars and becomes a better man overnight.
Shang Qinghua, despite his clumsy nature, has somehow managed to avoid gaining many scars at all, somehow? His cultivation was more than enough to heal all the little cuts gained in computer-less paperwork, his king healed the frostbite that scarred the first time he visited the Northern Palace, and the demons his king sends to help kept him from ever scarring on his missions? How does he have less scars in a world filled with swords and monsters than he did in a world of cars and computers???
Luo Bingge's skin is flawless, perfect; untouched by any scars or blemishes. His wives enjoy running their hands along his smooth skin as he holds them close, pressing their warmth deep inside himself and delighting in their touch. All too soon, though, they will leave, and any warmth will grow cold; nothing and no one to ever leave a permanent mark upon him.
(Prompt here)
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MXTober Day 2 - Silk
Shen Qingqiu wasn't sure about many aspects of his new life as Shen Qingqiu, but he had to admit – the clothes felt nice on his skin, for as much as a pain they were to put on. Made of silk in whites, teals, and greens, he could almost feel like the Immortal he was now supposed to be. For all of his hidden venom and terrible life choices, he had to admit that the original goods otherwise had decent taste.
Luo Binghe hummed happily as he smoothed out his Shizun's silks, adjusting the robes so that they were neat and properly put away. He'd had to beg his Shizun for the privilege, but it was an honor to be the one to take care of his Shizun's robes, to clean the fabrics that would drape over that blessed body. To be the one who cared for his Shizun in all ways; big and small ways, ways both life-ending and life-changing, or ways unnoticeable and unmentionable; anything and everything his Shizun could ever possibly need or even dream of wanting.
Shen Jiu always took care with his appearance, his image; his posture, his decorum, his accoutrements. He wrapped himself in fine silks and simple yet expensive finery, luxuriating in the splendor even as he felt the imposter. His younger self could barely even dream of such luxuries, and yet – even as he felt himself surrounded by them now, he missed the honesty of the streets and the happiness of having someone beside him. (Now his life was a lie, and he was alone.)
Yue Qingyuan felt awe and shame the first time he wore robes of fine silks. It was an honor, a reward, a privilege for working so hard and reaching this position. Yet even as he put on the finery, all he could see was Xiao-Jiu in rags.
Shang Qinghua was Peak Lord of An Ding Peak – the "janitor" peak, as he once heard it called; he should have no need for silks then, right? Yet have them he did, for official meetings, for negotiations, for socializing at parties – and for the Northern Palace??? It was too cold to wear them there, but his king would thrust robes of furs and silks into his arms, so – he couldn't not wear them, what if he upset his king???
Luo Bingge had a closet full of fine silks and fabrics, satins and jewels, but his favorite clothes were made of common cloths. He enjoyed standing before his subjects and wives and delighting in their awe, basking in their admiration… but he favored the simple clothes of adventure, more. He somehow felt more himself in the quiet of the woods, traveling along dusty roads, exploring the paths of the world – until, of course, something new demanded his particular brand of "attention".
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MXTober Day 3 - Blood
Shen Qingqiu's nightmares are full of blood – of other's, of his own, of Luo Binghe's. He can smell the iron tang in the air, can feel it dripping down his chin from his oddly hollow mouth as he watches Luo Binghe laugh and laugh, tears of blood running down his perfect face, as bodies of the people he now knows lie in dark puddles all around. When he wakes – please let him always be able to wake, please let this scene never be more than a dream – he can still taste the blood in his mouth. (Oh – he'd bitten his tongue to hold back his screams.)
Luo Binghe stared blankly down – Shizun was dead. There should be blood. His hands, his body, should be dyed an accusatory shade of red – marking him for all to see the sole reason for Shen Qingqiu's demise.
It took days for Shen Jiu to clean off the last of the blood from the Qiu household. It took only hours to get rid of the last traces of his master's latest victims. It would take an eternity to even begin to clear the red from his soul, as he stared at the shattered remnants of Yue Qi's sword.
There was so much blood on the cavern's floor, in his hair, in his eyes. Yue Qingyuan bowed down again and again, slamming his head into solid rock in obeisance as he begged for forgiveness, for the ability to leave and fulfil his promise. But the heavens had no mercy to spare, and the abandoned Shen Jiu, even less.
Shang Qinghua really wasn't all that fussed about the blood his king routinely spilled. As long as it wasn't anyone he knew or cared about (ha!), he wasn't that bothered by death. Now, it was a b//ch and a half to clean up, but that was a price well-worth paying in order to see his king covered in the blood of their enemies – so cool, so powerful and majestic!
Luo Binghe's life was a steady mixture of blood and sex: defeat the enemy, get the woman, then start all over again and again. The sex had come somewhat later in his life, but the blood had been with him since birth – the only question was whether that blood was his, or that of others. These days, he freely spilled the latter so that it would never again be the former.
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