Sheibdi



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    “Alright, alright,” Xie Lian amends hastily, “but it’s just a little pinch. It can’t hurt that bad. It’s not any worse than what we sometimes do in bed, when you—”

    “Gege!” Hua Cheng looks really aggrieved, now. “How can it be the same?”

    “Because you’re doing what I want,” Xie Lian says, trying dutifully to ignore the heat creeping across his face. “Would it help if I ordered you? If San Lang didn’t have a choice?”

    Hua Cheng and Xie Lian are trapped and starving; the solution, to Xie Lian, seems obvious. Hua Cheng disagrees.

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    24 Oct 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Feng Xin would like to think that he has become accustomed to the variety of strange (and often unfortunate) events that surround Xie Lian. He has become accustomed to the flights of fancy, and the trash collecting, and the occasional ill-fated culinary quest. He has even, as of late, become accustomed to His Highness’ cripplingly poor choice in spouse.

    Despite all of Feng Xin’s practice in these unfortunates, however, he is not prepared for this.

    “Who are you?” Xie Lian stares up at him from a puddle of oversized white robes, his eyes wide. He is several sizes too small, and several shades too oblivious. “And, um. Where are we?”

    Beside him, Mu Qing sighs very very very deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose.

    When a curse turns Xie Lian into a child again, Feng Xin, Mu Qing, and Hua Cheng have to work together to keep him safe. Needless to say, this is a trying task for all of them.

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    07 Oct 2026

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    Xie Lian has spent long enough around sirens to have some grasp of their communication, and some of it is even a little similar to mer noises. This sound, for example, is like the one podmates use to call for each other—curious, beckoning. He suspects it means much the same thing for sirens. Has this siren lost someone, maybe?

    Hopefully it will find its lost someone soon, so Xie Lian can go back to sleep.

    Then, because nothing good can ever happen to Xie Lian, the siren peeks beneath the overhang. It hangs its head over the jut of stone, its hair billowing like a crown of ink and the yellow sclera of its eye bright against the black. That singular eye catches on his, its pupil dilating, and Xie Lian stiffens.

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    07 Oct 2026

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    Ruoye abandons his play and bolts to Xie Lian’s side, his eyes wide and his ears pricked: the boy smells like blood and disease, but he clings to Xie Lian with startling strength. Ruoye searches for the boy’s daemon, eager to check that it is safe after such a fall. He finds nothing.

    Even when Xie Lian carries the boy back to the palace, no daemon shows itself. Ruoye can’t smell one on him, either; he will not understand why until weeks later, when ghosts flood to Taicang Mountain. He hears the whispers, then: the boy is cursed, daemonless, a freak and a monster and a creature best left for dead.

    Fuck that, Ruoye thinks.

    Or: TGCF ft. daemons.

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    06 Oct 2026

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    The first prayers are hazy, fragmented things. They’re wordless, made only of emotion and impression—a flash of longing, the burden of grief, an overwhelming scent of blood. They lurk in the corners of his mind at all times, but they don’t feel like they belong to him. They feel other.

    Xie Lian thinks he’s going crazy.

    Hua Cheng prays for centuries as he searches for his god. His god hears.

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    06 Oct 2026