Framethat



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    Honoured a-niang,
    Please give my loving regards to a-die, gege, and meimei. This disobedient son apologizes for not having written in a while. I have been busy with my duties and night hunts. Ouyang-shixiong will soon retire from being head disciple and I have taken on many of his duties. We also recently brought back Venom-Devouring Pandas to the sect, and I promise I will tell you about it. But first, I have a question.
    Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple, Shen Qingqiu (Shen Jiu, as in black jade, until recently), not only shares our name, but also my face. He accused me of being a face-stealer when we met. It is like looking in the mirror, if I had a tendency to glare at everything and everyone. From what I gather, though he won’t speak to me much and no one seems to know anything about him, he is twenty-three years old. Two years my senior. Even his voice sounds like mine.
    A-niang. Please. Is there anything you want to tell me?

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    06 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 75

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    Draco Malfoy, stuck in the 1940s...but things are wrong. Grindelwald isn't defeated, Riddle is having dinner times with the infamous dark lord, and for some reason...his grandparents still haven't had kids.

    "...suffocating, dishonest old bastard," Draco hissed, his teeth chattering audibly as he rubbed his freezing fingers against the oversized wool. "Keep me locked up 'for my own good,' right. Like hell. I'll freeze in the bloody Alps before I play pet to another megalomaniac..."

    He took another blind step into the room, leaving a faint, damp smudge of blood from his bare feet on the priceless rug.

    "...grand speeches and pretty words. I should have stabbed him with the butter knife—"

    Draco stopped.

    The heat of the massive hearth finally registered. The smell of roasted meat hit his starved senses. Slowly, his chest seizing mid-breath, Draco raised his head and locked eyes with the most dangerous dinner party of the twentieth century.

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    05 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 51

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    05 Jun 2026

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    “Red is fortuitous, A-Qing. We are not,” she whispered once when he had begged to have just a single red ribbon to put in his hair, the color looking so pleasing against the paleness of his skin and the coal of his hair. “It is an honor where we’ve been disgraced, a celebration when we’ve no worthwhile event…”

    A criminal’s son. Mu Qing would never be worthy.

    But Hong’er? Hong’er came to this earth in red, in between clock strokes of minute time where the stars had aligned for favor or misery. It was stupid prejudice that made people think the younger child was nothing more than a wretched omen.

    (Inspired by this tweet: https://mobile.twitter.com/geyusan/status/1496098942660005888 and re-edited 10/18)

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    23 May 2026

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    Nothing had been the emptiness in his stomach, the haphazard roof around his head. It was doing everything and being unseen. In that place, Mu Qing had been given nothing. He had been nothing.

    But now, he had nothing.

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    22 May 2026