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antebunny · 3 years

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Lan Wangji: Damsel-in-Distress

If Lan Wangji had known it was this easy to get Wei Ying to do what he wanted, he would’ve put himself in mortal peril a long time ago.

He has this realization when they’re retreating from the Wens. Despite Wei Ying’s new, dangerous powers successfully turning the tide of war in their favor, the Sunshot Campaign still loses battles and takes losses. But Nie Mingjue rarely loses battles, and Wei Ying has never lost a battle he participated in, which makes this battle a special case.

Their intelligence underestimated the number of Wens in this region, so when Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin launch an attack shortly after sunrise, leading the Lan and Jiang cultivators into battle, their forces falter under the onslaught of Wens.

The Wen supervisory office is bathed in blood when Wei Ying arrives. He collapsed after the last battle, and Jiang Wanyin elected to head into battle anyway, under the premise that it would allow Wei Ying more time to rest. Lan Wangji very much disapproves of Jiang Wanyin’s decision to let Wei Ying continue demonic cultivation, even if it is winning them the war, but he has to admit that he does care for Wei Ying in other ways. But Jiang Wanyin’s plan backfired, because instead of winning the battle and successfully giving Wei Ying the day to rest, the battle instead dragged on, until the day sunk into night and they were forced to admit they were losing.

Lan Wangji is knee-deep in dead bodies and blood, guarding the retreat of their forces, when he steps into the array. He misses it because of the sheer volumes of blood, running from an endless number of sword wounds. He stands facing the entrance of the supervisory office, back to the retreating Lans and Jiangs. Jiang Wanyin is ten paces behind him, Zidian one violet blur around him.

The shrieking of Chenqing heralds Wei Ying’s arrival, and Lan Wangji is just as displeased as he is pleased. He spares himself one glance back, and sees Wei Ying standing on the roof of a nearby building, corpses already rallying to his song. Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin make brief eye contact.

“Go,” Lan Wangji tells him. “Wei Ying and I will cover the retreat.”

If Jiang Wanyin resents being told what to do, he sees the sense in Lan Wangji’s words and nods sharply. The Lans hesitate to abandon their Hanguang-jun, but a sharp gesture from Lan Wangji sends them after Jiang Wanyin and his contingent of cultivators.

At the same time, Wei Ying advances, jumping off the roof and joining his ranks of corpses. Lan Wangji pushes down his usual revulsion upon seeing Wei Ying walking amongst the corpses. He retreats to the top of the steps while the corpses of Wen and Jiang alike line up at the bottom, Wei Ying at their head. The Wen cultivators hesitate to chase after the retreating cultivators, scared by the presence of Wei Ying. Instead, they cluster outside the main door but before the stairs, surrounding Lan Wangji in a loose semi-circle.

Lan Wangji’s fingertips are bloody on the strings of his guqin when he feels the array flare up around him.

Immediately, Lan Wangji tenses, and inspects the array for weaknesses. Wei Ying runs up the stairs, but red light flares up when he tries to break the array, and Wei Ying is pushed back, hissing in pain. A moment later they both realize that the array is a repurposed protective array, meant to keep out demonic energy. This includes, of course, demonic cultivation, and by extension, Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s mind is already racing with possible solutions, and clearly Wei Ying’s is doing the same, if the grim smile that settles on his face is any indication. It takes the Wens a further five seconds to recognize the array, at which point they all level their swords and begin to run towards Lan Wangji.

There’s only two meters between the Wens and the array, and about two seconds before the Wens reach the array. During those two seconds, time for Lan Wangji slows to a near standstill.

The array trapping Lan Wangji is perhaps one and a half meters in diameter. Wei Ying can very easily direct his corpses around it and kill all the Wens at the top of the stairs. But the Wens, unlike the corpses, can enter the array. Wei Ying cannot enter the array, and Lan Wangji cannot leave. The only way Lan Wangji can leave is if someone enters the array and takes him out–these arrays are nominally made by cultivators to protect non-cultivators who find themselves in the middle of a night hunt or some such danger.

This means Lan Wangji will be fighting however many Wens can fit inside the array, which by his estimate is up to twenty at a time. Although Lan Wangji is confident that he can defeat twenty Wen cultivators, he knows that he cannot fight the entire army, especially not after having fought for the entire day.

In other words, Lan Wangji is about to die.

This all passes through his mind in less time than it takes the Wens to realize what the array even is, which means that he’s turning back to look at Wei Ying one last time when the Wens actually start running. Wei Ying, having come to the same conclusion perhaps faster than Lan Wangji, has set his corpse army into motion by the time Lan Wangji turns back to look at him. The corpses flood past Lan Wangji, roaring and snarling, but Lan Wangji already knows that they won’t slow the Wens down enough.

So instead of turning around to defend himself, he finds himself staring at Wei Ying’s face, even though Wei Ying’s familiar silver eyes are instead demonic red, and his pretty face is twisted in a dangerous smile.

Wei Ying presses a hand to his chest and then draws it away. Shadows follow, swirling all around his body like Wei Ying’s very presence causes resentment to the world. They hiss and shift like writhing snakes, lashing against Wei Ying’s control until his face twists with effort.

“Here,” Wei Ying says. “Catch.”

And then he hurls the resentful energy like the world’s deadliest toy. The massive cloud of demonic energy quickly seeps into the Wen soldiers, who freeze in place, suddenly battling an invisible energy. Soon, screams split the air, as grown men crumple under a fraction of the power Wei Ying wields.

Used to wield.

Wei Ying looks so much smaller without his deadly aura. His eyes shine a familiar silver as he takes the one step he needs to cross the array. A shiver runs through him as he does, and he staggers on the other side of the array. His fingers wrap around Lan Wangji’s wrist, and his grip is much weaker than Lan Wangji thought it would be.

“Well, don’t take your time, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chides with dark humor. “It’s not like we have all day.”

He pulls Lan Wangji out of the array, and collapses nearly the moment he’s out. Lan Wangji doesn’t waste a moment before scooping Wei Ying up in his arms. He steps onto Bichen, guqin on his back, and flies off as fast as his shaking limbs can carry him, leaving the Wens behind to deal with the corpses.

Lan Wangji arrives at camp with spots dancing in his vision, and Wei Ying in his shaking arms. Wei Ying, who is free from demonic cultivation.

Drunk on this victory, Lan Wangji promptly faints.

Lan Wangji curses his body’s limitations when he next wakes up and discovers that during the time he was unconscious, Wei Ying woke up and promptly picked up demonic cultivation again. He witnessed firsthand how weak Wei Ying was in the moments after he removed all the demonic energy from his body, so he has no doubt that Wei Ying was scared. But if only he hadn’t fainted, if only he’d been there when Wei Ying woke up to support him through this temporary weakness and encourage him to pick up Suibian instead of Chenqing–

It’s no use, he tells himself. What’s done is done. What he focuses on instead is the moment he looked back at Wei Ying and saw his face set in grim determination. He knows that Wei Ying realized everything he did, which means he looked at Lan Wangji trapped in the array and made a choice: Lan Wangji or demonic cultivation. Of course, he did it knowing that he could pick it up again, but still, Lan Wangji’s heart does funny little rabbit thumps every time he remembers how Wei Ying’s overwhelming gaze focused on him as he casually drew the resentful energy out of his body and chose Lan Wangji.

It seems that all of Lan Wangji’s lectures and arguments about the danger of demonic cultivation had a much simpler solution. Wei Ying threw it all away because Lan Wangji needed help. Now Lan Wangji finds himself in a strange situation, in which the way to help Wei Ying involves something Lan Wangji has never done, not once in his life: asking for help.

Naturally, he turns to his brother for advice.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, his smile strained to the point of breaking. “No.”

Lan Wangji frowns. It sounds perfectly reasonable to him.

“You are not putting yourself in mortal peril on the off-chance that Young Master Wei will choose to abandon his method of cultivation,” Xichen says flatly.

“It is not an off-chance,” Lan Wangji argues. He’s almost never argued with his brother before, merely choosing to run away from conversations (such as “I see you’ve been staring at the Jiangs’ Head Disciple a lot, Wangji–Wangji, come back–”)

“Assume that he does, then,” Lan Xichen allows. “Did you not say he immediately picked it up again?”

“Giving up demonic cultivation caused him to collapse,” Lan Wangji says. “As I was injured at the time, I was not there to help him through its loss, and Jiang Wanyin–” He allows himself a small scowl, so furious is he at the carelessness of Wei Ying’s brother. “–did not say a word to stop him.”

To be fair, he doubts that Jiang Wanyin discouraging Wei Ying from using demonic cultivation would stop him. Lan Wangji must admit that he’s taken advantage of Wei Ying’s lack of respect for his new sect leader’s orders. Once he understood that Jiang Wanyin would make no move to prevent Wei Ying from using demonic cultivation, he turned his entreaties to Wei Ying instead, knowing that the only way to help Wei Ying would be getting through to Wei Ying himself. And because with the war keeping him exhausted and on the verge of losing his temper, he’s afraid that if he talks to Jiang Wanyin for too long, he’ll snap and beat him bloody, which is not the support that neither Lan Xichen nor Wei Ying need right now.

Lan Wangji eyes his brother expectantly, hoping that Lan Xichen will offer to guide and support Wei Ying on his behalf, after Wei Ying has narrowly recused Lan Wangji from mortal peril once more.

If he’s being completely honest with himself, it would be far easier to engineer a scenario in which Wei Ying must give up demonic cultivation for either of his siblings. But Lan Wangji’s morals won’t allow him to put others in danger in such an underhanded scheme, and Lan Wangji very much likes the thought of Wei Ying running to his rescue. The truth that Lan Wangji does not want to admit to himself is that the second reason is far more compelling to him than the first.

Lan Xichen’s face makes a strange motion that indicates that he would be sighing at Lan Wangji if he was just a slightest bit meaner. “Wangji,” he says patiently, “from what you have told me, Young Master Wei purged himself of resentful energy because you needed his help. Why do you not just ask for his help?”

That, Lan Wangji has to admit, sounds far simpler than orchestrating a scenario in which Wei Ying is the only one who can help him, specifically by setting aside demonic cultivation.

It’s also far less compelling than Wei Ying dashing heroically to his rescue, but Lan Wangji was raised to be straightforward.

He was not, however, raised to need help, so he frowns and asks; “How?”

Lan Xichen still refrains from sighing at him, because he knows why Lan Wangji finds the concept of asking for help so baffling. “Well,” he says, “here’s one thing you can do…”

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan xichen #jiang cheng #my writing #writeblr #greetings tumblr void #featuring: simp!lwj #wangxian #antebunny's ficlets

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jingyismom · 3 years

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Thoughts on Lan Wangji’s uncomfortable position during Sunshot

Rated T, pre-relationship wangxian, cw for harrassment, suggestive language, no other warnings, canon compliant

During the Sunshot campaign, Lan Wangji only had the reputation of being peerless and pure before the fighting began. It is entirely possible that this, plus his position and appearance, could have resulted in jumped-up heirs from lesser sects thinking him easy prey.

He came into it late, too, after leading the Wei Wuxian-finding mission with the Jiangs.

Imagine this beautiful young cultivator in spotless white appearing in a city filled with men primed for war.

Worse, imagine the fragile state of Gusu Lan and their dependence on these alliances.

Lan Wangji is politically aware, even though he's not held to the same standard as his brother. And when these men loom out of dark corners spewing lewd remarks and making even lewder requests, he wants to kill them. If the situation were different, they would come away at least maimed.

But he cannot afford to be rash. Not when the Cloud Recesses is not yet rebuilt. And he is in no real danger - if one of them tried to touch him he would feel no qualms taking a hand in recompense. So he...lives with it. For months.

Lan Xichen has other, more important troubles on his mind, there is no need to make him aware. It is just men indulging their baser instincts. It is nothing.

Except. Over time. It begins to wear on him. Its true he's only the second master of Gusu Lan, an ornament, a bargaining chip. A thing. He begins to feel like a thing. And after weeks, then months, of bloody fighting and unceasing, unseemly comments on his body, his face, his mouth - he begins to feel like a dirty one.

One night, Wei Wuxian is walking between tents during the push for Nightless City. He hears gruff voices, liquor-proud, making obscene offers not far away. He tenses and strides over, resentment rising beneath his skin. How dare anybody in this army treat a fellow soldier this way?

He comes around a corner and freezes. Lan Wangji is there, practically glowing in the black of night. Is he already taking care of the problem?

The voices continue to jeer. Lan Wangji doesn't move.

Is he...with them? It can't be possible that Lan Wangji would...hang around...anyone like this.

Wei Wuxian peers closer at him, still hidden in shadow. His face looks. It looks...weird. Wei Wuxian still has trouble reading Lan Wangji, but he knows this is...not his normal face. It's tense. Like he's angry. That, he's seen before, maybe too often. But there is the slightest furrow to his brow.

Like he's torn. Or...helpless. Which is, well. It's ridiculous. Lan Wangji is incapable of helplessness.

Still, the strangeness of it kicks him into action. He comes out into the firelight ready for a fight.

And pauses once more.

There are four men Wei Wuxian doesn't recognize facing Lan Wangji.

Blocking his path. They're saying things...the things they are saying. Are. Are far worse than any of the hushed, private joking Wei Wuxian has been privy to among friends. The things they are saying are forceful. Joyfully violent.

And they're saying them to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap to him immediately and go wide, but Wei Wuxian doesn't see it. His vision is bleeding out to tones of red and gray, Chenqing clutched tight in one shaking hand. He points it at the men. They laugh. They don't yet know what he is, what he can do. He's happy to show them.

He raises his flute to his lips, only for a hand to catch his elbow, to drag it back. He shakes it off. He's going to rip these sorry excuses for men into small pieces, and then make their ghosts thank him for it. He's going to--

"Wei Ying."

He looks at Lan Wangji's face, right beside him now. It isn't stern, or reprimanding. It only looks tired.

He stops. Looks back at the men.

"I was just speaking with Nie-zongzhu right over there," he lies, bringing up the only name he can think might strike fear into these animals. "Shall I go and get him, and let him hear what trash is fighting alongside him in his righteous war?"

The men scowl and leave. He turns to Lan Wangji.

"Lan Zhan," he says, confused and still unsteady with rage. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lan Wangji says. He lets go of Wei Wuxian's arm and turns to go. Wei Wuxian catches his in turn.

"Nothing? Nothing? Lan Zhan, why did they think...why did they think they could say such things to you?" He knows Lan Wangji could have ended their lives with one strike. "Why were you letting them?"

Lan Wangji does not look at him.

"Because they can," he says. He tries to break away, but Wei Wuxian holds on.

"No," he says firmly. "They can't."

Lan Wangji turns to face him at last. "Why not? They may speak as they please to the second son of a broken clan."

Wei Wuxian bridles. "A broken - Lan Zhan-"

"If Gusu Lan is to recover, it cannot afford animosity from any who might give it aid." His voice is hard and sharp as steel. "Their words are of no consequence. Their coin is a different matter."

"No consequence?" Wei Wuxian asks. "Lan Zhan. They were saying..."

"I know very well what they were saying," Lan Wangji says, and pulls away at last. He leaves Wei Wuxian staring after him in open shock.

Lan Wangji is mortified. He tells himself he is merely concerned about what he almost witnessed Wei Wuxian do to those men, but in truth is he is shaken. Scared, and tired, and very much ashamed. That Wei Wuxian has witnessed the way mere strangers could reduce Lan Wangji so easily to nothing. For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable in his own skin. And now it is as if Wei Wuxian knows. As if he knows that Lan Wangji is just...just a blank canvas for any passing uncouth fantasy. He both is and isn't the Second Jade of Lan - He is not untouchable, not in mind, in spirit. He is neither peerless nor pure. But he is not human, either. Not real in any way that counts.

And now Wei Wuxian, almost the only person that counts, can see it.

They do not speak of it. The war rages on. They fight, side by side, and protect each other.

Wei Wuxian does his best to protect Lan Wangji off the battlefield, too. Tries to make sure he never walks past strange tents alone at night, without being too obvious about it. He knows Lan Wangji wouldn't thank him for it, and their friendship is tenuous as it is. Still, the expression he'd seen on him that night haunts Wei Wuxian. He doesn't want it to make a home on his beloved face.

After Nightless City, though, things change.

Wei Wuxian isn't respected, exactly. But he is feared. When he speaks, cultivators at least pretend to listen. They've seen now what he's capable of.

He hasn't forgotten those men. Hasn't forgotten the lurid, barbaric pictures they dared to paint over Lan Wangji's undeniable impeccability, nor the unforgivably horrible way they'd managed to make Lan Wangji feel.

But there have been other things to take care of.

Until the banquet.

After the battle, after Wen Ruohan has been killed, liquor is bountiful as cultivators and foot soldiers alike make merry, preparing to feast. Jin Guangshan, now that things are over, has opened his purse to the victors, and none of them intend to waste it.

Once Wei Wuxian has recovered, once Lan Wangji has deemed him well enough not to need healing music any longer, they lose track of each other in the busy work of cleaning out the city, of preparing to celebrate a job well done.

But when the night arrives, Wei Wuxian is hurrying back to the Jiang quarters alone to join their contingent and head to the banquet. He's late, partially because he's him, and partially because he does not want to go. But Lan Wangji will be there, and he hasn't seen him in days.

He hears voices down a parallel street. Rough and loud. Familiar.

He turns and is halfway down the connecting alley before consciously deciding to change course. Dozens of voices whisper in his ears of vengeance, of justice, and black smoke licks his skin.

He sees them, lit harshly by the bright moon, washed out, pale and ugly, leering. He doesn't care what they're doing, who they're talking to. They have to pay.

"Wei Ying."

Lan Wangji's face swims into view, suddenly close. He looks nearly wild with concern. Wei Wuxian realizes Chenqing is already pressed to his lips, the first notes of a fierce melody dying on the air. Lan Wangji is gripping his wrist.

"They are not worth your life," he says."

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to disagree. Lan Wangji's fingers tighten. Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and looks away from his steady, grounding eyes.

The men are still there, daring to look at them. Brazen.

"You have nothing better to do than lower the value of this entire street by merely standing on it?" Wei Wuxian calls to them.

They shift uneasily. But one of them lifts his chin, defiant.

"Who are you to discipline us? We're not Jiang or Lan, you can't speak to us this way."

Wei Wuxian angles away from Lan Wangji, faces them fully. Lets the shadows grow longer all around him. Pitches his voice low and calm. "Oh? Can't I?"

Three of them begin to back away, but the mouthy bastard stands firm. "You've no claim on us nor that one. What, is ruining our celebration your idea of fun? He's been acting all high and mighty all the while we've been down in the mud. It's high time he takes a turn on his knees."

Wei Wuxian flinches as if he's been hit. He doesn't look at Lan Wangji. He can't manage it, can't believe he's allowed this to happen again.

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji pleads beside him. "The banquet. Your shidi and shijie are waiting for you. Lotus Pier needs you."

Wei Wuxian's breaths have gone erratic and shallow. He cannot kill these men. He should not. It would be...there's a reason. Lan Wangji doesn't want him to. He cannot kill them.

But he cannot leave it be, either. Something dark and animal rears up inside him.

"No claim?" He repeats. "What claim could I or my sect have on miserable refuse such as you? What claim could I possibly need in order to teach you a lesson? Cutting your throats would be

counted as a service to the world. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

The man crosses his arms. One of his companions is pulling frantically at his shoulder. "Give me one good reason why I can't bend that pretty thing over my knee."

A vicious snarl rips out of Wei Wuxian's throat and he lunges forward, but he's held back. Lan Wangji is holding him back.

"Why are you stopping me?" He bites out at him. "Why aren't you ending them yourself?"

Lan Wangji is angry now, enraged, Wei Wuxian can see. Why is he still letting these men breathe?

"Because my duty to my family comes first. As does yours. Wei Ying, think. Alive, they are nothing. Dead, they are an excuse to deal a killing blow to both our sects."

Wei Wuxian clenches his teeth and rips his arm out of Lan Wangji's grasp. He's right. Wei Wuxian hates that he's right.

The resentment is burning him up from the inside with no outlet. But Lan Wangji is looking at him, holding him steady with just his righteously angry gaze.

"Well?" Calls the man, who apparently has a deathwish. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" Wei Wuxian bites out, not looking at him. "Leave if you value your life."

"Waiting for you to give me a reason we can't have him. It's just one night. Who's to know? Who's to care?"

It's a ridiculous question. Beyond ridiculous. There is no single reason - the best one is that Lan Wangji would have the perfect excuse to kill them if they did indeed try. But Wei Wuxian is past thinking clearly. He sees only the worn, tired anger in Lan Wangji's eyes.

The dark, animal thing in his chest strains against his hold, bucking and shaking, trying to get free. Trying to curl around Lan Wangji and protect him from anything that could dream of making him feel so exposed.

"One reason?" Wei Wuxian asks, then turns to look at them again. He lets the resentment free, lets it seep out into the night in curling, questing tendrils. Entirely without thinking, guided by some deep-seated, abhorrent instinct, he wraps his arm around Lan Wangji's waist. "He's mine."

He lets the thick wisps of shadows flick at the cultivators' faces, cold and burning. They claw at their own skin, crying out, and finally, finally, turn and run. The resentment chases them out of the street, and then returns to him, preening.

Once their screams have died out, and the resentment has settled back beneath his skin, Wei Wuxian comes back to himself. With a sickening start he realizes that he is still holding Lan Wangji firmly against his side. He lets go and steps away, heart pounding.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm - sorry."

Lan Wangji is staring at him, expression unreadable. Wei Wuxian cannot believe he's managed to do something so thoughtless, so stupid, so...horrifyingly revealing.

"That was stupid. I didn't mean to...I was just trying to speak a language he'd understand. I'm sorry. You're not - you don't-"

"I understand," Lan Wangji says quietly. His gaze has shifted to Wei Wuxian's shoulder. He looks strangely fragile. Tall, straight, and graceful still, but...

"No," say Wei Wuxian, "no, that was uncalled for. I should have left when you told me to. I'm sorry I made things worse."

The shake of Lan Wangji's head is slight. "No more apologies. I will see you at the banquet."

He leaves then, sword in hand, one arm neatly folded behind his back. Wei Wuxian watches him go, and can't help but feel he's made yet another fatal mistake he can't take back.

He's mine.

Lan Wangji cannot get those words out of his mind. He cannot forget the sound of Wei Wuxian's voice, the certainty in it, the firm, inarguable tone. They echo in his ears almost palpably, an illicit caress that won't let the shiver in his spine die.

He feels the ghosts of Wei Wuxian's fingers on his waist for a week. He finds himself, at random intervals, placing his own hand over them, trying to exert the exact same pressure, to feel - but it is not the same. Not without the warm, hard length of Wei Wuxian's side against him.

The alien mixture of emotions from that moment twist and mix and become ugly parodies of themselves in his dreams. He does not know what he felt, then, anymore. Does not know what he feels now.

The only thing he knows with any confidence is that every time he sees Wei Wuxian thereafter, he aches, and aches.

Aches to simply tell him that he was right.

#my fic #mdzsnet #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed fanfic #imported from twitter and unedited #just thought i'd share here because the concept of lwj experiencing harassment during sunshot is...too real now that i've thought of it #idk this isn't a complete thing with a plot it's just #something that could have happened #easily i think #maybe some day i'll formalize this and use it for the lead up to yllz smut?

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Prompt: Meng Yao uses his self-absorbed sociopath murderer-ness for the forces of good. (Am not anon, just also think it sounds interesting.)

It happened on the way to Langya.

Meng Yao was feeling quite good about how things had developed. After his father had cast him out, he had vowed to return and force the man to acknowledge him, to put himself in a position where everyone had ever sneered at him would be force to kiss his feet or die – everything after that had been further service to that goal.

He’d gone to Qinghe, because it was the only place that respected merit over blood; he’d found the most arrogant cultivators and allowed them to bully him, because he had learned that Nie Mingjue abhorred injustice among his own more than anything; he had cleared the battlefields and helped the commoners because Nie Mingjue had commented on it positively, suggesting correctly that it was the path to promotion, although becoming Nie Mingjue’s personal deputy had been a pleasant surprise. Rescuing Lan Xichen had been just as unexpected an accident, but a welcome one, and just as importantly, a useful one – it was easy enough to encourage the man to be the one to bring up the subject of Meng Yao returning to the Lanling Jin sect, and to arrange to be within earshot of Nie Mingjue when he did.

And now he had a letter of recommendation from Nie Mingjue himself sitting in his pouch.

Would that be enough for Jin Guangshan?

Meng Yao wasn’t sure. Nie Mingjue had let him see the letter – the usual sort of thing, from one sect leader to another, flattering him as possessing both excellent skills and virtuous conduct – and from everything he’d heard, Jin Guangshan would enjoy the feeling of snatching away a talent.

But would that be enough?

Would he need to do more? And if he did – how far would he need to go? Who would he need to crush beneath his feet to get to the top?

His thoughts were consumed by such worries, and he reached inside the pouch to pull out the so-precious recommendation letter, just to feel it – he often did it, a nervous tick that he couldn’t quite stop – and that’s why he didn’t see the rabbit darting across his feet.

He stumbled and fell, his fingers instinctively gripping the letter tight – and that’s when he noticed it.

There was a small bulge in the letter. Not much of one, just a little curve that shouldn’t be there.

At once Meng Yao dusted himself off, took himself off the main road and made himself a small fire near the stream; his mother had long ago taught him how to steam letters open in such a way that they could be closed again, seal intact and none the wiser. He hadn’t bothered before, since he’d already seen what the letter contained – or rather, he’d thought he knew what it contained.

He’d thought Nie Mingjue too straightforward to play any tricks. But, he supposed, one never really knew.

The letter unfurled itself in his hand: it was exactly the letter he had been shown, which was a relief, but hidden inside was another piece of paper, small and folded up – it would have fallen into the palm of whoever cracked the seal to open the letter. Jin Guangshan, presumably.

Meng Yao opened the additional letter.

The calligraphy was unmistakably Nie Mingjue’s, forceful and bold. The words –

We have never seen eye-to-eye, and I am aware that our alliance is only against the Wens. Despite this, I would ask that you overlook both our past enmity and the embarrassment you will undoubtedly feel at the prospect of accepting Meng Yao after what happened between you in the past. Underneath his calm demeanor, he is ruthless and vindictive, but he has chosen in spite of that to be a good man, deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

It was a good thing Meng Yao was already sitting down.

He hadn’t – he’d thought Nie Mingjue hadn’t noticed. The man disregarded most things as unimportant, never caring about people being rude or disdainful whether of Meng Yao or of himself, had believed (absurdly) that good conduct alone would be enough to shut their wretched mouths, something Meng Yao had long ago learned was not true – he’d assumed Nie Mingjue was naïve, even willfully blind; he’d thought he’d pulled the wool over his eyes, hiding his hatred underneath his smiles and even temperament, tricking him into underestimating him as he had so many others before. Even Lan Xichen, who liked him and treated him well simply because he was a good person, didn’t know what Meng Yao was really like – would never know, as far as Meng Yao was concerned.

He hadn’t realized that Nie Mingjue saw him, understood that he was full of spite and bile and grudges, and thought that he’d – what? That he’d simply chosen otherwise?

Absurd.

Who would ever choose to be good, simply for the sake of being good? What practical benefits could anyone get from that?

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine. Consider it as me owing you a favor.

Meng Yao pressed the letter to his chest, which felt both hollow and full to overflowing at the same time; to think that Nie Mingjue, proud, defiant, unbending Nie Mingjue, Sect Leader of one of the Four Great Sects, the only one who was actually winning against the Wen sect – to think that he would humble himself to beg a favor from a man the whole world knew he despised as a craven fool.

To think he would do that for him.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

It was such a stupid thing. Pointless, worthless! Could you eat respect, if you were hungry? Would respect keep you warm at night when you were freezing? If a sword were held to your throat, could respect block it?

When the laughter of your enemies filled your ears, could the respect of a single man let you ignore it? Did it really matter so much, to have someone see you as you truly were and to still decide you were worth something?

...yes. It seemed that it did.

Meng Yao, don’t be a fool. Your plans..!

Meng Yao carefully resealed the letter, making sure the seal was intact and it looked untouched; the small note, Nie Mingjue’s heartfelt plea on his behalf, did not go back inside of it. If Nie Mingjue ever asked – and he wouldn’t, since he hadn’t told Meng Yao about the extra note to begin with – Meng Yao could always say that it simply fell out without him noticing.

The letter went back into his pouch.

The note he tucked into his robes, placing it right over his heart.

The recommendation letter would be enough, or it wouldn’t; there was no need for Nie Mingjue to lose face in front of Jin Guangshan. Meng Yao had plenty of plans on what to do if simply being a talent wasn’t good enough for his father to recognize him – there was a war on, after all, and Nie Mingjue had never hidden anything from him.

No matter what happened, he had plans.

Meng Yao fantasized about murdering his supervisor on a near daily basis.

Had he once complained in his heart about the Nie sect cultivators, who did little more than enjoy the momentary pleasure of being superior to someone of finer birth? Who were brutish and stubborn to the point of hard-headedness? Who thought strength of arms was the beginning and end of the Dao?

He’d rather be a menial servant for the worst of the whole lot of them rather than have to put up with another minute of him.

Petty humiliations on a daily basis – berating him for things that weren’t his fault, calling him all sorts of names, giving him the worst tasks, allowing and even encouraging the other soldiers to play pranks on him. Beatings, if he dared protest, and even when he didn’t, just to make sure he didn’t ‘forget’ his place. Taking credit for all of Meng Yao’s ideas and hard work, so that there would be no way for him to make his way up here as he had back in Qinghe – to ensure that his father could safely forget about his existence, having done the bare minimum that the respect owed to another Sect Leader required.

He’d even said – about Meng Yao’s mother –

It wouldn’t be hard, either; easy enough to do, easy enough to cover it up, and no one would ever need to know. Meng Yao had poor cultivation, having started too late to ever catch up in terms of strength, and so he had to substitute for it: aiming for quantity instead of quality, learning all the techniques he could – with his brilliant memory, seeing once was the same as learning. He knew Wen techniques, and there were Wen swords all over the battlefield; he bent over and picked one up.

Killing his superior, who would not expect it, would be as easy as flipping over his hand, and his corpse would simply be counted as another casualty of battle. Another debt due to the Wen-dogs.

There was really no reason not to – he already had plans to desert, having realized by now that he would never be able to win Jin Guangshan’s attention through honest work; his goals required that he take a different path, a riskier one, but when had he not been willing to stake it all on one throw of the dice? He could assuage his own anger, get revenge, and leave this all behind him, the whole world unknowing.

Now was the perfect chance.

…deserving of your respect, as he has earned mine.

Meng Yao grimaced and threw down the sword.

Stupid: it clattered on the ground, and his superior heard it, and turned at once to scream at him, accusing him of all sorts of things – even incidentally true ones, like plotting to kill him (though he would have stabbed him from the front, not the back). As was usual, he pulled out his switch and began beating Meng Yao as he screamed, blows focused on his upper arms and chest and back where no one would see; Meng Yao would have to disrobe to show someone, and that would only lead to rumors. Bad enough that his superior claimed that he was making his way through the camp on his back; he wouldn’t let anyone else have any basis for saying the same.

Meng Yao gritted his teeth and bore with it. He’d be leaving soon enough –

There was the familiar sound of unsheathing.

So familiar, in fact, that Meng Yao’s mouth opened without his own volition, automatically saying, “Sect Leader Nie, please hold back – ”

In that first moment before he turned, he’d thought he’d mistaken one sheath for another, an old habit – a memory of better times, even – because of course it couldn’t be true, there was no way for Nie MIngjue to be here, but despite all common sense he heard that familiar voice roar, “I will not!”

There was, Meng Yao reflected, a certain joy in all those thoughts of murdering his superior, a warm glow at the thought of getting the revenge he deserved by making the man pay in blood.

Watching Nie Mingjue thoroughly beat the man for having dared lay a hand on him?

Even better.

“Sect Leader Nie, perhaps you should stop,” he finally said after a while. “He is after all the lieutenant of another sect.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m using the flat of my blade,” Nie Mingjue said, and Meng Yao had to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Sect Leader Jin,” he said, and that much he actually meant.

“I’m here to save him at his own request, he wouldn’t have the face to shame me,” Nie Mingjue said dismissively, but he did – somewhat reluctantly – stop, and allowed Meng Yao’s superior to go running; if Meng Yao hadn’t already planned to leave, he might have been concerned regarding who the man would complain to. “Meng Yao, why does your – why does Sect Leader Jin claim he doesn’t know who you are?”

Meng Yao opened his mouth, eyes flickering as he wondered what he could say that would save face all around and avoid starting a fight between Nie Mingjue, who he liked, and his father, who he still needed to one day acknowledge him – it would be a tricky tightrope.

One he never had to walk.

Nie Mingjue held up a hand, looking annoyed. “If you’re going to lie, just tell me you don’t know.”

“…I don’t know,” Meng Yao said obediently. His father preferred to pretend he didn’t exist, even though he owed Nie Mingjue more than that; admitting that, however, would be causing unnecessary trouble.

Nie Mingjue scowled. “You’re welcome to come back, if you find yourself unfulfilled here. The man I replaced you with is a – well. He’s not up to your standard.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Sect Leader Nie, but – there’s another way, I think, to win enough merit to make my father have no choice but to see me.”

He surveyed Nie Mingjue’s expression, wondering if he would at last find disdain – but no, the man merely nodded, as if planning to force one’s own father into submission was an entirely reasonable, justified, and righteous path. Perhaps it was, if the father in question was Jin Guangshan.

“I have been studying the Wen sect’s techniques,” Meng Yao said. “I believe I can infiltrate their forces.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “You held the sword well enough to pass for a Wen,” he said, and Meng Yao hadn’t realized he’d arrived early enough to see that. “But it won’t last for very long.”

“I wouldn’t need it to,” Meng Yao explained. “My father has mistreated me, and everyone knows it – it wouldn’t be so hard to claim that I was defecting because I had had enough. Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of his enemy’s sons as a servant.”

He’d accumulated a month’s worth of bruises on his back for that very reason.

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepened. “You don’t need to do this.”

“It will help us win,” Meng Yao countered. “You know my skills, Sect Leader Nie; my memory is excellent and I’m not very noticeable – I can find plans, maps, instructions; I will find ways to send them on to the forces on our sides. You don’t have a single spy as good as I can be. Think of all the battles we can win – the lives we’ll save! Cultivators and common people both!”

“And it will win you the merit you need.”

Meng Yao nodded. That was the main point, of course; the rest was all just talk.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw worked as he thought it over. Schemes and deception were not his forte; he had spies, as did all the other Sect Leaders, and shared information with them freely, but it had never been the way he liked to do things.

Meng Yao’s heart was in his mouth as he waited for Nie Mingjue’s judgment. If it were anyone else, he would have just thanked him and bid him goodbye without sharing his plans; but Nie Mingjue had gone to Jin Guangshan and asked about him, without prompting, entirely unbidden – he would make a fuss if Meng Yao just disappeared. Better to tell him.

Better to gamble on respect.

“…Wen Ruohan would enjoy having one of Sect Leader Jin’s blood in his ranks,” Nie Mingjue finally said, the words coming out slow and reluctant. “But not as much as he would enjoy having my deputy.”

Meng Yao’s eyes curved into crescents at this unexpected delight. “Sect Leader Nie, are you proposing that we have a fight?”

Life as Jin Guangyao was about what Meng Yao had expected it to be. Nasty, mean, vicious, underhanded…Madame Jin treated him worse than a servant; Jin Guangshan, now officially Father, gave him things to organize and slave over, and expected him to thank him for the gift; Jin Zixuan mostly looked endlessly uncomfortable about everything, but he’d clearly learned long ago how to keep his mouth shut.

It wasn’t all that different from life inside the Wen sect, Meng Yao reflected. At Wen Ruohan’s side, he’d gotten to torture people and found that he had the skills for it, although not the taste: it felt good to make his enemies scream, as good as he’d always thought it would be, but in the end it wasn’t quite as good as the feeling of Nie Mingjue trusting him enough to let him set the stage for his dramatic desertion.

It certainly wasn’t anywhere as good as the moment in the Sun-Scorching Palace when Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with relief at the realization that Meng Yao hadn’t betrayed him after all, allowing himself to finally let that too-stiff back of his bend in the hands of Meng Yao and Lan Xichen, who had come at his word without so much as a question.

And that meant, irritatingly enough, that if Meng Yao wanted more of that good feeling, he was going to have to – to do that.

To be a good person.

To make the choices a good person would make, even if it was purely transactional on his part. Good deeds would get him praise and respect from the men he respected most, both of whom were now his sworn brothers; they might not get him anything more substantive than that, but – whatever.

He was good enough to find a way to get what he wanted even with being held back by stupid rules.

Most recently, he’d presented plans for lookout towers to Jin Guangshan, careful to do it in public so that no one could claim credit for the idea; his father wasn’t that interested, but it was enough to win him some merit among those watching, especially those small sects that usually had to deal with the more remote areas. Of course, plenty of people claimed it was a scheme for Lanling Jin to obtain personal benefits, but ironically enough Jin Guangshan’s disinterest did a great deal to reassure them.

No matter. He would make it work, given time.

Not that he had much time.

Jin Guangshan had him running around like a dog more often than not – organizing sect events, banquets and other things, writing correspondence, all the tasks of a deputy and none of the benefits. He even demanded that Meng Yao help him arrange his – entertainment.

Meng Yao’s lip curled.

If he weren’t so devoted to being a good person, he would have used the opportunity to ingratiate himself with his father – to try to earn his favor, or at least learn his secrets so as to use them later. But no. He had to be good.

There was more than one way to be good.

He didn’t wait for Madame Jin to find out about the new work he’d been assigned, as she undoubtedly would – Jin Guangshan was not subtle – but instead went to find her directly, throwing himself down at her feet. “Madame, I have wronged you,” he said, his forehead touching the ground. “Please select an appropriate punishment.”

She looked somewhat taken aback by it. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t say anything.

She frowned and gestured for one of her maids; the girl came back soon and whispered in her ear. Madame Jin scowled. “And you helped him?”

“He is my father,” Meng Yao said, not looking up.

She huffed, clearly irritated, and seemed about to start scolding, but then she gave a thoughtful hum instead.

Face hidden by the floor, Meng Yao smiled.

“You came here,” she said thoughtfully. “He’s your father – but you came here. You disapprove?”

He didn’t say anything. It’d be easier for him if she put together the pieces herself: he’d certainly been dropping hints hard enough, these past few weeks.

“Of course you would,” she continued, and yes, there it was, there she was, going down the path he wanted her to go down. “Your mother…you never stay late at the banquets where there are entertainers, or else you’re always in the kitchen, in the back, helping work on something. You never indulge yourself – I’d wager you despise them all, don’t you? Filial child…and it wasn’t as though your mother could say no, working where she did.”

His mother, when Jin Guangshan had visited her, had been a famous talent – she’d been educated, conversant in books and excelling in music. She still had her pick of clients, back then, though she’d been getting older, over twenty; she’d placed her hope on Jin Guangshan, deciding to bear his child.

Her hope had been misplaced.

“Still, it’s intolerable – for all that you’re a bastard, you’re still his blood; it’s a disgrace on the Sect’s name to be treating you like his personal procurer!”

“Madame Jin, please punish me,” Meng Yao said. “He will undoubtedly ask again; how can I say no? It’s not as though I have your power to find and punish him.”

“But you do,” she said, eyes bright as she leaned forward. “You were a spy once, weren’t you? I heard you talking about it just the other day, how you sent reports back to our side – whenever he asks this of you again, send me word at once. I will interfere, and it won’t be your fault at all.”

Good, very good. But not quite enough –

“But Madame!” he protested. “He will surely guess –”

“I’m not so foolish as to reveal it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Though it would be better to make it rare…how about this? I’ll assign you to accompany A-Xuan. The old man wouldn’t dare ask you to do such filthy things when my A-Xuan is around!”

Perfect.

“You’re too kind, Madame Jin,” he said. He didn’t much like procuring whores for his father, that much was true, but it wasn’t what he was trying to avoid: no, what he wanted to avoid was his father’s laboratories, devoted to figuring out the Yiling Patriarch’s methods of demonic cultivation – to steal the man’s power for himself.

That, too, was something Jin Guangshan wouldn’t dare to involve him in if Jin Zixuan was around.

Though – speaking of that, he really needed to resolve the issue with Wei Wuxian. It had been rather a big fuss after he’d stolen away the Wen sect remnants; his father was campaigning to pressure the Jiang sect to eject him or else take responsibility. The other sects were watching.

Something would have to be done.

What would a good person do?

Meng Yao honestly had no idea. Perhaps this was something he could consult Lan Xichen for.

Meng Yao had always known that listening was the best way to get someone to talk. A face that didn’t seem to judge, a tilt of the head that suggested attention – his mother had shown him all the tricks to manipulate people.

He just hadn’t realized there were so many people willing to sign up to get manipulated.

“Perhaps it would be better if you told him,” he told Wei Wuxian gently. With Madame Jin’s help, he’d started taking regular trips away from Koi Tower; one of them had been to volunteer to accompany Lan Wangji on one of his trips to the Burial Mounds, as a favor to Lan Xichen, and this time, he’d stayed behind to have a little chat.

His father had approved the trip on the basis that he was supposed to get information from Wei Wuxian – and he was, just not the sort his father wanted.

“You don’t even know what it is,” Wei Wuxian insisted, twisting his sleeve in his hands anxiously. “It’d break his heart –”

“And your distance isn’t? Think about how he’d feel if he found at later that you were keeping a secret from him, a reason to explain everything…that’d be worse, wouldn’t it?”

“Why would he need to find out at all?”

“Because of you, of course. As long as you live, it will be his fault if something happens to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tensed. “His fault?”

“Naturally. Why are so many people willing to crusade against you? Shouting support no matter if they were involved or not, condemning you in vast numbers? It’s because he’s not on good terms with you, because his attitude never showed that your bond was too strong to be broken. In the end, even if the distance between you was because of your secret, don’t you think he’ll blame himself for all that happened to you?”

Wei Wuxian looked stricken.

“Whatever it is, you should tell him,” Meng Yao coaxed. “I’ve spoken with Sect Leader Jiang, you know –”

Only briefly, but if this scheme worked, he’d insist on having several talks like this. The man’s mind was a gigantic mess, and it would do him good to have someone help him put it back in order.

That’s what a good man would do.

That the shape of that order would also accrue to Meng Yao’s benefit – a pleasant side effect.

“– His words are harsh, but his confusion and pain are evident. He’s suffering every day, rebuilding that sect of his, all alone…”

Wei Wuxian jumped up. “Don’t you think I want to be there to help him?” he demanded. “But I can’t just abandon the Wens, either!”

Meng Yao opened his eyes wide. “Is that the choice?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him, his eyes narrowing – a little dangerous, but then, Meng Yao had played Wen Ruohan between his fingers. What was one Yiling Patriarch in comparison?

“Lianfeng-zun,” he said. “What are you saying? There’s another choice?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said. “My first loyalty is to my father. I’m sure you understand.”

“Your father,” Wei Wuxian mused. “Your father…his was the first voice to condemn me. And yet he’s always sniffing around my heels, demanding that I hand over my Stygian Tiger Seal…he’s not just scared of my power, is he? He wants it specifically. He wants – what does he want?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Meng Yao said.

“But there is something.”

Meng Yao shrugged, indicating his helplessness. “I owe my father filial loyalty,” he reminded Wei Wuxian. “But I also have a duty to the world – it’s very difficult to walk the line between one’s family and one’s conscience.”

Meng Yao didn’t actually have a conscience, but he’d heard things.

Wei Wuxian grabbed his hands. “Lianfeng-zun, I owe you for this,” he said, very seriously. “Thank you.”

And then he rushed out the door – probably headed to the Lotus Pier first, and then to Koi Tower. There were all sorts of clues left out for him to find.

The scandal when his father’s little experiments in demonic cultivation were discovered would either bring down Jin Guangshan or rehabilitate Wei Wuxian – maybe even both, and just in time for Jin Zixuan’s wedding.

Meng Yao got up with a stretch.

It was really surprisingly nice being a good person.

Meng Yao had always thought he would need to be at the top to be happy – that it would always boil his blood to see Jin Zixuan placed above him, through nothing more but an accident of birth.

More recently, though, he’d been rethinking his position.

“Sorry, Sect Leader,” he said, face fill of smiles – sincere, for once. “That information’s confidential. I couldn’t possibly betray your confidence by taking a look at it.”

Jin Zixuan’s glare was distinctly weakened by the giant circles under his eyes: he looked like a sleepy panda. “I know for a fact that you helped Sect Leader Nie with this sort of thing.”

Meng Yao put his hands over his heart. “I wasn’t yet aware –”

“A-Yao! Please! I don’t even care what you do with it!”

Meng Yao finally broke and laughed. “I can’t do it,” he said, and Jin Zixuan almost whined like a sad dog, “because I already did it yesterday. You just need to sign these papers and then you can go get some sleep before your baby wakes up.”

“Is there some promotion I can give you?” Jin Zixuan wondered, looking deeply relieved and already half asleep.

“I’m already your second-in-command, and I more or less run Koi Tower,” Meng Yao said. “The only thing I don’t need to do is get yelled at by people who are unhappy with my decisions, which is your job.”

“Why do I somehow feel like I got the short end of the stick?”

“No idea,” Meng Yao said blithely. “It’s your inheritance, after all.”

Their father had been dead for four months – sadly, the whole mess with demonic cultivation hadn’t done the trick, though it had effectively rehabilitated Wei Wuxian’s reputation; once he’d been cast into the same bucket as the Yiling Patriarch, it had been in Jin Guangshan’s best interest to make the entire cultivation world accept demonic cultivation as a valid, if dangerous, cultivation path.

Meng Yao had had to take other measures.

It couldn’t really be considered patricide: he’d been so understandably distraught to find out what his father had done to poor Madam Qin, and what that meant about Qin Su, all coming out right before he’d been prepared to marry her – any good person would have done as he’d done and told Qin Cangye.

It was a good thing that he hadn’t followed his initial instincts to bed Qin Su before the marriage. He’d considered it, since a pregnancy would make it impossible for Qin Cangye, that old stiff-neck, to back out at the last minute, but he’d reminded himself that a good person wouldn’t do it that way.

A good person would go to his two sworn brothers and look sad about the whole dilemma until Lan Xichen, at least, was fooled into going to offer an encouraging word.

Nie Mingjue thought Meng Yao was being especially full of shit and claimed that he would never get involved in any romantic matters whatsoever. His later invitation for Sect Leader Qin to go night-hunting with him shortly thereafter, a casual demonstration of the power behind Meng Yao, had nevertheless helped just as much than Lan Xichen’s friendly chat – the carrot and the stick.

In the end, of course, it all came to nothing marriage-wise, but it’d gotten his father out of the way, under such circumstances that made Meng Yao look good, Jin Guangshan look wretched, and put Qin Cangye deep into Meng Yao’s debt – and even got him several months of pampering by two very apologetic and sympathetic sworn brothers.

An even better result than the marriage, however sweet Qin Su had been.

Since then, he’d finally had the chance to do what he wanted, especially given how busy Jin Zixuan was busy with his new son, who had colic, and his troublesome brothers-in-law that were always visiting.

Jiang Cheng had in fact greatly benefited from his chats with Meng Yao – he’d had a lot of problems, as Meng Yao had suspected, starting with his childhood and continuing through some fairly staggeringly bad parenting choices on the part of the last generation of Jiangs, and it did him a great deal of good to have a comforting ear that could manipulate his emotions to a more even keel. His relationship with Wei Wuxian was slowly being repaired, though the latter’s new relationship with Hanguang-Jun was causing some bumps in the road, reawakening those tender feelings of jealousy and possessiveness and fear that he was once again losing his best friend.

(Lan Xichen, in contrast, had been thrilled. Apparently he’d known for years and hadn’t once let on to anyone. And something about – loquats? For once in his life, Meng Yao didn’t want to know.)

Actually, Meng Yao was more proud of the stroke of brilliance he’d had in sending Su She to be Jiang Cheng’s escort for a season – Su She had always wanted respect more than anything else, hating any and all people of higher status (most of the world, unfortunately), but being forced to listen to Jiang Cheng’s entire mess for several months was enough to make even him feel bad, no matter the difference between their positions.

He’d even finally agreed to remove the curse from Jin Zixun.

No, it was all working out very well: he had all four of the leaders of the Great Sects and the Yiling Patriarch supporting him, he could dump all the parts of being in charge that he didn’t like on Jin Zixuan’s lap, and anyone who even thought about calling him the son of a prostitute would very quickly find themselves rethinking it at the end of little Xue Chengmei’s knife or Mo Xuanyu’s teary eyes, depending on which approach they thought would be more effective.

Now that was an unlikely pair to have adopted each other as brothers: Xue Yang had been the most talented demonic cultivator in Jin Guangshan’s little nest, a twelve-year-old delinquent from Kuizhou (Wei Wuxian had thrown a fit), and Mo Xuanyu was the emotionally unstable, cowardly cutsleeve son that Jin Guangshan had brought back specifically to irritate Meng Yao. Meng Yao had deliberately forced them to share a room in the hopes that they would balance each other out, and it had worked surprisingly well.

Of course, Meng Yao still had no idea what to do with either of them, especially ever since they’d developed crushes on two travelling cultivators – apparently Xue Yang was also a cutsleeve, just much less obvious about it – but he supposed it didn’t really matter. He’d figure it out.

Eventually.

He had time - time and good company, now that the Song of Clarity was helping calm Nie Mingjue’s endless temper. Lan Xichen had promised to teach it to Meng Yao as well, so that they could play it for Nie Mingjue together, and then switch out - Meng Yao had suggested that Nie Huaisang learn it as well, both to help calm his older brother and to ensure that he would be able to calm himself in the inevitable future when his own cultivation got to be too much for him.

In the end, it seemed respect was something you could live on after all.

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #wangxian #3zun #nieyao #and this is what happens when Meng Yao lets someone else win ONE argument #ramblebrambleamble

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lillotte17 · 3 years

Text

Blossoms on a Bough

Fix-it/filler for the end of episode 36!!!

The first thing Wen Kexing notices, once his mind has floated up towards any sense of consciousness, is a bright cool light shining on his face. His brows twitch downwards in irritation, the intensity of it stinging his eyes even while they are still closed. His body feels like lead, and his thoughts are thick and muddy. He just wants to ignore the light and drift back off to sleep.

Wherever he is, he seems to have landed on something relatively soft and warm. It is surprising, since his general ideas about the netherworld involve darkness and cold, but he is certainly not going to complain. Perhaps, given the long list of his transgressions, his soul flew right past the Yellow River and dropped straight into hell, and now he is being fried in a pot just like that chicken that had chased Chengling around the Four Seasons Manor. The thought makes him want to laugh, but there is an odd tightness in his chest, so the best he can manage is an incredibly weak cough.

A faint rustling of cloth sounds by his ear as whatever he is reclining on shifts slightly. There is a vague sense of presence nearby, but he cannot tell more than that. Almost against his will, he cracks his eyes open to see who might be trapped in the stew pot with him, but there is only a dark looming blur surrounded by pale watery light. It makes him think of Zhou Zishu; his face bathed in sunshine, in moonshine, in starlight. He always seemed to glow with something intangible and dream-like. And Wen Kexing -helpless little month- could do nothing else but follow after it.

“Ah Xu,” he exhales in the barest of whispers.

A scent lingers in the air around him, crisp and lightly musky. It reminds him of burying his fingers in long dark tresses. Of the tenderness and care taken combing the tangles out of them afterwards. Of sliding his own hair pin into the carefully twisted knot at the crown of Zhou Zishu’s head. He should have brought him a different one to replace it, he thinks blearily. The key was most likely lost or broken in all of that snow, and now he will have nothing to remember him by.

This place is strange, wherever it is. Soothing and disorientating all at once. Is it some sort of hallucination? Did his soul get lost somewhere between life and death? Is he a true ghost now, doomed to wander the world in hopeless despair, witnessing joys he can no longer take part in? Thoughts spin around in his head in a billion tiny fragments. He cannot quite seem to catch hold of any of them, or arrange them in a pattern that makes sense.

“Am I dead?” he wonders aloud, his voice thin and raspy, not expecting an answer.

“You fucking better not be,” a cross reply rumbles out from somewhere above him.

Wen Kexing blinks. The sun still burns his eyes, but after a few moments of intense squinting, the dark blur leaning over him reconfigures itself into a familiar and beloved face. Zhou Zishu, leaning back against a dusty wall with Wen Kexing pulled more than half way into his lap.

“What…happened?” Wen Kexing wonders, head positively spinning in bafflement. Now that he is waking up a bit more, he is becoming more aware of his body’s aches and pains. It feels like a horse kicked him in the chest and then he fell into a river and drowned. Even wincing hurts.

“Something went wrong with the ritual,” Zishu tells him. His voice is raw and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks as haggard as Wen Kexing feels. “You collapsed. Your heart meridians were severely damaged, and your hair turned white. You must have used too much of your internal force. It has been more than three days since you lost consciousness and…I thought…”

His voice splinters and he trails off, looking away from him for a moment.

“But…it worked?” Wen Kexing presses, trying to feebly grip at Zhou Zishu’s sleeve, “You can hear me talking again now, so that means that it worked, right? The rest is fine, so long as it saved you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zhou Zishu answers, the first traces of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes. You are here.” Wen Kexing echoes, as though he still cannot quite believe it, “And…I am here, too.”

“You are.” Zishu confirms, his arms tightening around him, carefully tugging him up until he is all but leaning into his chest. “It was a near thing, though. My medical knowledge is limited, and even with the Yin Yang book, I was not certain that I could heal you.”

“Rong Xuan’s wife allegedly used the teachings in the book to heal his heart meridians and other serious injuries when he was near death several times over,” Wen Kexing hums thoughtfully, casually tilting his head against Zishu’s shoulder, “But she was an experienced physician. You have had no training, and yet you saved me on the first try. You must possess some kind of natural affinity for it. Ah Xu, you have so many talents, I am having a hard time keeping track of them all.”

“It had nothing to do with affinity,” Zhou Zishu huffs, sounding exasperated and perhaps even the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It was pure dumb luck.”

“Eh?”

“The Four Seasons Sect has a special technique that cripples someone’s heart meridians,” he explains somberly, a humorless smirk on his face, “I used it against Prince Jin to keep him alive, but bedridden. My master taught it to me, and as far as I know, I am the only one left alive who knows how to perform it.”

“That is very interesting, Ah Xu, but I am not certain I understand what it has to do with dumb luck,” Wen Kexing says smilingly.

“My master…he also told me how to counter the technique, so that the person’s heart meridians could be healed again and their qi could flow properly,” Zhou Zishu continues, turning his head slightly to directly meet Wen Kexing’s gaze. “I did not have much hope when I opened the Yin Yang book. You were slipping away, and there was no time for in-depth research. But…when I found the section detailing how someone with damaged meridians might be cured, it was obvious that…the techniques I learned from my master were based on this knowledge.”

“So…that means…my parents…?” Wen Kexing looks a bit lost at the revelation.

Zhou Zishu nods.

“It is likely that Lady Yue Feng’Er and your parents shared this precious knowledge with their friends, and possibly even helped my master develop this skill. I was only able to save you because of this.”

Wen Kexing furrows is brows, his thoughts whirling and his emotions complex. He seemingly stares at the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s lapels for what feels like ages, looking but not seeing, pensive and moody. Finally, he lets out a very tired-sounding sigh.

“And I only managed to save you because that dumb bastard Rong Xuan stole the manual for the Six Cultivation Techniques,” he says, sounding bitter, “But maybe no one would have needed all this saving in the first place if that old monster had never let his idiot disciple leave the mountain to begin with.”

Zhou Zishu frowns down at him.

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, a bit sulky, “The past is past. Zhao Jing was punished and the rest are dead. There is no point stewing on it now. I have just…been angry about it for so long, sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be anymore. Be patient with me, Ah Xu.”

“Hm?” Zishu blinks, as though suddenly coming back to himself. “Oh, it wasn’t about that.”

“Then what?”

“I was just thinking that…it really could not have been anyone else,” Zhou Zishu tells him slowly, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “I said it was only dumb luck, because I never believed in destiny all that much before. If you want to achieve something in this world, you have to be willing to create it for yourself. But…for things to end up this way… It had to be you, and it had to be me, didn’t it?”

Wen Kexing bursts out laughing, utterly delighted.

“I always knew you had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior,” he grins, slightly breathless, with an almost pleasant ache in his ribs, “But Ah Xu, I never imagined that you were secretly a romantic.”

“Shut up,” Zishu grunts, pinching his arm until he yelps, “Who is romantic?”

“Ai, there is no need to be shy about it now, is there?” Wen Kexing says pleadingly, giggling to himself all the while, “There is no one here except us.”

“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees blithely, a truly terrifying expression stealing across his face, “There is no one on this entire mountain except for you and me.”

“Ah Xu, don’t do anything rash,” Wen Kexing cajoles with a hint of genuine nervousness, “I only teased you a little bit, and I am still in such a delicate state of health. If you throw me out in the snow and beat me, I really won’t be-”

Zhou Zishu kisses him then, and whatever he won’t be promptly flies out of his head like a startled flock of birds.

The kiss is softer than he would have guessed, if he had gotten a moment to anticipate it. Clumsy, but tender. Hasty, but sincere. The mouth pressed so suddenly against his own trembles just slightly right before it pulls away. A thousand years too soon.

It is nowhere near the first time they have kissed each other, but Wen Kexing is almost always the instigator. It suits his own preferences to take the lead in most physical forms of intimacy anyway, so he would never complain about it. However, it does make the times Zhou Zishu reaches for him first feel more…something. Something that makes his heart full, and his eyes itch.

It makes him feel as though he is not only being accepted by this man, but chosen by him, too. As his partner. As his equal. As his friend. Lovers and soulmates and all the rest.

Wen Kexing is not certain that anyone else has ever chosen him before.

Not when there were other, better, options on hand, at any rate.

He swallows thickly, gazing up at Zhou Zishu with wide, startled eyes. Little flecks of cold mountain sunlight catch in the dark sweep of the other man’s hair almost like snowflakes. His grin is wide and fierce. Buoyant and hopeful in a way he has never been in all the time they have known each other. He looks impossibly beautiful, and horribly pleased with himself for managing to derail Wen Kexing’s usual babbling. There might be the slightest touch of pink to his ears, though.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing chokes out.

I love you.

But the words get stuck in his throat.

“What?” Zishu laughs, “Do you ever get tired of calling me?”

“No.” Wen Kexing offers him a weak smile in return, shifting out of his hold a little so they can sit facing one another.

Zhou Zishu heaves an exasperated sigh, but his eyes remain bright, his expression one of incalculable fondness.

“Is that all you were saying during the ritual?” he wonders, half joking, “You just sat there calling my name?”

“Huh?”

“You said earlier that you had tried speaking to me, but my hearing had gone,” Zhou Zishu reminds him, “What did you say?”

“Oh, yes, it was mostly just your name over and over,” Wen Kexing nods, “Plus a few embarrassing personal anecdotes I felt like sharing. Once I knew you had no way to stop me, I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Yes, Ah Xu?”

“After all we have been through together, what could you possibly still have to tell me that you think I would be unwilling to hear?”

Wen Kexing makes a face, caught outright.

“It…is not so much a matter of thinking you would not hear me out,” he admits carefully, “It is more that there are just things that are difficult to say to someone. The more important they are to you, the harder it gets, so between you and me… But when a man feels his end has come, all sorts of things seem to tumble out unwillingly.”

Zhou Zishu looks positively stricken.

“You could tell that the cultivation technique was backfiring?” he hisses out, gasping Wen Kexing by the shoulders, “And you still kept going?”

“What else could I do?” Wen Kexing asks helplessly, “If I had stopped wouldn’t we both die? Would it be better if I had starved to death with your corpse in my arms? Besides, that old monster promised me that this technique could save you, so no matter what the cost was going to be, of course I-”

“So, you knew there would be a cost already?” Zhou Zishu cuts him off, expression like a brewing storm cloud, “You knew this was likely going to injure you, and you did not even think to warn me first? We could have prepared beforehand! You could have looked through the Yin Yang book and point out things that I could use to help you in an emergency! Dammit, Lao Wen, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!”

“Was there really time for things like that?” Wen Kexing argues back, “Your senses were already dying out one by one, if we did not try the technique as soon as possible, you might not have been able to complete it! If I told you how risky it is, would you agree to it? Would you still let me try to save you?”

“I deserve the right to make that choice!” Zhou Zishu shouts hoarsely.

“You do!” Wen Kexing agrees just as hotly, “But I owe it to Chengling to save his family. And I owe it to our master to save his teachings. And I owe it to you most of all. I ruined your chance at happiness. To rebuild the Four Seasons with Chengling and the other new disciples. You threw it all away to try and avenge me… The number of people in this world who have been good to me are few enough to count on one hand. I would do anything for them, and you most of all. How could I live without repaying this debt?”

“And what if I hadn’t been able to save you?!” Zhou Zishu demands thunderously.

“I didn’t expect you to save me!”

For a few moments, the words seem to echo of the cold walls of the armory, bouncing back at them over and over. The silence that follows after them is deafening. Zishu’s eyes are red, and his hands are trembling on Wen Kexing’s biceps, but he looks as though he is about to breathe fire.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and deadly, “Very good. You feel like you owe me so much, but all you want to do is torture me.”

“What?” Wen Kexing baulks, “No! Ah Xu, that’s not what I-”

But before he can finish the thought Zhou Zishu has already pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his breathing erratic, and his face buried in the side of his neck. Wen Kexing makes a pained grunt, his ribs still tender from previous injury. It only makes Zishu’s grip on him tighten, however, holding onto him with a furious desperation.

“In such a short stretch of time, I have had to see you dead or dying before my eyes over and over again,” he mumbles thickly into the silk of Wen Kexing’s robes, “You spent all this time chasing me down, pestering me to let you stay by my side, begging me not to die, and telling me to find things to feel hopeful about. But now it seems as though you are set on leaving me behind.”

“I never wanted to leave you,” Wen Kexing protests, but his voice seems to have lost all of its strength, “I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if I died, and you had to be sad for a while, you have so much left to live for, and I wanted you to have it. I just wanted you to be…happy.”

“Bastard,” Zhou Zishu laughs wetly, “Wen Kexing, you really are…the absolute worst sort of person.”

Wen Kexing sags in his embrace, his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. His head droops, white hair falling across his eyes. Utterly defeated.

“I know.”

Zhou Zishu finally pulls back from him. There are obvious tear tracks down his cheeks, but he still looks fierce, regardless. He takes Wen Kexing roughly by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You are also…my happiness.”

Wen Kexing gapes at him, for once in his life completely at a loss for words. Seeing an opening, Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to kiss him again. Harsher this time. Brief and chaste and biting. It does not seem to help the other man’s sense of bafflement in the slightest. Indeed, Lao Wen looks as though his soul might have just flown straight out of his body.

Zishu smiles at him again, but there is still something sharp and wounded at its edges.

“Eternity would be an empty place without you,” he says quietly, “How could you leave me to bear it alone?”

“I…I’m…sorry,” Wen Kexing sputters, as though he does not know what else to say. He finally reaches back for Zhou Zishu, cautiously taking hold of his wrists. The ache in his chest seems to have spread outward, and he is shaking so badly that he fears he might not be able to sit up straight much longer. “I’m sorry. I just did not… I did not know how else to save you.”

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu nods in understanding, “I suppose I can forgive you for it this time, although some part of me still would like nothing so much as to throw you outside and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“I will accept any punishment you want to give me,” Wen Kexing tells him earnestly.

“Alright,” Zhou Zishu grins, “Then pay me back with your whole life. Stay alive, and stay with me. Always.”

Wen Kexing blinks in surprise, but the next moment he is laughing. Dizzy with relief and unexpected joy. Marveling at the gifts that fate has blessed him with after so many years of hatred and heartache.

“I can do that.”

When Zhou Zishu wakes up later that night Wen Kexing is sitting at the opposite end of their makeshift bed in nothing but his under robe. His back is facing him, and he takes a moment to stare at the snowy cascade of his hair. The living proof of what Lao Wen would sacrifice for him. It looks beautiful on him, as everything else seems to, but Zishu thinks he prefers the rich dark brown that he was born with. This new color comes with a twinge of guilt.

Not that he would ever say so.

“Lao Wen,” he calls softly, “What are you doing?”

Wen Kexing’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.

“Don’t come over,” he replies, “I’m not finished yet.”

“Ai,” Zishu grins, scooting close enough to lightly tug at a few strands of that bone white hair, “But that just makes me want to come over even more.”

“I have a knife,” Lao Wen says coolly, “I will use it if I have to.”

“You left our bed in the middle of the night to play with a knife?” Zishu laughs, not intimidated in the least. “Why?”

“If you stop pestering me for a few minutes maybe you’ll find out,” Wen Kexing snaps. Zhou Zishu is not fooled, though. He had caught the sharp inhale of breath when he had said the words ‘our bed’, and he is all but certain that Lao Wen’s threats are empty.

“But you’ll catch cold,” he coaxes, slipping his arms about his waist and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He obligingly resists the urge to peek at whatever secret Wen Kexing is fiddling with, though. The other man sighs, but does nothing to discourage him, as expected.

“The next time you accuse me of being insufferable, I want you to remember this conversation,” Wen Kexing says wryly.

“It must be your bad influence,” Zhou Zishu chuckles.

Wen Kexing hums noncommittally, going back to whatever he had been working on before. Zhou Zishu sits patiently behind him, leaning into the warm curve of his back, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the faint scraping sound of a blade chipping away at something. The proximity is comfortable, and the quiet almost meditative, and before long Zishu is already half way back to being asleep.

“Alright,” Lao Wen says finally, carefully pulling himself free of Zhou Zishu’s arms and turning to face him, “You can look now.”

Zishu has to shake himself a little to wake up again, but once he does, he finds that Lao Wen is holding out what appears to be an oddly shaped icicle.

“…What is it?” he asks after a few moments of trying to puzzle it out for himself.

Wen Kexing frowns.

“It’s a hair pin,” he tells him, as though it should be obvious.

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, saying ‘ah’ with such a doubting face?” Wen Kexing huffs in annoyance, “Of course it is a hair pin, what else would it be? You lost the one I gave you before, so now I have to give you a new one to replace it.”

“I lost the one you gave me before?” Zhou Zishu laughs.

“That’s right,” Wen Kexing nods seriously, “But I promise not to be mad about it.”

“Philanthropist Wen is too kind.”

“It’s true,” Lao Wen sighs dramatically, “People are always taking advantage of my generous nature.”

He firmly places the hair pin in Zhou Zishu’s hands. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be roughly shaped like a tree branch. There are two lumpy circles that might be meant to be flowers attempting to bloom from it. The finished product is crude, but the ice is clear and crystalline. Pretty, even despite the skill level of the craftsman.

“It is meant to be plum blossoms,” Wen Kexing admits somewhat sheepishly, “One bloom for each of us. There was meant to be a bud for Chengling, too, but I accidentally broke it off. Hopefully, that is not an inauspicious sign for him.”

“I see,” Zhou Zishu says, because he does see, and just like the morning he had woken up to find the Four Seasons Manor cleaned and Wen Kexing diligently repairing his master’s old painting, he feels very much like he wants nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms again.

“Ah Xu, will you accept it?” Wen Kexing asks, slightly trepidatious at his lack of reaction.

“Of course,” Zishu smiles easily, “But it’s made of ice, after all. If I wear it, it will likely melt or break in a day or so.”

“If it breaks, I will just make you a new one,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes soft. He plucks the hair pin from Zhou Zishu’s fingers, reaching up and carefully sliding it into the loose knot at the base of his ponytail. “I can make you a new one every day, if I have to. With any luck, they will eventually look less ugly.”

He takes Zhou Zishu’s hands in his own.

“There are still things I am not good at saying,” he tells him, “Things that I want to share with you. Things that you deserve to hear. Right now, my skills are not enough, but just like with the hair pin, if I keep working at it every day, eventually I can give you something worth having.”

Zhou Zishu tugs him down into his embrace. He thinks about kissing him. About pushing him down and pulling his robe open and showing him, again, how very much he is wanted. But Lao Wen is still recovering from injuries, and it would be a shame to snap his new hair pin tussling around in the sheets. So, he makes do with holding him close, for now. Tangling his fingers in hair the color of starlight.

“Say them, or don’t say them,” he says quietly against the shell of Wen Kexing’s ear, “Whatever they are, they have no bearing on your worth to me.”

“Doesn’t that seem like my current value is lower than mud?” Wen Kexing laughs nervously.

“It means you are treasured,” Zishu corrects him firmly, “There is no price that I would sell you for.”

“I suppose that means I can stop living in fear that you would truly try and sell me to a brothel.”

“You really are a brat.”

“Ah Xu?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

#word of honor #faraway wanderers #word of honor spoilers #wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #fic #this story did not listen to me AT ALL #these two NEVER listen to me!!!#I wanted to write domestic fluff about hair brushing #but noooo

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 3 years

Note

I found this on Instagram and honestly, I wanna ask why???? One would think that threatening your supposed brother with his worst fear would be enough for people to understand that JC is not a good person

"Well well, the YiLing Laozu has died? Who was the one to kill him?”

“Who would have other than his shidi, Jiang Cheng, he put an end to his own brother for the greater good. (Jiang Cheng certainly DID tell the world this even though the seal was what ended Wei Wuxian).

Jiang Cheng led the Sects YunmengJiang (He also DID do this since he knew exactly where the wen settlement was and slaughtered civilian Wens with The Jins), LanlingJin, GusuLan, and QingheNie (Now, we all know as the story tells us these other two were in the wings compared to the leading forces) to destroy his hole, at Burial Mound.”

However, there was a nagging thought which stayed in the back of everyone’s mind; Nobody could summon Wei WuXian’s fragmented soul, though he had died at Burial Mound.

Perhaps it had been torn apart by the thousands of ghosts that devoured him. (Cue Wei Wuxian "let's make one thing clear, I killed me thank you")

Or, just maybe, it had escaped. (Cue Q-conspiracy Jiang Cheng "WEI WUXIAN I'LL FIND YOUR SOUL AND DESTROY IT)

If it was the first, then all was well. Nobody doubted the fact that the YiLing Laozu had the power to move mountains and empty seas. But, if it escaped, his soul would eventually return to be reborn, or possess a body. If that day came, the cultivation world, the whole world, would be faced with the most crazed damnations and vengeance, sinking into nothing but chaos and blood. (Oh hey look early foreshadowing for Jiang Cheng's M.O. for a whole thirteen years because he went obsessive).

To add on to that point above:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. After thinking it through, he made a gesture. The disciples understood his intentions and came over. (Jiang Cheng in his own head, in his own MIND says he is gonna set his disciples to drag away someone he suspects of being Wei Wuxian and has done this before enough times for his disciples to know the gig and let him torture away at Lotus Pier. THE MAN SAID IT HIMSELF AND MADE IT FACT AS LAN JINGYI DAYS LATER AND IS NOTORIOUS FOR BEING A PSYCHO TORTURER OF RANDOS).

That infamous meeting:

Wei WuXian immediately raised his head, “I haven’t forgotten! It’s just that…”

Yet, he just couldn’t find the right words to put after it.

Jiang Cheng interrupted, “It’s just what? You can’t say it? Don’t worry, you can go back to Lotus Pier and say your excuses while kneeling in front of my parents’ graves.” (YEAH GEEZ, just wants TEA with his estranged cut off Shixiong not brother and never was a brother cause martial is not the damn same as relatives, never mind that Wei Wuxian doesn't want that and definitely doesn't want to after Jiang Cheng insults Lan Wangji's entire person.)

Bonus:

Seeing Jiang Cheng turn around, Wei WuXian immediately pulled a mixed expression of “ I’m so shocked, my secret has been disclosed,” and “what do I do now that Wen Ning has been found”. Jin Ling was actually quite clever. Knowing that Jiang Cheng hated Wen Ning more than anything, he made up such a smooth lie with the previous knowledge he had. Jiang Cheng knew that the YiLing Laozu and the Ghost General often appeared together, so he already suspected that Wen Ning was in the area. Having heard Jin Ling’s words, he was already mostly convinced, and Wei WuXian’s expression convinced him even further. On top of that, he burst into a fury whenever he heard the mention of Wen Ning’s name. With his eyes blinded by wrath, how could he still have doubted? The hostility that built in his chest was almost making him explode. He flicked his whip, hitting the ground beside Wei WuXian, and spoke through clenched teeth, “You really take that obedient dog of yours everywhere, don’t you?!” (Jin Ling coming in with that "Yeah, my Jiujiu is crazy but I know how to take advantage of that to save you." You go Jin Ling, four for Jin Ling.)

Wei WuXian spoke, “He’s been dead for a long time, and I’ve died once as well. What else do you want?!”

Jiang Cheng pointed the whip at him, “So what? My hatred would persist, even if he dies thousands of times! He didn’t perish back then. Very well! I shall destroy him today, with my own hands. I’m going to burn him right now, and scatter his ashes right in front of your face!” (In the eternal words of Jiang Cheng "Can I not just hate you?" And everyone else who loves you and befriends you too because I blame you for choosing them over me and will choose to hurt them out of spite and jealousy.)

Keep in mind this is only book one still and Wei Wuxian has already put his full trust in Lan Wangji even before Lan Wangji ends the identity farce himself:

He had always thought that Jiang Cheng would be on his side, and Lan WangJi on the one opposite to him. He could never have imagined that things would turn out so differently. (Do I really have to elaborate that Wei Wuxian doesn't want Jiang Cheng by his side anymore? Or even trust him.)

And in contrast to Jiang Cheng's crazed reaction and when Lan Wangji is reunited with Wei Wuxian:

However, having taken only one step back, his ankle twisted, and he seemed as if he almost collapsed on the ground. With a change in expression, Lan WangJi hurried over and tightly gripped his wrist like what he did last time, back in Dafan Mountain. After Wei WuXian had been steadied, Lan WangJi knelt down on one knee to examine his leg. Wei WuXian was rather shocked, “N-n-no, HanGuang-Jun. You don’t have to do this.”

Lan WangJi raised his head slightly, the pair of light-colored eyes boring into him, then looked down again and continued to roll up the leg of his trousers. Still under his grip, Wei WuXian could do nothing except to look up at the sky.

His entire leg was covered with the black bruise of the Curse Mark.

After staring at it for a while, Lan WangJi spoke in a bitter voice, “… I only left for a few hours.”

Wei WuXian shrugged, “A few hours is a long time. Anything could have happened. There, there. Straighten up.” (Hanguang-Jun is SO MEAN, keeping innocent little Jiang Cheng from Wei Wuxian, who he was never hurt physically, ever in his life. Stop being dramatic Lan Wangji!)

In conclusion insta:

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #salt? salt #what is twitter and insta on cause this is some in denial flat earther comprehension

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wildmagicplant · 3 years

Text

Lan Jingyi doesn't know what he's going to do. He knows he's not a sect heir or a first disciple or the best student in the Cloud Recesses, but he is a perfectly capable cultivator. He has led a night hunt, he has accompanied Wei-qianbei on essential journeys for Hanguang-jun, and he can beat Jin Ling six times out of ten when they spar. So, the sensation he feels now—complete helplessness—has been unfamiliar to him for a long time.

It's the middle of the night. For all that Lan Jingyi has a tendency to stretch or ignore certain of the Lan rules, he generally keeps the proper hours by habit. Everything is unfamiliar under the clouded dark sky, the paths that Lan Jingyi can walk with his eyes closed suddenly new and strange. He had woken, and he hadn't known why for a moment. But then he heard something outside, the noise of someone walking none too carefully down the paths, and Lan Jingyi was curious by nature and untrusting by recent experience, and so he threw on an outer robe and slipped out of his rooms.

There had been a person in dark robes striding between the buildings, and for a second, Lan Jingyi thought it was Wei-qianbei, but that thought passed quickly. This person was stiffer in bearing and seemed unfamiliar with the Cloud Recesses. They were also carrying a sword, unsheathed and at the ready. Lan Jingyi had not thought to grab his own sword when he followed the noise. He'd been expecting a young disciple sneaking around, or maybe someone returning from a night hunt, or even someone taking a walk to find peace from troubling dreams. How did this person get through the wards?

Lan Jingyi had followed the intruder silently, hoping that he could figure out where they were headed, or maybe even come up with a plan to stop them. They had made it nearly all the way across the Cloud Recesses, and Lan Jingyi still hadn't thought of anything, the fear of what they might do and the determination not to let them get away keeping him moving regardless. Suddenly, the figure had paused, looking around. Before Lan Jingyi could panic, they'd turned decisively down the small path between two of the buildings, and Lan Jingyi had waited a moment before darting after them.

The intruder had been waiting for him, and now here he is, a sword pointed at his throat as an unfamiliar woman stares coldly at him.

"What do you want?" Lan Jingyi asks. Maybe he can keep her talking long enough that someone will notice them. Then again, who would be awake to hear?

The expression on the woman's face doesn't change. "I want a lot of things, little Lan," she says. "Right now, I want to know how you found me, and then maybe, if you're cooperative, you can lead me where I want to go."

His first instinct is to laugh at her, but he manages to restrain himself. Lan Jingyi has no interest in dying, and he's fairly certain that is exactly what laughing right now would lead to. He can't completely help himself, though, and he says, "If you'd come in the daytime, there would be plenty of people who could show you to where you wished."

"Well, I'm here now," she says brusquely. "How did you find me?"

Should he try to bluff? Give the impression that others might also find her? It depends on how much she knows of the Lan sect, probably. She seems to be looking for something, and she knew a way in, which suggests at least knowledge of the basic workings of the Cloud Recesses. She also clearly doesn't know where she's going, so it's doubtful she's ever been here before.

"I heard you," Lan Jingyi says, and waits to see how she takes it.

The woman only raises an eyebrow. "I thought all you Lans were supposed to be asleep now," she says.

She hasn't tried to kill him yet, so Lan Jingyi lets himself relax ever so slightly. "I'm a light sleeper," he says, with a little of his usual cheer.

It doesn't seem to deter her. "Will anyone else come sneaking after me?"

Lan Jingyi shrugs. He has honestly no idea. The woman's eyes narrow.

"Well, in that case, why don't you lead me to my destination, and then I can be gone before any other light sleepers hear me."

"Where are you trying to go?" he asks.

The woman smiles for the first time, and a chill runs down Lan Jingyi's spine. It reminds him of Yi City. "The library, little Lan."

He had wondered if that was her goal. There isn't much that someone would have heard of to steal from the Cloud Recesses that wasn't in the library. At least she isn't here to kill someone, which Lan Jingyi had also wondered about. He doesn't want to know what she's looking for, or what she'll do once she reaches the library.

"I'm sure I could give you directions and then be on my way," he says, mind racing. How can he get backup? Sizhui is away, traveling, and the Jingshi is too far away to reach in time. They are in a section of the Cloud Recesses mostly populated by buildings used during the day, so reaching anywhere with other people will be difficult. If he had his sword he'd fly, but if he had his sword, he could fight her, too.

Shaking her head, she says, "And let you run off for help? No, you'll lead me yourself," and lunges. She's quick, and Lan Jingyi doesn't have a chance to do anything besides yelp before the woman is behind him, her sword held across his throat. "Go on," she says in his ear. "Take me to the library. And if you make any more noise, I'll cut out your tongue."

Fuck. Lan Jingyi starts walking toward the library, trying desperately to find a way out of this. Maybe once they're at the library, he can get away from her? But what if she's not trying to steal from them, what if she wants to destroy the library? He can't take that chance, can he?

Before Lan Jingyi can start to formulate a plan, someone speaks from behind them.

"Let him go."

The woman spins, keeping her sword at Lan Jingyi's throat and her other hand at his back, and she isn't careful about it. The sword cuts into the side of his neck. It doesn't hurt much, he's had worse, but he can feel blood start to well up.

At first, Lan Jingyi thinks it's Hanguang-jun who'd spoken, having heard the low, forceful voice. He sees a tall figure in white, the bright gleam of a sword, an imposing shape in the night. How could he have gotten here so quickly, Lan Jingyi thinks, the Jingshi isn't anywhere near here. And then his eyes pick out a few more details, and he thinks he can be forgiven for his mistake. Lan Jingyi hasn't seen Zewu-jun in nearly a year, and he's never seen him this stone-faced.

"No," the woman growls, gripping the back of Lan Jingyi's robes tighter. "Stay back, or I'll kill him."

Zewu-jun's face doesn't even twitch. "Why have you invaded the Cloud Recesses and threatened one of our own?"

The woman laughs, and Lan Jingyi tries hard not to flinch away. It's a loud, mirthless sound, right in his ear. She says, "Who are you to demand answers from me?" If he weren't being held as a hostage, Lan Jingyi would gape at her. Surely she can tell that Zewu-jun is an inner sect member even if she doesn't know precisely who he is.

"Irrelevant," Zewu-jun says, and even now that Lan Jingyi has realized who it is, he still has a moment of confusion. Zewu-jun has never sounded so much like his brother. "Tell me why you're here, quickly. I don't wish to disturb anyone else."

"She was going to the library," Lan Jingyi burst out. The woman pushes her sword against his neck. He thinks he can feel more blood.

Zewu-jun takes a step closer. "Thank you, Lan Jingyi," he says. "That will not be allowed to happen. I have protected the texts of the Lan sect before. No one will ever touch them without permission again."

"Who's going to stop me?" the woman challenges.

Lan Jingyi thinks he sees a slight twist to Zewu-jun's mouth before he moves, swiftly throwing a talisman at them. He's moving too quickly for Lan Jingyi to see clearly, but he feels the woman freeze and himself gently pushed away. By the time the woman has unfrozen, Lan Jingyi is on the ground out of her reach, and Zewu-jun is in front of her, sword at the ready.

The woman grunts, swinging her sword at Zewu-jun. He brings Shuoyue up effortlessly, blocking her strike and forcing her sword to the side. She's not bad, Lan Jingyi realizes. The woman doesn't use any style he's seen before, which fits with the rogue cultivator theory he's been building, but she moves quickly and her blade is steady. She must be a cultivator because the sword she uses clearly has spiritual energy behind it, but she sticks close to the ground, barely using her energy for anything besides the control of the sword.

They trade blows for a few moments, the woman fierce and aggressive, Zewu-jun striking efficiently at every opening she leaves. It's clear to Lan Jingyi that she will tire long before he does. He's never seen Zewu-jun truly fight before, and it's incredible. There are similarities to how Hanguang-jun fights, but Hanguang-jun tends to start out strong, overwhelming opponents with power they can't hope to match with the aim of ending any fights quickly and permanently. It seems that Zewu-jun waits, biding his time with perfectly executed maneuvers (Lan Jingyi thinks, with a sort of distantly hysterical humor, that he should take notes) until he can strike out.

It doesn't take long for that point to come. The woman backs away panting.

"Why are you here?" Zewu-jun asks again. He's not even out of breath.

The woman spits a bit of blood onto the ground. "Fuck you," she snarls, and lunges forward again. Zewu-jun doesn't even block, just leaps to the side, avoiding her strike. She's definitely losing her control.

"Did you come to steal from our library or to damage it?" is Zewu-jun's next question, delivered alongside a quick stab toward her arm that she barely jumps out of the way of.

"Steal, of course," she says breathlessly. "You won't stop me," she boasts. Lan Jingyi rolls his eyes. Doesn't she realize she's losing? The woman continues, "I've already managed to sneak in once, I'll do it again. Next time I'll just kill anyone who gets in my way."

Zewu-jun's back is to Lan Jingyi, so he can't see what expression is on Zewu-jun's face. Something changes in his posture, though, and he goes on the offensive, leaping toward her with a long slice of Shuoyue. It hits her shoulder as she tries to sidestep him.

"You will not," he snaps. The woman brings her sword up again, aiming for his neck, but Zewu-jun blocks it with his sword's sheath. She tries to kick him, but he pivots forcefully, negating her blow and bringing his sheath down to hit the back of her knee. She staggers to the ground.

Shuoyue glints as Zewu-jun brings it up to her throat. "Tell me how you got in," he says, his voice steady.

The woman glares up at him and pulls her arm back to swing her sword once more. Before she even has it off the ground, her sword goes flying as Shuoyue sweeps through the air and lodges in her hand. She screams.

"I asked you several questions which you have refused to answer," Zewu-jun says, returning the tip of his blade to her throat. "You have threatened one of my disciples, the security of our home, and the most sacred possessions we have. You cannot possibly believe you will be allowed to walk free."

"You all think you're so special," she sneers, but Lan Jingyi sees her swallow and her eyes dart around. "Plenty of you still died just like everyone else during the Sunshot Campaign. All those pretty jade pendants had to go somewhere, and some of them made their way to people who're happy to sell them. It's not hard to get a hold of one."

"I see," Zewu-jun's voice has gone even colder, and Lan Jingyi is starting to fear what exactly he might do. This isn't what Lan Jingyi is used to from him. Zewu-jun was never stern, not like Hanguang-jun or xiansheng. "We will look into this. Thank you for this information." He steps back, and the woman kneels there for a moment, her hand bleeding sluggishly. Before she can move, Zewu-jun slashes his hand through the air and a glowing binding appears around her. She falls to the ground awkwardly. "You will be shown before the Lan elders in the morning. They will pass judgement." Zewu-jun turns away from the woman struggling on the ground.

Lan Jingyi can't help but stare at him. When Zewu-jun comes to him, he kneels down. "Are you okay?" he asks, helping Lan Jingyi up.

"Yeah, I'm… fine. Are… how did you know to come out?" Lan Jingyi sneaks a glance at the woman, face-down on the path. "Are you… okay?"

Zewu-jun smiles for the first time that night, but it's faint and tired looking. "I'm alright. I wasn't asleep, and I heard you." They're not far from the Hanshi, Lan Jingyi realizes now.

"I'm sorry you had to come out of seclusion for me," Lan Jingyi says.

"Don't apologize for that," Zewu-jun says, shaking his head. "I would be a poor sect leader if I allowed one of our disciples to be harmed within our own walls."

Lan Jingyi looks back at the woman again. "Should we… do something with her?"

The night is still very dark, but he can see Zewu-jun's face go cold again. "I suppose we should. I find myself disinclined to show mercy to those who try to violate the safety of the Cloud Recesses." He sighs, and Lan Jingyi remembers, in a slow trickle of half-forgotten lessons, the stories of Zewu-jun saving ancient texts from the burning of the Cloud Recesses.

"We could always leave her by the wall of discipline," he says, determinedly cheerful. "She did break a whole lot of rules."

Zewu-jun looks at him and smiles again, this time a little more genuine. "It's certainly tempting. It would likely be better if we were to leave her in a warded guest chamber, though. That way we'll know exactly where our visitor is."

Lan Jingyi huffs. "I suppose," he says, sounding as petulant as he can muster. It usually works to cheer Sizhui up, so he figures it will probably work on Zewu-jun. "You're not going to make me copy rules for this, are you?" He's not actually worried, but the normality feels necessary at the moment.

"No, I think we can overlook this once, since your actions led to the prevention of something that could have been very bad." Zewu-jun walks over to the woman and places a talisman on her head. She slumps suddenly, and Lan Jingyi thinks he hears snoring. The binding disappears, and Zewu-jun motions him over. They get her propped up between the two of them and start walking toward the guest quarters.

"Can I just say," Lan Jingyi starts, trying not to sound too delighted. It would be improper but also… "That was so cool," he gushes.

At that, Zewu-jun even laughs a little. Lan Jingyi smiles to himself. He may not be the best disciple in the Cloud Recesses, but he can stop a thief, and more importantly, he can make people happy every once in a while. That's probably good enough.

#mdzs #the untamed #lan jingyi #mo dao zu shi #this is post canon! do not ask me any other questions i did not think about simply anything else #yes i am avoiding tagging another cahracter #its for the MYSTERY #thats why this isnt going on ao3 lol #thanks to remi for enabling me #my stuff

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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Jangobi?? Jango loses his mind over Obi-Wan fighting Jar’Kai style?

(sorry this took so long, i ended up doing a little more research than planned, and angst happened! because i somehow can’t not! because galidraan and jango’s background with komari vosa gives me feelings! this sort of isn’t what you asked for but hey! jango being protective over boba!

this got really long.)

Of all the Jedi for the Order to send to rescue the Cathar younglings Jango’s been sharing his cell with for the past tenday, of kriffing course it’s Kenobi and that crazy foundling of his, rushing headfirst into the Bando Gora hideout like this particular sect hadn’t killed four Jedi masters before them.

Between the roar of jetii’kad’e and blasterfire, Jango shoves the younglings behind himself, tucking them low to the ground as rock explodes over their heads. Blaster bolts ricochet off every wall, and Jango shouldn’t be surprised by jetiise incompetence, but it’s still incredible to him that Kenobi hasn’t lost hostages before in his recklessness.

His foundling sprints by their cell for a group of droids that stream through a hidden door, his padawan braid flapping behind him as he yells a very un-Jedi-like yell that startles one of the Cathar so badly they squeak. Jango looks helplessly to Kenobi to maybe get his padawan under control, but any actual words die on his lips when he finds Kenobi through the battle smoke.

He’d had half a hope of Kenobi maybe falling to the Chiss that had taken over the Bando Gora after Vosa, but Jango is instead treated to the frankly intimidating sight of the Jedi in half-complete clone armour, calmly fighting off both the Chiss and his Rodian second in command, with nothing but the blue ‘kad that Jango recognises from their battle on Kamino.

Logically, Jango knows he barely held his ground against Kenobi all those months ago, and if he had wanted to kill Jango, he would have, but it’s something else entirely to witness that prowess from the sidelines like this. He seems almost lazy in his defense, easily blocking both vibroblade and blaster bolts as easy as breathing, and it occurs to Jango that he’s stalling, waiting for his foundling to finish off the droids so they can take down the Chiss and Rodian together. And then, it only takes four moves flat, to have the Rodian thrown into a wall and the Chiss stuck through the throat with Kenobi’s ’kad.

The silence returns as suddenly as it had left, and Jango strains his ears to hear if any more of the Bando Gora are thinking of making a stand, but the cellblock is quiet aside from the younglings’ whimpering and the padawan’s panting.

“Anakin, check the cells,” Kenobi finally says, expression a touch pained as he extinguishes his ‘saber and crouches next to the Chiss that Jango had never gotten the name of. The foundling, Anakin, pulls a key chip from his belt and rushes for the line of cell doors; it doesn’t take him long to realise that Jango’s is the only one occupied — by living bodies, anyways— and Jango carefully straightens, hoping to look as unintimidating as possible. He can either fight or run once he’s recognised, but while he’d like to believe the jetiise will take care of the Cathar in his stead, what sort of Mandalorian would he be if he trusted any Jedi with younglings.

Anakin unlocks their cell as Kenobi rises from the Chiss’ body and Jango realises Anakin has never seen him without his helmet, so it isn’t until Kenobi joins him at the door that Jango is recognised.

Kenobi freezes halfway into the cell, expression blank surprise as he takes in Jango’s too-long hair and ragged clothes, the new scar on his throat and the blood still on his tunic from Geonosis. Jango narrows his eyes, just before Kenobi whips his ‘kad back out and swings it to stop inches from the last ‘saber scar he’d received.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Kenobi snarls, face twisted into an unfathomable rage that Jango really doesn’t think he’s deserving of, and he worriedly takes half a step to the side to put himself between the Jedi and the younglings.

Kenobi tracks the movement with fire in his eyes, but it’s his foundling that catches Jango’s attention from over Kenobi’s shoulder, quickly waving a hand in an aborting motion that’s clearly directed at Jango, which only adds to his confusion. Especially because Kenobi doesn’t look like he’s going to run him through, at least not in front of the younglings, but Jango also can’t remember the last time he’s had such anger directed at him. Not even Montross had visibly hated him this much.

“Kenobi,” Jango says, deciding it’s as safe a response as he can give, but Anakin barely refrains from facepalming, and that snarl comes back to Kenobi’s lips.

“That’s what you have to say?” he asks, voice a deceptive calm that Jango doesn’t trust for a kriffing moment.

He glares right back, hands raised just enough to look non-threatening. “To be fair,” Jango tries, “the last time I saw you, your friend was trying to kill me.”

“Oof,” Anakin mutters, but Jango only realises why when Kenobi reels his free hand back to slam Jango right in the nose.

Now, Jango had killed six Jedi with his bare hands at Galidraan. He took Komari Vosa down with nothing but his blaster and his fists, and he sees Kenobi’s punch coming, if a little late, but he still manages to jerk backwards enough that Kenobi doesn’t break his nose.

“Boba thought you were dead!” Kenobi snarls, which— What.

The Cathar crowd around Jango’s legs with plaintive sounds, clearly not having learned Basic just yet, and Kenobi visibly forces himself back to calm, turning off his ‘saber as Jango holds his bleeding nose. Anakin steps forward with a kind smile and crouches down to be eye-level with the younglings, murmuring something in Catharese.

But Jango can’t focus on them. Boba had survived the battle? The Jedi hadn’t killed him? “Bob’ika, he—” He has to swallow around the lump in his throat, and Kenobi visibly takes a mental step back. “He’s alive?”

Anakin has managed to coax the younglings away from Jango’s legs, asking them questions and letting them cling to his robes, and Kenobi must have great trust in the boy to not be watching him at all. “You didn’t... You didn’t fake your death?” Kenobi asks slowly.

“I didn’t what.”

“Your body disappeared on Geonosis after Master Windu said you fell during the battle! We all thought he’d killed you.”

Of kriffing course no one actually checked his corpse, or his unconscious body would never have been hauled off the battlefield with the droid scrap by a thrifty Geonosian with an eye on the chit the Bando Gora has had on him for the past decade. “I was kidnapped and sold as a bounty to the Bando Gora! Where the fuck is my son?” He gets right up in Kenobi’s face, and Kenobi doesn’t back down, though he perhaps looks as guilty as a Jedi can allow themselves to look.

“He’s safe, Fett,” he says, soft enough that the younglings and Anakin can ignore them. “Your backup credits and apartment have been more than enough to keep him afloat until now.”

“And how the kriff do you know about any of that?”

Kenobi furrows his brow in what appears genuine confusion, though Jango isn’t sure if he trusts that. “I went looking for him after the battle, of course; I wasn’t just going to let a child wander around a warzone when his father had been killed.”

Jango growls, but doesn’t get the chance to demand what the kriff a Jedi thought he was doing trying to look after his kid, as an explosion sounds further into the complex and shakes the room. The Cathar squeal and cling to Anakin as he hurriedly gets to his feet, and Jango reluctantly steps away from Kenobi.

“That’ll be the others,” Anakin says, scooping the youngest Cathar into his arms. “Master, what do we do?”

Kenobi looks between the younglings and Jango, and then back to Anakin. “Give me your ‘saber, padawan.”

Anakin blinks, but then simply hands it over, as if that doesn’t go against everything Jango knows about jetii’kad’e. Gesturing to the other two younglings, Kenobi raises a brow at Jango with something that’s almost like a smile.

“Come now, Ser Fett,” Kenobi says as if they weren’t at each other’s throats just moments before, “you don’t expect me to let one of our rescued hostages fight drug-fueled bandits unarmed, do you?”

“I’m not finished with you,” Jango warns, but crouches to let the last two younglings climb into his arms and settle on his hips.

“Well, by all means,” Kenobi returns with a little bow of his head, before he lights both lightsabers and gives them an experimental spin. The youngest Cathar coos excitedly, curling into Anakin’s chest at the green and blue glow, but it isn’t out of fear, and Kenobi smiles at them gently. “Alright, my men are waiting outside the complex, and we couldn’t get a proper lifesigns reading before we came in, so we don’t know how many Bando Gora members are left. Unless you have some insight...?”

Jango grunts, letting one of the younglings pull on his longest curl. “We’ve only been here a tenday,” he says, “I haven’t had time to case their numbers.”

“Then we’ll simply have to make do. Anakin, are you ready?”

“As always, master!” Anakin chirps, falling into step behind Jango as Kenobi quickly leads them from the room.

The irony of another Jedi dual-wielding in a Bando Gora hideout is not lost on Jango, but these are not the ‘kad of a darjetii, and Komari Vosa had not moved with even half the grace Kenobi somehow manages in the tight quarters of the hallways. He cuts bandits down before they even get close to Jango or Anakin, and a sour taste rises in Jango’s throat that not a single one of them is a killing blow.

Kriffing peace-keeping jettise.

But then maybe the feeling is instead misplaced respect and awe at the way Kenobi switches effortlessly between reverse and standard grip, the fluidity of katas rote in muscle-memory, the concern in his glances back at Anakin and the younglings. It does something weird to Jango’s chest, imagining this man protecting Boba the last six months he’s been captive.

When Jango later steals a cargo ship off the Negotiator, Kenobi watches him from a balcony with a little frown on his lips, as if he had expected better of him. If Kenobi intends to keep checking in on Boba, their paths are likely to cross again, and Jango is eager to disabuse him of that notion.

He meets Kenobi’s eye as he steers the cargo ship out into space, and watches the frown slip into a smirk. Oh, he’s looking forward to it.

Mando’a: jetii’kad’e — lightsabers, sin. jetii’kad (goodness me i could not figure out how or where to pluralise this. please suspend disbelief.) jetiise — Jedi, sin. jetii darjetii — sith, lit. “no longer a Jedi” ’ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends.

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howimproper · 3 years

Note

For Qingming x Boya. Qingming slowly changing Boyas mind about demons

So, this went in an unexpected direction but I can't say I don't love it 😂

A Road Less Travelled

When Qing Ming had contacted him via magic ear to set up a rendezvous, Boya hadn't thought in a million years that it would go this way.

Typically, it's to join forces for a hunt, (Boya is convinced this is no more than an excuse however, because those hunts are always well within Qing Ming's ability) or instances gaining in frequency simply to catch each other up on their lives. To share in a companionship that grew quickly and terrifyingly as easy as breathing.

Boya is not adverse in either case.

With the death of the Empress, Boya's life had changed exponentially. His presence in the palace or even Imperial City itself required less and less until he is eventually finding himself sent far and wide. It's not only him, he knows. His sect was created and maintained to protect the palace from the threat of demons and spirits alike, and just because the Evil Serpent housed within the deceased Empress is no more for a time, does not mean other threats do not exist. As the head of the sect and arguably its best warrior, Boya is no stranger to his skills being in constant demand- however his superiors willingness to grant so many requests is...new.

Boya can't decide if they're trying to get rid of him, or are simply uncertain of what to do with him and his unexpected fame at being one of the main hands that dealt with the rise of the Evil Serpent and, by happenstance, the death of their nations ruler. Do they lord him as a hero, or an unwitting traitor quickly swept under the rug?

Never mind that the Empress had seen to her own demise. Boya has, and never will, understand nor enjoy politics. He much prefers the simplicity of wandering village to village to city to countryside in search of his next quarry. Less politics, less complication. He has grown used to and learned to embrace the isolation, and emphatically ignores the pangs of loneliness he certainly does not feel when he is surrounded by people who do not know him or his mind.

He most certainly does not look forward to the warming of the magic ear he had gifted Qing Ming, or the smooth, almost playful cadence of his voice when he is contacted at random for reasons innocuous or intent. And he most definitely does not drop everything he happens to be doing at the time to indulge the other guardians whims. That would be irresponsible of him, not to mention undignified.

Except sometimes he does and he's not even sorry, what is wrong with him.

It has only been a handful of short months since the last time he'd dropped everything to find his feet taking him to a quiet lakeside home near a far away mountain. Not long at all since he'd indulged in the tranquillity and ease of the only presence he'd found that did not raise his hackles or feel like the weight of chains on his shoulders. Boya is self aware enough to know that he is not a people person. He has the skills, as all those born amongst the elite do- but he has long since grown too abrasive, too direct from long years spent honing his body instead of his tongue to be comfortable rubbing shoulders with self important nobles or braggart so called intellectuals masquerading as scholars.

Once, when he was younger and blinder to the truth of the world he dwelt in, he might have been more suited to opulent surroundings and the couth if hollow companionship of the equally sheltered and stupid. But then his mother had been torn from him, and he'd become more austere, rough, jaded. Not consumed, but definitely intent on ideas of revenge and self righteous anger at the being responsible for the death of his innocence. As he'd grown in body, skill and mind however, Boya had honed those qualities into a fine weapon that he aimed mercilessly at not just the one, but the whole of demonkind.

Boya has hated demons for so long, that when faced with the man who was for all intents and purposes his opposite, he had found the control he sweat and bled for crumbling to dust between his fingers, and he had lashed out.

He still doesn't know, to this day, what stayed his blade throughout the infancy of that acquaintanceship. Whether it was the presence of his fellows or the weight of the task they all shouldered- until eventually time and exposure had ever so slowly smoothed reflexive hackles, if only enough for him to notice the quiet, sombre air of understanding that permeated often short and prickly interactions.

Only for those hackles to stand straight back up with every instance of sympathy or outright regard for the beings that exist purely as cruel thorns in Boya's soul. At every sign that this man prefers the company of beasts, kin of half of his blood.

Boya hates demons as surely as the sky is blue and his heart beats within his chest, but against all conceivable reason, Boya can't hate Qing Ming.

When he tries, Boya just finds that he hates himself.

Against all logic, it was only the passing of days that tempered him to the man's presence. Barely moments in time that gently uncoiled the tight grip of his ire until he found himself beset with an inexplicable sense of kinship that brought nothing but confusion in its wake and made every attempt at rebuke reflexive and half hearted at best. Until they stopped all together and Boya instead found himself drawn in ways he'd never before experienced. Until for the first time in his life, he'd turned the weapon crafted from the bleeding edges of his stone heart to protect an existence he'd spent longer hating than living.

At first, he told himself he did it out of duty. There were a great many lives threatened in the City, in the world, and he would fulfil the purpose he'd curved into himself gladly and with a small, quiet relief. But that had only been part of the reason, and it had taken some long months of separation and reflection before he'd realised it. Then some further time spent agonising over the ambivalent nature of the realisation, and a few shameful nights spent trying to drown it. Boya is not known for seeking life's answers at the bottom of a bottle, but if there is one existence that can drive him to it, it is probably Qing Ming's.

He can't decide if his eventual acceptance of the matter was brought about by lowered inhibitions or the regretful insight one experiences only during the first moments one opens their eyes to a truly magnificent hangover. Mayhaps he simply grew tired of waking up face down on or sprawled half under a drinking table in some out of the way inn room he’d stomped into at some ungodly hour.

Honestly Boya thinks he probably shouldn’t drink at all. His constitution for it in excess seems to leave much to be desired. He can’t be good at everything, he supposes. A realization he is endlessly glad to have come upon alone. Gods forbid he be prone to acts not of his character whilst sober, (if he had had company Boya is of the mind that he might have bemoaned the sorry state of his life in a most undignified manner and he swears never to drink again. It’s only a short while later that he makes a liar of himself and wakes with the indentation of bamboo and regret pressed into his brow.)

The occasional presence of his dizi on the table leads him to think he might be either a whimsical or maudlin drunk. All the more reason to avoid it, (he hasn’t received any complaints yet, so at least he does it well quietly, aish.)

He is not pining. He isn’t.

And if he’d come to an abrupt halt in the middle of a busy street to many startled or annoyed protests the first time the magic ear he’d given to Qing Ming had warmed, no one needed to know, because Boya will take it to his grave.

It’s a process of years, but it is, regardless, a process. One Boya hadn’t much fought against after those first few nights spent agonising over it with the taste of wine sharp on his tongue. The fact that it came about even without the confusing presence of Qing Ming there to turn his life upside down resigns Boya to the belief that he is indeed quite pathetic, all told.

Still, he always answers, and still, he always eagerly goes where bid.

Boya wishes he could hate it.

Never more especially than the first time he meets a demon picking wildflowers of all things on an overgrown road obviously less travelled, (a small, unwashed slip of a thing in the guise of a child, with eyes too big when they’d met his and small, girlish hands clenching in fright around green stems) and lets it go.

He’d grasped the hilt of the blade carried at his back, fully intending to draw it when, inexplicably, he’d been taken in by the fear in its- her eyes and felt not like a righteous man, but a demon himself.

What is wrong with him.

He tells no one, and drinks himself into a stupor the next night. He ignores the wildflowers he finds outside his door the next morning.

It’s all Qing Ming’s fault. Him with his ridiculous exquisite robes and that stupid fan he hides those mischivous attractive smiles behind. Gods, he’s pathetic.

“Is this where your friend is waiting, Mr. Boya?” Small hands grasp and tug on the sleeve of his travel cloak, and Boya resigns himself, once again, to the lack of urge to shake them off.

“Mn.” He grunts in reply, and the little girl trailing at his side like some misshapen duckling beams, wildflowers in her hair.

How the mighty have fallen, he thinks as he weaves a path through the small village towards the tea house he’d been informed to meet at, freshly washed and happily bouncing demon child following at his heels. He has gone from mercilessly slaying demons to throwing the cute ones at someone always too happy to take them.

Divine Lord take him, he is so pathetic.

#bo ya #qing ming #onmyoji #the yin yang master: dream of eternity #my dumb writing #prompt fills #qing ming x boya #pre-slash

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Deathbed wedding pt2

Wishing you again a happy new year. I’m starting mine with some xisang! :D

Nie Huaisang plots, but isn’t as careful as he’d thought

Nie Huaisang absolutely refused to come out of his room to have dinner that night, no matter how much Nie Zonghui and Meng Yao pleaded for him to be reasonable. For a full shichen, he also refused to have that dinner brought to him in his room, arguing through the door that he refused to eat anything until his brother apologised for what he’d said earlier. Then, because Nie Huaisang saw no reason to be kind to his brother, he also repeated Nie Mingjue’s exact words to them.

He could guess, already, that Nie Zonghui was probably going to have an argument of his own with Nie Mingjue on that subject. After all he’d been the one to personally train Nie Huaisang since he’d decided to finally take an interest in his sabre. Saying that Nie Huaisang hadn’t made any progress in the past year was to insult Nie Zonghui’s skill as a teacher, and being their cousin he shared that volatile temper of theirs. Busy handling two fights at the same time, Nie Mingjue was sure to be quite distracted in the days to come.

More importantly though, Meng Yao was going to be angry at Nie Mingjue too. Considering his background and his late start, he sometimes took it a bit personally when people spoke of someone having low skills. He had been very supportive of Nie Huaisang all along, even sometimes training with him when his other duties allowed, and he would not take kindly to hearing that Nie Mingjue thought some people couldn’t be taught at all. His anger would be less explosive than Nie Zonghui, and Nie Mingjue probably wouldn’t even consciously notice it, but it would still throw off their perfect balance, and that too would play to Nie Huaisang’s advantage when the time came.

Besides, he really was upset over what his brother had said, and so it really did feel good to complain about it.

When Meng Yao and Nie Zonghui gave up on making him eat that evening, Nie Huaisang dug into the secret stash of snacks that existed precisely because of this sort of arguments.

He went to bed early, and rose up again just as early, a habit he had taken up during his time in the Cloud Recesses. While most of the sect slept, Nie Huaisang set to work preparing some talismans.

With Chiwen, his sabre, Nie Huaisang knew that he was exactly as bad as everyone said, if not even worse. Using his spiritual energy directly was no good either, he just didn’t have enough, and it was too weak. But Nie Huaisang had found over the past year that he had a knack for talismans. Calligraphy had always been one of the few things he could focus on, even as a child, and he had a good steady hand when writing. On top of that, he had a great memory and a good eye for detail, which made it easy for him to learn and copy new talismans. It was really a shame that Qinghe Nie had no strong tradition of using those. He hard learned the basic ones everyone knew, but aside from that the few specialised he had found in their library were mostly meant to bait creatures, with very little to actually fight. If Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji hadn’t loaned him a few of their own sects’ talismans to learn, Nie Huaisang’s skill would have been quite useless.

That was the story of his life, of course. Nie Huaisang knew himself to be extremely talented, and in quite a few domains too. If he had been born in a non-cultivating family, he would have been considered a very accomplished and skilled young man fit to go serve the emperor, but alas, in the cultivation world none of the things he was good at mattered.

He had never really cared, until certain events had forced him to.

A good while after he’d woken up, Nie Huaisang heard the rest of his brother’s sect become more active as well. Without surprise, Nie Zonghui and Meng Yao came knocking at his door again. A scene very similar to that of the previous night played out, with Nie Huaisang still refusing to eat anything. Because they both had a lot to do, Nie Zonghui and Meng Yao informed him that they were leaving his breakfast on a tray in front of the door. Nie Huaisang ignored the food, snacking instead on some watermelon seeds while he wrote a letter informing a certain person that he would be at a certain place on a certain day. He gave the letter to one of his better trained birds, crossing his fingers that the animal would carry his message in time, hoping that he would be awaited even if his letter was missed. If he wanted to be at the agreed place in time, he would have to leave that very evening, and to fly faster than he was usually comfortable with. This gave him very little time to prepare everything, but it could be done if he played his cards right.

Between breakfast and lunch time, Nie Huaisang took care of his sabre and practised his forms for a while. Nie Xinfang would be furious if she knew that he was pushing his wounded wrist so much between talismans earlier and the weight of Chiwen now, but it truly wasn’t hurting that bad. Or at least, the pain wasn’t so distracting that he couldn’t bear with it.

At lunch time, Nie Huaisang still refused any food, and also announced he wouldn’t be talking to anyone anymore until Nie Mingjue came in person to apologise. Considering the intensity of the fight, that was unlikely to happen for at least another three days, so he felt quite safe in making that demand.

In the afternoon, Nie Huaisang tried to meditate, only to end up falling asleep. It was fine, he sheepishly decided when he awoke. He needed to be well rested, since he would be flying pretty far.

At dinner time he remained perfectly silent when Meng Yao and Nie Zonghui came to check on him, making no more noise than if he hadn't been there at all. As soon as they left, he brought inside the dinner they'd put on his doorstep and ate the whole thing. This, hopefully, would create the expectation that he was angry enough to skip a few meals, and so his absence would take longer to be noticed.

With this last part of his plan accomplished, Nie Huaisang only had to pack everything he'd be bringing with him and wait for darkness to fall.

A little after the sun had fully set, Nie Huaisang exited his room through a window and, carefully avoiding any patrols, any servants still going around, he made his way to a certain secret passage that led outside of the Unclean Realm.

Meng Yao caught Nie Huaisang at the exit of that secret passage.

How his brother’s deputy had managed to find that exit and to get there before him was a mystery, and one Nie Huaisang would need to solve… some other time.

“I swear I’ll fight you if you try to stop me,” he hissed. “Wen Chao invited me to a Night Hunt, I have to go. You know he always organises the best Night Hunts, they’ve got a bunch of awful monsters on their lands. I can’t let that chance pass me by! So let me go, or I’ll...”

“There’s little glory to be found in fighting me,” Meng Yao retorted calmly. “So don't even bother. And Nie gongzi needs to learn a little patience.”

Nie Huaisang huffed. “Not you too. You know they won’t let him have me even when he’s of age, not if I can’t prove I’m good enough! He’s too nice to go against his elders if they say no again, and then we’ll both be miserable for ever, and…”

Meng Yao laughed softly.

“This humble servant only meant that if you had waited another shichen to sneak away, he would not have seen you go out,” he explained, looking far too amused in the face of Nie Huaisang's despair. “Nie gongzi should have checked that nobody was still awake. Nie gongzi also should be aware that I’ll have this passage condemned, now that I know it. It’s a security hazard.”

“It’s not. Da-ge is aware it exists, there’s a bunch of protections over it.”

“Then I will have to warn Nie zongzhu that the protections must be strengthened, since that did not stop me from guessing where it leads.”

Nie Huaisang gritted his teeth, so frustrated that he felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He'd been so close to getting away with this.

And it wasn’t just about the Night Hunt itself. He knew that Lan Wangji was going, which meant a chance to finally get news from Lan Xichen, since they hadn’t been allowed to write to each other since that day. Nie Huaisang wanted to know how the boy he loved was doing, if Lan Xichen missed him too, if he hadn’t been forgotten, if his efforts to prove himself were working at all…

“Meng Yao, you have to let me go,” Nie Huaisang ordered, gripping the handle of his sabre in what he hoped would seem like a threat, even when they both knew Meng Yao had more skill than him. “It’ll be different this time, I’ll be more careful, but I really have to go. I don’t know how much more time I have!”

Pity flashed across Meng Yao’s face. He’d heard those worrying rumours too, of course. Meng Yao always kept track of all the gossip, he must have heard about this long before Nie Huaisang had.

Hopefully, none of it was true anyway.

“I’m not here to stop Nie gongzi,” Meng Yao announced. “I just wanted to make sure there was no breach to our defence, and to warn you it’ll be harder for you to leave next time. And did you take food?”

Relaxing a little, Nie Huaisang nodded, allowing himself a weak smile.

“Of course. Food, warning signals in case I get in trouble, a bunch of talismans… Da-ge taught me well. How much of an advance are you giving me?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you leave, and unless your brother decides to visit you, I won’t ‘discover’ you’re gone until tomorrow afternoon. But you will owe me,” Meng Yao warned with a pleasant smile. “And next time, if I catch you, I will alert your brother.”

From anyone else, it would have been a threat to stop disobeying his brother already. Coming from Meng Yao though, Nie Huaisang took it more as advice to improve his sneakiness.

“There won’t be a next time,” Nie Huaisang promised, throwing himself at his brother’s deputy to hug him. “I’ll show them for sure this time, and then I’ll never have to go on a stupid Night Hunt again!”

Meng Yao huffed, clearly unconvinced, but allowed the hug for once in spite of his usual dislike for displays of affection. Nie Huaisang figured he must have looked pretty pathetic if Meng Yao was acting so nice.

He certainly felt very pathetic. It had been over a year since he had last seen Lan Xichen, and he had made so little progress toward proving himself.

This time really needed to be different. He couldn’t keep failing, or else Lan Xichen might start to share his father’s opinion.

Nie Huaisang had to show he was capable of more than anyone expected, no matter the cost.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin guangyao #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #deathbed wedding au #jau writes

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vodkassassin · 4 years

Note

I hate that bitch ass yqy. Since ur sv prompts exist in an au of svsss, au yqy so that I might not want to kill his trick ass.

Akfjjd ur wish is my command. I’ll give u that SI YQY that u helped me brainstorm earlier, @dancibayo

—

Wake up, rush to work, take a fifteen minute break to eat the stale salad leftover from dinner two nights ago, back to work, and then head home to collapse, exhausted, into the sheets of his bed that he really should throw into the wash but never has the time to do so.

That’s that daily life of a run-of-the mill office worker, a low-income employee of a corporate empire, just another coil in a well oiled machine that never rests, never sleeps, never pauses in its fast-paced industrial production rates.

Life had been hopeful still, he faintly recalls, when he’d been twenty and freshly graduated with his business degree, looking at all the options open to someone like him. A promising student, his professors had said. A dutiful son, destined for a grand career, his parents had boasted. He’d never really put much stock into such praises, even then, and he’s glad he hadn’t —because otherwise, the reality of life would have been absolutely crushing.

Well into his early thirties now, and he can’t even remember the last time he even went out for drinks with coworkers — not friends. None of them have time for something like deeper, interpersonal relationships anymore.

It’s amazing, really, how much different his outlook is even ten years down the road.

It’s honestly just another day. There’s nothing special. Maybe he feels more tired? He can’t tell, really. He doesn’t think he’d have been able to, even in hindsight. It’s all the same.

He shuffles a loose stack of paperwork into a blank, cream-colored manilla folder and slides it into its plastic organizer. His head feels light. A glance at the clock tells him he’d accidentally worked through his meager lunch break, again. He really should stop doing that. His coworker in accounting tells him it doesn’t bode well for his overall work ethic. One of these days, it’s going to show consequences on his productivity, and he’ll get a visit from management. It happened to that one unlucky fellow from marketing.

He folds over his desk, pillowing his arms beneath his head. He’s so tired. It doesn’t matter that he missed his break, he thinks. He’d forgotten to pack anything for lunch anyway. He could have gone down the street to the deli, but really… his stomach swirls nauseous just thinking about it. Maybe it’s for the best he hadn’t eaten.

He closes his eyes. Slip in a quick five minute nap, he thinks. He’s managed it before, without getting caught. He can do it again!

He’s just so tired.

Just for a minute.

—

He wakes up numb. At first.

Something isn’t right, but he can’t really pinpoint what it might be. His entire body aches, but that’s normal for him. He can’t feel his fingertips, but that’s happened before. It’s not really anything to worry about.

He takes in a breath, and jolts as pain, tremendous pain, sears through him like hot, liquid magma, and he screams.

Hands are holding him down. Why? What’s happening? He was just taking a nap.

“It shows no signs of stopping,” someone says, voice tense. “Sect Leader, the only method that might possibly work, at this point, is to put him in the caves.”

Sect… leader?

What?

There’s a deep sigh, one that he can barely hear over the helpless, tortured keens that are pressing, relentlessly, out of his own throat. He writhes beneath the hands that hold him down, but they don’t budge.

He’d just wanted to rest!

“My dearest disciple…. If only you were not so quick to take risks. I’d thought we’d trained such impatience out of you?”

Something, beyond the pain he feels, curls nastily in his gut. It feels like shame. Is it responding to the disappointment he can hear in this stranger's voice? But why?

He doesn’t even know who these people are.

“Sect leader, there’s really no time.”

Another sigh. “Yes, I see. Very well. If it takes the caves to straighten this out, then so be it.”

His face feels damp. With the way that every single one of his nerve endings feels like it’s spasming and curling in response to whatever the hell is wracking his systems, he isn’t surprised that he’s sobbing. Even to himself, he sounds hysterical.

The hands that restrain him lift him up off the hard surface that has been cutting into his back. He feels his limbs jerk, as if on some sort of autopilot, instincts that he can’t ever recall having, and someone yelps.

“I told you to restrain him!”

“He’s too strong, shizun—!”

He feels like he’s underwater. Everything sounds submerged. His hearing muffled out, and he doesn’t know anything after that.

—

Sometimes he wakes up.

Most of the time, he’s asleep for it, and he’s just aware enough to know to be thankful for that.

But sometimes he wakes up, and…

—

“Dashixiong,” someone is outside to greet him when he exits. They bow at the waist , hands folded before them, and he watches them without words. “What a relief it is, to see you well.”

He isn’t well. He doesn’t think he ever will be.

But, he can pretend. For these people, who he has seen glimpses of in lightning quick flashes of memories that aren’t his, who he knows just peripherally enough to pass muster. For them, he can pretend.

He isn’t sure if he can do much more than that, though.

“Shizun has been waiting patiently for you,” they say, and turn to lead him down the path to where the rest of the peak sits. Looming over him, despite being technically lower in elevation. “He wished to speak with you as soon as you resurfaced.”

“I’m sure,” he mumbles under his breath.

His hand tightens, where it’s clenched around the hilt of the sword that rests, swathed, at his side. The fingers curls, knuckles white, where they’ve gripped the weapon for… how long was he down there for?

He isn’t sure he can let go of it, anymore. Will he be forced to always have one hand on his weapon?

He follows the disciple down the mountain.

—

Once, a long time ago, when he’d allowed himself to think about it, he’d thought that death might be a final rest. Sometimes, on the nights where he’d been forced to work overtime with no compensation pay, he’d even found himself cautiously looking forward to it.

Death isn’t a rest. If anything, it’s worse.

Being the head disciple of the ruling peak of a mountain sect of cultivators — it was something that he’d before only encountered in a few of the web novels that he sometimes perused, back when he was younger, back when he’d still had a moment of free time to himself, when he was still allowed to have hobbies.

He doesn’t recognize the setting around him, outside of the brief snatches of pre-recorded memories that he assumes came from whoever had occupied this body before him. Obviously, if this world was fashioned after a specific story from his old world, he had never read it.

He’s still not sure if that’s a blessing or not.

It’s hard work, in any case. His career from before, business and managing and organizing — it helps, somewhat, in the running of this peak that will one day rest solely upon his shoulders once his teacher finally ascends alongside his martial siblings.

What it doesn’t help with, is the training. Harsh, grueling, repetitive and taxing. And he’s handicapped, too, unable to use his own sword like all his fellow disciples and teachers do. It’s hard, he isn’t used to it, but his body remembers it, and he slowly begins to relearn what he was already suppose to know.

He doesn’t fancy dying a second time.

Death isn’t the rest that he’d once thought it would be.

—

There’s someone that makes those faint leftovers of his predecessor curl uneasily upon themselves whenever he sees them.

It starts immediately upon their first encounter, this skinny, emaciated and threadbare boy standing over the body of the man that he has just killed. The splatter of blood from the blow, sitting across his face and glistening in the soft moonlight that peaks through the trees, hasn’t even dried yet. This, coupled with the scowl of sheer hatred that adorns his young face… he looks threatening, despite his small stature. Dangerous, despite his trembling grip on the blade.

And yet, his — Yue Qi’s — heart stutters, crying so loudly for this boy that he can barely hear beyond the blood that rushes past his ears.

“Finally decided to show up?” The boy sneers, tossing the slightly rusted blade to the ground. It lands with a clatter that echoes in the silence of the woods that surround them. “... You’re too late. Much, much too late.”

Yue Qi stares at him, something sour climbing up his throat, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Why even bother coming at all?”

This is his first meeting with Shen Jiu.

As time goes on, and years pass by, this slip of a boy never ceases to confuse him and make his heart hurt wretchedly, in equal measure.

—

He is never really able to muster the courage to ask why.

Yue Qi becomes Yue Qingyuan, and Shen Jiu becomes Shen Qingqiu — something that makes the sneer on the boy’s face falter, eyes shining in mysterious fury before his face smooths out into that cold, impassive mask once more — and, really, nothing changes.

He’s still confused. He’s never not. But, he’s trying his best to do good by his martial family. He isn’t sure there’s anything else he can do.

His fellow head disciples — now peak lords — are fine people. He’s grown fond of them, over the years that he’s been forced to get to know them by his own teacher (he’s never called the man his shizun. Despite the leftovers that swirl inside of him, it’s not really his place). He cares for them, as much as he can bring himself to, but he can tell that even they must sense the slight distance between them that he just isn’t capable of breaching.

Even now, he’s still tired.

Shen Jiu, Qingqiu, is counted among them, despite his avarice and clear detest. That’s another he can’t help, the fondness (and odd, distant grief) that curls inside him whenever he looks at the boy, now man.

His predecessor had once loved him, he’s fairly certain, now that he’s had the chance to fully examine the feelings those shreds of soul can communicate to him. Whatever Shen Jiu had been to Yue Qi, he’d loved him, so fiercely and perhaps borderline obsessively that it’s stronger than any other leftover of his predecessor he’s ever felt. Stronger than the duty to his sect.

For that alone, he — Yue Qingyuan — will watch over Shen Qingqiu as much as the man, cold and hateful and hurt and abandoned as he is, will allow him.

It’s no surprise, really, that he eventually grows fond of him, too.

But love? No. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to bring himself to love his martial brother to the same degree of… fervor, that Yue Qi once had.

—

And then, Shen Jiu is hit by a familiar fever that Yue Qingyuan can remember feeling down his very bones, once upon a time — when he wakes, he isn’t the same Shen Jiu that he’s slowly, over the years, gotten to know. Slowly, over the years, grown to care for.

Knowing what he does, it’s very clear to him that this isn’t Shen Jiu at all. It’s someone else. Someone who Yue Qingyuan doesn’t know. Someone that Yue Qingyuan can’t even begrudge, because he knows it isn’t even their fault. Because he knows that, whoever they are, they haven't chosen this for themself.

It doesn’t stop him, in those first few weeks, from feeling irrational. He isn’t sure what he’s doing. He’s mourning, surely. Shen Jiu is dead, that much he knows. The fact that no one seems to even mind is —

It’s breathtakingly upsetting.

He hadn’t known… that he’d grown to care this much for the man that he’d never even gathered the courage to ask. Why.

He’ll never know, now.

—

The new Shen Qingqiu is.

He’s fine. He’s kind hearted, despite how hard he pretends not to be, ostentatiously trying to act as close to what he thinks Shen Jiu had been as he can. Beneath that, he is scared, and Yue Qingyuan can see it bright as day. Beyond his fear, he is kind, he is sweet, he is amusingly sarcastic without any of the vitriol. He is leagues lighter than Shen Jiu ever had the capabilities of being.

Yue Qingyuan can see why their martial siblings like him better.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less. But, he figures, that if he gives himself enough time, he can grow to care for this Shen Qingqiu in the same way that he’d grown to care for his predecessor.

—

Time. It’ll just take some time.

#svsss prompts #yue qingyuan #SI yqy #transmigrator YQY #Shen jiu #Shen yuan #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #dancibayo

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alternatearchiver · 3 years

Text

Daring Escape

Lan Wangji looked up curiously as his brother entered the jingshi, the noise of a crying baby preceding him, and he couldn’t help the way his expression softened at the sight of his squalling nephew. “Ah, I hate to bother you, Wangji, but I have important sect business I need to deal with, and a-Yuan doesn’t want to be handed off to any of the nursemaids.”

Lan Wangji stood and carefully accepted the infant, making sure to properly support the head and neck the way he’d been taught. “Is Lan furen still feeling ill?” Lan Xichen grimaced in concern before nodding.

Ever since his brother’s wedding, very few people in the Cloud Recesses had actually seen Lan Xichen’s wife. It had bothered Lan Wangji at first, imagining someone else being locked up and forced to suffer the way their own mother had, but Lan Xichen had assured him that Wei Wuxian was a very sickly person, and it was safest to keep him away from anyone who might make him sick, especially after being weakened from giving birth. Having no reason to doubt his brother, Lan Wangji had accepted the reasoning, and Wei Wuxian had remained out of the public eye over the past year and a half since marrying into the Lan sect. “I should be finished before dinner. I hope a-Yuan does not cause you too much trouble in the meantime.”

“It is no trouble,” Lan Wangji assured his brother.

Satisfied with that, Lan Xichen took off to go take care of his duties, leaving Lan Wangji to watch over the baby who always seemed to calm down when placed in Lan Wangji’s arms. “Do you miss your father already?” a-Yuan grinned at Lan Wangji, showing off his toothless gums, and Lan Wangji couldn’t refrain from offering a rare smile in return. It seemed impossible for anyone to not find a-Yuan’s joy contagious.

A little while later is when everything started to go wrong. a-Yuan sniffled a few times, and Lan Wangji gently rocked him in his arms. That didn’t calm the baby down, though, and instead he burst into tears, wailing loudly. Lan Wangji tried all the usual tricks, including making soothing noises, speaking softly, offering some of the bottled milk that had been left with him, and changing a-Yuan’s diaper, but nothing seemed to work.

Out of ideas, but not wanting to disturb Lan Xichen from his important business, Lan Wangji began walking the familiar path towards the gentian house, where Wei Wuxian lived. He did not want to disturb Wei Wuxian’s rest, but he figured that a-Yuan’s mother would be able to calm the baby down and then Lan Wangji could head out again.

Nervous knots twisted in Lan Wangji’s stomach. He had not been back here since his mother’s death. Perhaps it would be healing, in a way, for Lan Wangji to see a Lan furen who was happily housed there rather than imprisoned. He knocked politely on the front door but there was no response. Lan Wangji considered turning back, but a-Yuan’s crying had only managed to get louder, which was impressive considering how tiny his lungs were, and Lan Wangji did not enjoy seeing his beloved nephew in such distress.

Later, he would ask for forgiveness for barging in. For now, Lan Wangji opened the front door and stepped inside. “Wei Wuxian?” There was a muffled noise from nearby.

Still carefully cradling a-Yuan, Lan Wangji stepped into the main bedroom, then immediately closed his eyes and turned away. He couldn’t even think straight long enough to mutter out a proper apology for what he had just witnessed. While Lan Wangji was aware enough of his own strange… proclivities, he had not needed to know that his brother and Wei Wuxian enjoyed similar games in the bedroom.

Expecting flustered noises, or anything, really, in response to having been seen, Lan Wangji was confused when Wei Wuxian simply said nothing. What if something was seriously wrong? What if Wei Wuxian had gotten sick while waiting for his husband to return?

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, then carefully set a-Yuan down on the kitchen table before steeling himself to not react inappropriately at the sight of his brother’s wife. He returned to the bedroom and cautiously approached the bed, where Wei Wuxian was stretched out across the bed, limbs all secured.

It was the first time Lan Wangji had ever seen Wei Wuxian’s face, since it had obviously been covered with a red veil at the wedding, and he couldn’t help noticing that Wei Wuxian was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. But then he noticed other things that made him feel quite uncomfortable.

There were tear tracks leading down Wei Wuxian’s face, and a cloth tied very tightly around his mouth in a way that prevented him from speaking. His arms and wrists seemed to be bruised and bloody from the restraints, and with his entire body naked, it was easy to make out the many injuries and scars that crossed his pale skin.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he whimpered piteously when Lan Wangji reached out to carefully remove the gag. “Are you alright?” There was no response, and Wei Wuxian did not open his eyes, so Lan Wangji felt the worry in his stomach quickly grow. “I’m going to cut you free, and then I will see to your injuries.” He wasn’t sure of exactly what had happened, but clearly Lan Xichen had gone too far.

Lan Wanji was very careful with Bichen as he cut through the restraints, and he pulled out some healing salve to gently rub onto Wei Wuxian’s wrists and ankles. Then he found a blanket to tug up and cover Wei Wuxian’s naked body. “Do you want to see a-Yuan now?”

That’s when Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open, revealing a dull silver that somehow looked wrong. He gave Lan Wangji a long, dazed look, seeming to take in every detail, before speaking in a croaky voice that sounded like it had not been used in a long time. “You’re not Lan Huan.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “I am Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan,” he confirmed. “I brought a-Yuan because he would not stop crying.” Though as he said that, he realized that he had not heard the loud wailing in a few minutes. “I will be right back.”

He got up from where he’d been kneeling next to the bed so that he could go and get baby a-Yuan, but a hand reached out to snag the back of his robe with a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t- don’t leave me here,” came that desperate, hoarse voice.

Lan Wangji gently removed Wei Wuxian’s hand and placed it back down on the bed. “I am only getting your son, and then I will be right back.” As he left the bedroom, the bad feeling in his stomach only grew worse and worse. As little as he wanted to think about his brother in bed, he couldn’t stop his mind from whirling through all the possibilities that could have led to this.

When he returned to the bedroom, a-Yuan began flailing his limbs around, instinctively reaching out to his mother. At the sight of the baby, Wei Wuxian didn’t start sobbing, but silent tears began to drip down his cheeks, and he was so gentle as he took a-Yuan from Lan Wangji’s arms, making soft shushing noises. He sat up, causing the blanket to drop down to his lap. “Ah, ah, it’s alright baobao. Mama’s here.” When one of a-Yuan’s chubby feet bumped into a dark looking bruise on Wei Wuxian’s side, Wei Wuxian didn’t even flinch, like the pain was irrelevant.

a-Yuan calmed down very quickly, apparently having been waiting for his mother to soothe him. Then, exhausted from keeping up his crying for so long, a-Yuan slipped into a nap.

Lan Wangji found it difficult to look away from the sight in front of him, even though he knew that he should. It was just so gentle and caring and sweet, marred only by the marks that seemed to cover Wei Wuxian’s body. He glanced away to look for a crib, ready to offer to take the sleeping baby out of Wei Wuxian’s arms that looked like they were starting to tremble, but he frowned when he didn’t spot one. “Where does a-Yuan sleep?”

There was a very long moment of silence before Wei Wuxian spoke, still not looking away from a-Yuan’s sleeping face, like he thought he’d never get the chance to see his son again. “Away from here,” Wei Wuxian murmured.

The picture that was starting to come together about Lan Xichen’s marriage was a very unpleasant one. He decided that it was worth risking offending his brother-in-law if it meant getting the truth out of him. “Wei Wuxian, tell me plainly. Do you wish to stay here?”

Wei Wuxian’s head jolted up, and he stared at Lan Wangji with wide, alarmed eyes. “Why are you asking me that? Why are you here?” His breathing became labored and uneven, his eyes getting a lost, feverish look to them. “Why would you let me see him?” It sounded like it was painful for him to speak, but that didn’t stop him. “What do you want from me? What do any of you want from me?”

That seemed like an answer enough to Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian had been tied up, abused, unable to speak, and isolated from everyone else, including his own child. He thought of his own childhood, of only getting to see his mother once a month, of how sad she always looked. Of how he had been too young to get it at the time, but eventually understood that she had taken her own life. He thought of his older brother, who had always loved him and cared for him, and understood him like nobody else ever had. And Lan Wangji hardened his heart against his mental image of Lan Xichen’s gentle gaze.

“I am taking you away from here,” Lan Wangji announced abruptly, cutting off Wei Wuxian’s panicked babbling.

Wei Wuxian blinked up at him a few times, then furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief. “What?”

“Both of you,” Lan Wangji clarified, nodding towards the sleeping infant. “Anywhere you wish to go, I will get you out of the Cloud Recesses and bring you there.” Perhaps it would be better to bring Wei Wuxian to Uncle, and have Lan Xichen’s crimes aired before the entire sect. But it would be cruel to force Wei Wuxian to recount whatever he had been through in his time here. And there was no telling who might choose to be more loyal to their sect leader than was wise. So for now, Lan Wangji would settle for getting Wei Wuxian and a-Yuan as far away from here as possible. And then, maybe someday, he would come back to make sure that Lan Xichen got what he deserved.

#-dont #mdzs #the untamed #rape mentions

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alitotechelamine · 4 years

Text

Hide and Seek

Archive of Our Own

The Chief Cultivator is missing.

Hanguang-jun is missing.

The story went that the revered Lan Wangji and his husband, the former Yiling Patriarch, had been seen attending a small night hunt. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary about them, they’d appeared happy to anyone observing (and perhaps a little too intimate a few might have complained). The Luó sect, the gracious hosts of the night hunt, hadn’t even realized the two were in attendance as the two arrived late and kept to themselves. If witnesses hadn’t recognized them after the fact, the Lan disciples dispatched to investigate may never have traced the two of them this far.

Past the night hunt, the trail had gone cold. People speculated the two had possibly come across a particularly powerful enemy, but a lack of bodies kept anyone from declaring that the truth. A thorough search of the area by the hosting sect meant there was no place they could have found themselves trapped and stranded. No one in the surrounding farms or villages had seen them pass through. They’d simply slipped into the ether.

The Gusu Lan sect were panicking, their second most powerful disciple having gone missing alongside his infamous husband.

The cultivation world at large was panicking, because the Chief Cultivator was missing just as new sects were flourishing and the Lanling Jin sect was finally stabilizing. If he remained missing for too long, there was no telling what kind of attempts there would be to seize power in his absence, or where that could lead for the Cultivation world as a whole.

There were rumors that the Yiling Patriarch was less of a victim in their disappearance than he might seem. He is, afterall, the Yiling Patriarch , and no matter how far the stories of the late Lianfang-zun traveled, there would always be suspicion and doubt when it came to the founder of Demonic Cultivation.

No, the world mostly mourned the vanished Lan Wangji. A beacon of morality and bravery, his loss considered a tragedy to the very art of cultivation.

His brother, with deep bruises still under his eyes and a listless demeanor, was forced from pennant seclusion to step back into his position of leadership to ensure the search for Lan Wangji remained the top priority. Whether that be the search for a wayward brother, or a body however was a touchy subject whispered well out of the man’s range of hearing. Later it isn’t mentioned at all inside the walls of the Cloud Recesses, not when any gaggle of juniors could include Hanguang-jun’s foster son or the boy’s friends. While nothing more than a flash of embarrassment or pain would come from Lan Sizhui, it was quickly made known Lan Jingyi would not stand for any idle chatter on Lan Wangji’s fate or the possible hand the Yiling Patriarch could have had in it.

The fact that the Ghost General always seemed to be nearby in these uncertain times, as if waiting for a reason to defend the testy juniors, helped in making Jingyi’s point stick. Not to mention the cutting reminders from the Grandmaster himself that gossip was prohibited within the Cloud Recesses.

It wasn’t long after a particularly heated argument between Lan Jingyi and a rather pragmatic Elder that the three were sent out to assist with search efforts. Zewu-jun was heard tiredly mentioning their energies were better spent proving their beliefs than arguing in the middle of the dining hall.

Outside the walls of the Cloud Recesses, it was reported that the Yunmeng Jiang Sect Leader had purportedly thrown his tea across the room when he was informed. He’d sent his own search parties out, but they’d made even less progress than the Lans.

The Lanling Jin Sect Leader was said to have remained stoic in face but rigid in posture. There had been loud, alarming sobs heard from his rooms later that night but he’d vehemently deny it if asked.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were missing, and the Cultivation world had noticed.

☁⛰☁

There isn’t anything remarkable about them.

An elderly couple stand huddled together before him, small tremors shaking their limbs no matter how hard they try to hold still. Jiang Cheng idly wonders if its because they’re cold or afraid as he regards them from the nine-petal lotus throne. Their clothes are old, on the cusp of being considered ragged, and their skin is aged from hard work. The woman holds something wrapped in a threadbare, dirty cloth and she’s clutching it to her chest like a lifeline.

The old man is the first to speak when prompted. He steps forward, slightly in front of his wife and bows as deeply as he can manage. Jiang Cheng decides the tiny tremors wracking up and down his body are probably from age.

“Jiang-zongzhu, my wife and I appreciate your willingness to see us,” He says, keeping his gaze below Jiang Cheng’s line of sight.

“You came requesting help, yet you live much closer to the Luó sect,” Jiang Cheng said, “Why not go to them for assistance?”

The old woman tightens her grip on the bundle. Its a minute gesture, but it allows Jiang Cheng to notice the way her face sours at the mention of the newly prominent sect. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know much about them, other than they’re a sect just recently founded yet already dripping with notability. Their disciples continue to swell in numbers, and the areas under their territory have grown in prominence with them. It’s considered a rather prosperous region, which begs the question of why these two would travel outside its jurisdiction.

“I’m afraid my wife and I have grown to distrust the Luó sect,” The old man says, and his face darkens as he considers his next words, “We have reason to believe the Luó sect is responsible for the murder of our son.”

Jiang Cheng raises an intrigued eyebrow, waving a hand for the man to continue.

“Our son is not a cultivator,” The man says, “We come from a simple line of farmers, and I had always believed simple farmers are what we would produce. Our son, our boy, he was a hard worker and an honest man. We take pride in the fact that we raised him to be a kind and thoughtful man; so when he failed to come home last year we were certain something was wrong.”

“Your son had been missing for a year?” Jiang Cheng frowned.

The old man nodded, his wrinkled face twisting in pain.

“We searched everywhere for our boy. We spent every cent we had trying to find him and nothing. Our poor Mao Ai simply vanished. Even the rogue cultivator we asked to search the area could find nothing. He would not simply leave us like this, it’s not in his character. Before long we were forced to accept that something nefarious had probably taken him.

“But then, two nights ago, we were on our way back from the market,” The man said, the darkness in his expression twisting back into pain, “And there was a body laying in the road.”

His wife’s breath becomes short, a glance reveals her eyes have gone misty.

“He was dressed in Luó sect robes, but they were torn and bloody. He’d been run through with swords every which way. His mask was already about to fall off, and when I touched it, it fell away to reveal our boy!” The old man loses his composure and his face crumples, a sharp wail coming from him. He dips dangerously, and for a split second Jiang Cheng is worried the man might collapse from grief and hit his head; but then the structure returns to his frame and he works to compose himself again. His wife behind him however has resigned herself to sobbing quietly as she clutches at her bundle.

Jiang Cheng nods slowly, considering, before leaning slightly forward.

“To accuse anyone of murder, much less an entire sect, is quite the accusation,” He says eventually, “Is there any way to prove what you say?”

For a moment, he expects the couple to dissolve into hysterics or to start shouting, enraged that he might possibly not believe them. The way the old woman’s eyebrows pull leads him to think she might be prompted to speak out of turn, but she just thrusts the bundle into her husband’s waiting arms.

The old man in turn holds the bundle out for one of Jiang Cheng’s attendants to take.

“After we were finally able to put our son to rest, we were sure to bring these with us.” The old man says, and there’s some iron in his expression now. Its not outright, but it almost feels like he’s challenging Jiang Cheng to dismiss his words. It leads Jiang Cheng to wonder what this old man’s past interactions with the cultivation world might have been like.

He takes the bundle from the attendant and settles it on his lap. Its a set of torn and bloody robes. They’re wrapped around a smooth face mask, completely blank except for a small indentation over the mouth like an owl’s beak.

Luó sect robes and their trademark owl mask. Every disciple, no matter their rank, was apparently required to wear this exact mask at all times. Much like the Lan sect and their forehead ribbons, only instead of serving as a reminder for restraint, the Luó sect disciples were made to look exactly the same from person to person. It was an effective tactic to disguising their numbers and creating the illusion of unity among disciples, but one had to wonder just how cumbersome an entire face mask carved from jade could be, especially in a fight where such a thing would probably obstruct one’s vision.

Nevertheless, on the few occasions he had seen them, Jiang Cheng had never seen a disciple without his face mask. They kept their faces covered in rain or shine, day or night, no matter what the circumstances. He’d heard stories of people attempting to look beneath the masks and losing fingers or entire hands for their impudence.

It would have been almost impossible for a couple of penniless farmers to get their hands on such a thing. Not unless…

Not unless they really did pull it from a dead body left lying in the road.

Jiang Cheng sits back slightly in the lotus throne, letting his fingers dance across the smooth jade mask.

The Luó sect had risen to prominence within the last year and a half, and only being truly recognized as a sect worth taking seriously a few months ago. Their rise to success had been rapid, almost suspiciously rapid. There were many who regarded the sect like they would a seedy merchant’s stories - far too amazing to be the truth. They’d simply appeared overnight it seemed, with enough money and manpower to essentially buy themselves enough recognition to be listened to.

Jiang Cheng had never heard of their leader, Luó Guiren, let alone realized he owned enough property to establish an entire damn palace to house his sect. A small palace, not nearly as opulent as, say, the Jin sect and their Koi Tower, but big enough to be called a palace. The Bee Palace, in fact.

Add to that the eerie nature inherent in keeping your disciples concealed and interchangeable, and Jiang Cheng felt certain there was something worth at least speculating about.

And come to think of it, this couple came from the same region within Luó territory where Wei Wuxian had disappeared.

Jiang Cheng swallowed and got to his feet, handing the bloody robes and creepy mask back to the attendant. The old couple watched him apprehensively, and he takes a moment to make sure his expression is placating but not patronizing.

“Mao Chen,” He says, voice firm, “ Your evidence is compelling enough to warrant a further consideration, I will look into your claims.”

The old man’s face lights up with hope, his wife’s relief making her back begin to bend.

“If what you say is true, I doubt your son is the only one to fall victim to such a fate,” Jiang Cheng continues.

“Thank you Jiang-zongzhu,” The old man says, bowing again, “My family will forever remain in your debt.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jiang Cheng said, “There still remains the possibility something or someone else is behind your son’s murder, bloody robes and a Luó sect mask won’t be enough to convince most. Until I find indisputable proof that the Luó sect had a hand in things, I cannot openly accuse them of wrongdoing. Therefore, I ask you to keep what you’ve brought to me secret for the time being.”

“Anything,” The old man says, “Just find justice for our son.”

Something always twists at Jiang Cheng whenever he sees a father who acts out of love for his son. It’s not something he allows himself to dwell on without a bottle of liquor in hand and two more within arms reach, but it always manages to steal his breath and burn his eyes when he sees it. He feels it do so now, and he can only allow himself a tight smile as he motions for the couple to be seen out of Sword’s Hall. He then orders the bloody evidence taken to his office and settles himself back on the lotus throne to see whoever else has come to visit today.

All the while, the only thing he can think about is the fact that Wei Wuxian has gone and tangled himself up in something strange and vaguely ominous once again.

Chapter 2

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angstymdzsthoughts · 5 years

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pt 1 Divorve AU! tbh, I don't like the idea of WangXian separated but hey, angst is singing in my blood so, why not? Anyway, what if WWX actually handles the divorce just fine? Well, sure he is disheartened with the fact that the man he loves so easily falls out of love with him when he realizes he is not the man LWJ hopes himself to be but, he expects the divorce to happen for so long. His heart stings with betrayal and disappointment but, it's okay. He's used to it so, he'll be fine.

pt 2 Divorce AU! The moment JC hears about the divorce, he wasted no time as in to swoop in his brother back to YunmengJiang Sect, the sect where he supposed to be, not the GusuLan Sect. Now that there's no LWJ in his way, he can finally has his brother back. WWX says nothing when JC forces him back to LP because frankly, he has no where to go now. Of course, he expects JC to still hate him hence, probably brings him back to torture him back. But, JC has be nothing but courteous to him. pt 3 Divorce AU! Slowly, WWX lets his guard down and slowly enjoys his life at LP, after the long time he spent dreaming to be back to what once his home. JC said nothing but he's happy that his brother is back to where he belongs to. The YJ disicples don't understand at first why their sect leader brings back YP but, as he spent time with the man himself, then he understands why the Lan juniors and others, including JL that has once hated YP adores him. Slowly, WWX takes their heart with him- pt 4 Divorce AU! and they also began to adore him as those juniors did. The Lan juniors, hearing that WWX has settled down at LP start to flock there every time they can, just to hang out with WWX. JL also tries to divide his time as a sect leader so he can visit LP, not only to visit JC but also WWX (despite him not wanting to admit it). Slowly but surely, WWX's heart starts to feel full again, content with the love he has. He misses LWJ but, with the people around him, it hard to remember him pt 5 Divorce AU! i actually wants to end it at pt 4 but then, my brain betrays me so, angst time. LWJ, hearing that WWX HAPPILY settles down at LP is agitated by it. True, he has fallen out of love by the man he once swore to protect and love but, he has expected the man to plead to stay at CR and with him, not go to his merry way to LP and be happy WITHOUT HIM. He may has fallen out of love and divorce him but, WWX is HIS. The Lan elders continue to parade high born ladies to him- pt 6 Divorce AU! in hope that he will marry one of them. But, he doesn't even bat an eyelash at him and coldly disregard them coldly, leaving them in tears. They don't give up though as they still do it despite the LWJ's rejection. LXC exits his seclusion when he hears about the divorce and he can't help but to feel sad and disappointed at his brother. LWJ has been in love with WWX for years and when he gets him, he lets him go just like that, never fights for the other. pt 7 Divorce AU! Now, when WWX has finally finds happiness outside of CR, away from LWJ, LWJ becomes his cold self once again, perhaps worse than before. LXC doesn't know how to disregard the sudden change except giving LWJ an advice. "You let him go first, shouldn't you be content that he's happy without you?" LWJ only sends a cool look at his brother, not saying a word as he left. LXC ignores the look on LWJ's face (he really shouldn't). pt 8 Divorce AU! Meanwhile, LQR thinks he should be happy that LWJ divorces WWX and that troublemaker is finally gone from CR. But, he never admits that he has grown attached to the lil gremlin that when the news of divorce finds him, he is both shocked and angry at LWJ's decision. He refuses to see WWX off from CR because, he knows that if he did, he will most likely plead the other to stay. He might be a rule breaker but he also has broken into LQR's heart, and he refuses to admit it. pt 9 Divorce AU! He's happy though when he hears from the juniors that WWX is happy at LP. LQR thought, WWX deserves it at least, after his nephew broke his heart so carelessly, despite his oath and all. However, he is unsettled when he observes LWJ. Not only has LWJ return back to his icy cold self, it has only worsen after WWX left CR. He has rejected every marriage offer he is offered, every woman that has been introduced to him, he even refused to let any belonging WWX left to be taken away pt 10 Divorce AU! Frighteningly, it reminds LQR of his brother. Of how his brother obsession has destroyed their family, how the obsession lead QHJ to abandon his sons and sect as he went into seclusion. How the obsession destroys himself. LQR refuses to wonder about that possibility, that LWJ inherits QHJ's obsession, but, he knows, deep inside, he shouldn't ignore it. (Oh how he wishes he didn't.) pt 11 Divorce AU! LWJ hears of the juniors talking among themselves, how WWX seems happier after the divorce. How he seems so free, how elated he is and the many adventures they has with WWX. LWJ can't help but get angry at that (no one other than LXC and LQR know but, they aren't there to witness it). In a haste decision, when the opportunity go to LP arise, LWJ didn't waste it. He follows the convoy for the discussion conference held at the LP pt 12 Divorce AU! When he arrives at LP, the first thing he hears is WWX's laughter. It still brings flutter to his stomach as he turns to look at WWX. He is there, far but near enough for him to look at. WWX is sitting, surrounded by the senior disciples, talking who know what and one of them is sitting way too close to WWX, the other oblivious with it. (stay away from him! He's mine, MINE!) he grips on BiChen, eyes glaring at the sight. LXC looks at him in concern ("Are you fine WangJi?" "Mn") pt 13 Divorce AU! Days passed, and LWJ sticks by LXC's side. LXC thought that if LWJ truly has let the other go, he won't be worry much because, thinking otherwise is terrifying enough. Sure, he is saddened by the divorce but, if LWJ no longer clings to the feeling, he feels a lil assure by it. (He loves WWX, he was his brother-in-law once but, LWJ's obsession is horrifying) He just hopes that LWJ really won't do anything this time. pt 14 Divorce AU! LWJ gazes always linger on WWX. Each time he saw him, his eyes can't help but to stray towards WWX. He is sure he has fallen out of love, but why did his heart still wants WWX? (Obsession, the voice in his mind said. You're obsessed with him. You never love him, you're obsessed with him. they said again) Each time he saw WWX, he always has his arm around another's arm, the junior, the senior, even a servant. Everyone seem to taste WWX's touch, all except him. pt 15 Divorce AU! WWX avoid LWJ. true he has moved on but his heart stung in betrayal whenever he saw him. He feels it each time LWJ's eyes fall on him, every time he tries to talk to him but, WWX's heart isn't strong enough to face him yet. so, he avoids him. (he should've know it's a wrong move) LWJ corners him one day, it's night, dark and barely anyone is out. LWJ pins him on the wall, kiss him as he used to, and still, it weakens WWX's legs that he wobble under it. "HanGuang-Jun, stop," pt 16 Divorce AU! "Why?" "We're divorced. I'm not yours to kiss anymore, so stop" He can see the redness in LWJ's eyes. He would think he's sad by it if he hasn't seen it before. "You're MINE" "You let me go, I'm no longer yours" "Doesn't matter. You'll always be mine, Wei Ying" WWX tries to push him away but, he is weak. Always so weak against LWJ. "Let me go, HanGuang-Jun" he said. LWJ seems to want to say something before he stops. Then he smiles. the smile sends shiver down his spine pt 16 Divorce AU! LWJ caressed his cheek before letting him go. "You're mine, Wei Ying," he says before he leaves. WWX fears that moment (it's weird, he never has a reason to fear LWJ) before he went to JC's room. He asks him for a leave, wanting to go away for a while. JC says nothing, knowing that LWJ is here. He assumes that WWX doesn't want to see LWJ, so he let him go. (he wish he hasn't) WWX left the very next day. LWJ smiles when he knows it. ("You seem please WangJi,""Mn") pt 17 Divorce AU! A few days has passed since the discussion conference, and two weeks since WWX's departure. JC thought nothing at first because sometimes, WWX has a habit of leaving for a long time. A month passed, and still, no news from WWX yet. Two, and JC is worries out of his mind. He already told his people to find WWX, those who fond WWX the most eager to find him. Yet, there's no sight of WWX. In fact, there's no sight of him for weeks. QingHe, Lanling, Yunmeng, GUSU, no where. pt 18 Divorce AU! LWJ has told LXC he will go into seclusion. LXC thought nothing of it, only consent to it thinking that LWJ truly is moving on. (away from his obsession, away from WWX) He was wrong. (he should've asked why, he should've demand to visit him) LQR says nothing as he too consent LWJ's decision. (he should've know. he should've. Like father, like son. He should've check) LWJ is please by it. (No one suspect when he asked for two servings each time, always served with chili oil) pt 19 Divorce AU! in the jingshi, WWX lays on the bed as he stares at LWJ. He remembers nothing, except what LWJ told him. LWJ said he found him in the forest, barely survive an attack. LWJ told him to never exits the room, saying outside is cruel. He believes him (he doesn't know why). LWJ is too happy to be concerned with anything else because wwx is here, he's his to have, his to take. (so obsession. lwj is obsessed with wwx that he kidnaps him back after the divorce. i should just reblog 🤦)

.... oh my god you sent me a fic.

I had to know the word count and you sent me a 1,800+ work fic. Anon. You have to clean this up and post it. You gotta.

#Reply #Fic #yes I'm using that tag because thats all I can call this #Divorce AU #Unstable Lans #How did I never think to combine the two of them?#Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #Jiang Cheng #Lan Xichen #Captivity #Nonconsensual drug use #mdzs

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roboticnebula · 4 years

Text

Orbital Debris - 4 times being in space was unpleasant for Lan Xichen + one time it actually went alright

“Just ficlets,” I say, “short ones to get it out of my system,” I say as I keep writing more and more. Anyways, this is yet another installment of my Futuristic!AU (which I should have called the Space!AU!! I am a fool).

___

ONE

Lan Wangji immediately grabbed his hand when they stepped on the shuttle and Lan Xichen’s chest tightened with shame. At a time like this, he was the one meant to be comforting his distraught little brother, not the other way around. Yet there it was. His dìdi, usually uncomfortable with touch, face blotchy with restrained tears and eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground, still reached out to him.

Lan Xichen gently squeezed back, hoping to convey he was fine, that Lan Wangji did not need to worry himself further. He focused on the warmth of that hand as they shuffled towards the back of the shuttle, to sit in front of the porthole as was their habit and did not let go, even as they buckled themselves in. Neither of them said anything as the shuttle smoothly lifted from the ground and the scenery below them got smaller and smaller.

Lan Xichen could never bear to look, he focused instead on his little brother. Lan Wangji was old enough now that he didn’t wave goodbye to the white figure stuck on the ground, watching the shuttle carry them away. He knew, now that she could not see them. He only sat stiffly as the distance grew, already counting the days before their next visit. All Lan Xichen could do was coax him to lay his head on his shoulder for some rest – a gesture he knew Wangji would also outgrow soon.

It was a half an hour trip between Gusu Lan and the moon that kept their mother in seclusion, a very short trip by space standards. But the distance wasn’t what worried Lan Xichen. He counted the satellites, the asteroids and the debris all in orbit between them and their mother. So much could go wrong, so easily. The smallest collision and they would be planet bound, unable to do the short trip, and what would happen to their mother then? Who would bring her supplies? Who would visit?

When they landed, Wangji was fast asleep, exhausted from the emotional day behind them. That was fine, because Lan Xichen was not ready to let go of him just yet. He lifted him in his arms, tucking his chin on his brother’s shoulder and carried him off the shuttle.

From here, their mother’s moon was no bigger than his fist. It looked horribly lonely, and not for the first time, Lan Xichen wondered why it had been necessary to strand their mother so far away.

TWO

Lan Xichen numbly followed his uncle who led him to the back hills, far from the main buildings where a single escape launch pad was hidden in the grass. It was odd to see him run. It almost let Lan Xichen believe this was all just a nightmare, if not for the panic beating between his temples and the heavy, heavy weight in his arms of their sacred texts, quickly downloaded into hard drives and packed into protective pouches. Cloud Recesses was well and truly burning.

His eyes were stinging from the smoke and he had long stopped wiping away the tears trailing grooves in the soot on his cheeks. The air was so full of smoke, they were short of breath when they finally got to the launch pad but there was no time for pause. Over the roar of the flames and even from this far away Lan Xichen could hear people screaming. He desperately wanted to turn back and help, but this had to be taken care of first. He had to see his uncle and their texts off planet and then he could go help the others.

Lan Qiren hurried to unseal the door and their precious cargo was loaded on board, but instead of climbing inside after it, he turned to Lan Xichen, holding the door open for him.

“Get in,” he said.

Lan Xichen reeled and took a step back.

“I can’t leave -”

“We don’t have a choice.”

His uncle caught him by the shoulders, squeezing tight and urging him to look up at him.

“Xichen. If Wen Xu finds you, he will kill you. For the Lan sect to survive, both you and the texts have to escape.”

His tone was measured but a tremor in his voice betrayed his worry. He gently reached up to wipe the tears off his cheek and Lan Xichen felt his resolve crumble. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, tried to formulate one last argument for why he should stay -

“Wangji. What about Wangji -” he wheezed out instead

“Wangji is smart. The other disciples and I will protect him. You will see him when this is all over.”

Lan Qiren squeezed his shoulders one final time and, at Lan Xichen’s shaky nod, shepherded him towards the escape pod. He crawled inside, heart thumping in his chest, knees knocking on the sides and barely finding space between the bags. His uncle took hold of the door again, preparing to close it -

“Head to Lanling, it is the only place still out of reach from the Wens,” he instructed.

Then the door snapped shut and sealed itself, cutting off all sounds from the outside. Immediately, Lan Xichen fought the urge to jump out. The silence was heavy, unnatural, only a mocking echo of the quiet and tranquility of the place he called home and the small space felt horribly hot, beads of sweat already forming on his back. Still, with shaking fingers, he entered the coordinates that would take him off planet.

The last thing he saw was his uncle standing at a safe distance, surveying the area for any Wen that might come this way. Then the pod launched, the green scenery faded to white skies, then darkness. His heart squeezed even tighter when he flew past his mother’s moon, now empty.

Once in space, the inside of the pod cooled down quickly. Lan Xichen could see his own breath in the air and ice condensed on the porthole, forming spider webs of white veins. He was well and truly alone, hurtling far away from home in a pod that could be knocked off course by as little as a rock drifting too close.

But he couldn’t think about that. He had to survive, he had to protect the texts.

He forced himself to focus, double checked his course, verified all systems were functioning normally and when there was nothing left to do, curled up around his precious cargo, making himself as small as possible, and waited.

THREE

For the first time in a long time, Lan Xichen felt sick. The ship shook around them as the engines roared to life and he squeezed his eyes shut, curling in on himself as they launched out of the atmosphere of Lanling. His mind was spinning uncontrollably and the usual pull in his guts as the ship ripped itself away from the planet’s gravity was dizzying.

“There, there, er-ge, breathe, we’re almost there.”

A-yao – no, Jin Guangyao gently hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his head back to be better supported by the headrest, his hands flying over Lan Xichen’s body to simultaneously tighten the belt and the handcuffs, and caress his hair in comfort. Lan Xichen could only cling to his sleeves and waited for the artificial gravity of the ship to take over and for the nausea to pass.

He hated himself already for this moment of weakness. Hated that, despite the revelations of the past few hours and his own kidnapping, A-Yao’s presence could still be anything close to comforting and outraged that the man still took the liberty to behave so familiarly despite his betrayal.

It only added to his disbelief. How could the same man capable of this kindness be the one behind so many crimes? How could A-Yao be so kind to him when he had so ruthlessly poisoned Mingjue? The nausea, he realised, wasn’t only because of the space travel this time. In his heart, Lan Xichen still could not connect the man he thought he knew with the one he now knew was Jin Guangyao, as if one has suddenly replaced the other.

Finally, Lan Xichen felt the ship escape the last grips of gravity and smoothly start gliding through the void of space. His heart stopped fluttering like a caged bird, leaving only the familiar and more manageable weigh of loneliness in his chest. He took a deep breath to brace himself and opened his eyes to the grey walls and flickering light of the ship’s cargo bay.

He noticed that, on top of being adrift in space, he was now securely cuffed to his seat and his spiritual power still tightly sealed within him. His stomach back flipped anxiously and abruptly he urgently wanted Jin Guangyao as far away from him as possible. Before he could make his demand, however, the other man squeezed his shoulder one last time and pulled away, standing up over him.

“I know this was unpleasant for you, er-ge –“

“Don’t call me that,” interrupted Lan Xichen.

It was rude but he could not bring himself to care beyond the disgust provoked in him by the term. Jin Guangyao merely smiled placating at him.

“We will be at Guanyin moon in under an hour,” he continued.

Jin Guangyao urgently needed to leave this system and Lan Xichen knew this was why he had taken him along as hostage. The only possible reason he could have for the detour was for his mother’s body, but the moon was still a long way from the outer limits, so how far did he plan on dragging him along?

“And then what?” he asked, voice thin even in his own ears.

“As soon as I am able, I will set you free, uninjured.”

“Should I believe you?”

Jin Guangyao’s lips twitched up in another frigid smile.

“Do as you like. You don’t really have a choice,” he said.

He tugged one last time at the restraints to make sure they were secure and finally stepped back, heading for the door leading to the pilot’s cabin. Lan Xichen felt a spike of fear at the prospect of being left alone, but quickly crushed it down. He needed the space to think.

“Get some rest, er-ge,” said Jin Guangyao, before he stepped out of the cargo bay and sealed the door behind him with a hiss.

Lan Xichen was alone in the empty room, with nothing but the hum of the engines and the sound of his own breath, the cuffs cold around his wrists. He resolutely kept his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, instead of the window that would give him a view of the stars flying past them.

Lan Wangji was probably aware something was wrong by now, his brother had been expecting his reply hours ago already. Lan Xichen hoped that he and Wei Wuxian had gathered enough information to guess where Jin Guangyao was headed. There was a chance they would intercept them at Guanyin moon.

In the event they didn’t make it, Lan Xichen would have to make his escape alone. He had a sinking feeling that Jin Guangyao did not intend to let him go in the near future and Guanyin moon was his best chance to make a break for it. When the opportunity came, he needed to be calm and ready.

He forced himself to relax into his seat, closing his eyes to meditate.

He focused on the weight of the little pouch still against his breast. There was still a chance that he could get it to Nie Mingjue in time. Maybe, just maybe it would save his life, even reverse some of the effects of the poison. Maybe he could still fix his mistake –

First, he needed to get out of here.

FOUR

Lan Xichen always felt more at ease in ships rather than smaller shuttles or pods, but today it seemed he wouldn’t be able to relax. He gripped the straps of his seat more tightly, wondering if he would at least manage to fall asleep for the duration of the 5 hour trip it would take to reach Yunmeng Jiang. A warm hand dropped on top of his, drawing his attention to his neighbour.

“Are you ok?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. He had unbuckled his own seatbelt to stretch the moment the ship’s artificial gravity had activated and was now leaning in his seat, head tilted towards Lan Xichen, with all the ease of a man who had been in space thousands of times already.

“Do you want to have a walk around?” He asked

“I would rather stay here, if you don’t mind,” Lan Xichen tried for a reassuring smile, but was aware it came out strained when the pinch between Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows deepened.

“You know you could have told me you didn’t feel ready yet, right?”

Lan Xichen felt warmth pool in his stomach at the concern and his smile, this time, was more genuine. When Jiang Cheng had invited him to visit Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen had been delighted. It had felt right for it to be his first trip out of Gusu and even now, despite the stress of being in space again, he knew it had been the right decision to come. He let go of the strap to intertwine his fingers with Jiang Cheng’s and squeezed, already breathing easier with this small point of contact.

“I know,” he said and meant it, “but I promise, this is nothing important.”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow at him, not satisfied. He was of the opinion that Lan Xichen should express his own thoughts and needs more often and so started drawing small circles at the back of his hand with his thumb in a clear sign he intended to wait him out.

“I was never really comfortable in space,” admitted Lan Xichen, eventually, if only because talking helped keep his mind off his current situation.

Admittedly, he had been better at handling it before. Lan Xichen had been required to travel often as sect leader after all, so he had managed to get his fears under control. But it seemed he was out of practice. The last space trip he really remembered had been the horrible one with Jin Guangyao. After that, he hadn’t been able to handle the stress of the trip back to Gusu and had asked the ship healer to knock him out for the duration.

“How come? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that. It just makes me feel… lonely. And without control. We are so small, anything could happen -”

He trailed off, bitten by sudden self-consciousness. Jiang Cheng travelled in space all the time and did not have a problem with it. Next to him, it felt very silly to get so worked up about a standard space trip, especially in this day and age where they were common and necessary.

“I suppose I never thought of it like that,” Jiang Cheng voice cut through his thoughts before they could spiral, “but then again, I was practically raised in zero gravity. My parents often brought us out on jobs so I had to get comfortable quickly.”

“It’s still silly, I know, I promise it doesn’t usually hit me so badly -”

“It’s not silly,” said Jiang Cheng, firmly, “Tell me what I can do to help.”

He squeezed his hand again and gave him a smile, one that lit up his whole face and softened his eyes and never failed to make Lan Xichen weak in the knees.

“This already helps,” he said, gesturing to their joined hands, delighted at the slight blush that powdered Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, “but mostly I just try to sleep or distract myself.”

He was amused when Jiang Cheng seemed to consider the issue very seriously. Then it was his turn to blush when the other man lifted the armrest between them and pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to tuck his head on his shoulder.

“There, sleep.”

The embrace was warm, it felt safe. Lan Xichen’s stomach fluttered with that happy feeling again, all thoughts of the void outside forgotten. He nuzzled Jiang Cheng’s neck and let himself be lulled to sleep by soft fingers threading through his hair.

+ ONE

The satellite was the Nie sect’s latest creation and Nie Mingjue’s very own pet project, his first since he’d come out of his coma. Of course, Lan Xichen insisted he wanted to be there when Nie Mingjue announced it was finally ready for a visit. Satellites were still outside of Lan Xichen’s comfort zone, but this was important. He wanted to be there to show his support and he didn’t want either of boyfriends to worry about him, so he swallowed down his anxieties and declared himself more ready than ever for a jaunt in space with them.

Up to this point, he’d had no reason to regret it. It had actually been a pleasant walk around. He was still slightly on edge, of course, but that had been effectively drowned out by the waves of fondness he felt for the two men accompanying him.

Nie Mingjue kept pointing out all the different sections in excitement. The hundreds of docking stations along each leg leading up to a large central module, the diurnal cycle of the lights, the silent mechanisms of the doors and even the thrusters to correct orbital trajectory when they were visible from a window. Jiang Cheng was listening intently, obviously indulging him since the Jiang sect had done a significant portion of the engineering work. His expressions cycled from amusement, to fondness to exasperation when he noted something not quite up to spec.

Most of the explanations went over Lan Xichen’s head, but he loved watching the both of them. By the time they got to the central module he was actually excited along with them and relaxed enough to fully appreciate the breathtaking view waiting for them.

The roof was paneled with windows, giving them a direct view of the lush green surface of Qinghe Nie. Just beyond it, Lan Xichen could even see Gusu Lan shinning in the distance and right opposite of that, Yunmeng Jiang. The sight made Lan Xichen smile, as if seeing all three planets together made the distance between them seem not so unsurmountable.

He was just about to tell Nie Mingjue how beautiful it was, when there was a ring and the automatic voice of the satellite’s computer interrupted. Artificial gravity malfunction.

One moment, he had both feet firmly planted on the ground, the next he was slowly floating upwards. He shivered with discomfort when at first his body could not find its balance and his hand only met air when he tried to catch himself, heart jumping in his throat when he realised he was not equipped to be sucked out into space.

But now was not the time to panic. Lan Xichen had been enjoying himself and was determined to see this through, gravity or not and a quick look at his boyfriends’ more annoyed than worried expressions told him they were in no real danger. He forced himself to relax into this new weightlessness and smiled reassuringly at Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng.

At first, he tethered himself next to them, holding on to both their belts, but they quickly got into a heated discussion about the gravitational engines, most of which was incomprehensible technological babble to Lan Xichen so he allowed himself to drift away for a look around instead.

He never minded floating in zero gravity, and he’d been doing more and more space trips lately, his composure came to him more and more easily. And if there was anyone he trusted to get them out of trouble, it was Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng. It still surprised him sometimes, how much he adored them without restraint. There had been a time he didn’t think he would ever be able to trust himself again.

He took the time to admire the view, mostly the one of the two men below him, looking very handsome in their respective purple and dark green space suits. Jiang Cheng eventually seemed to give up and with one graceful kick floated up to Lan Xichen’s level, mirroring his earlier gesture by catching his belt to pull himself close.

“It really is quite a view, no?” He said, nodding at the stars.

“Mn, beautiful,” replied Lan Xichen, clearly still looking at him.

He laughed when Jiang Cheng flushed in surprise and when he retaliated by pulling him even closer and dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. Just when Lan Xichen leaned up for a proper kiss, Nie Mingjue caught them both by the ankles and pulled them down to him, stealing a kiss of his own and wrapping one arm over both their shoulders.

“Nothing too bad, but artificial gravity won’t get fixed today,” he announced, “so we can go back planet-side if you want.”

Nie Mingjue had had the forethought of tying himself to a cable so they could pull themselves back down. They were flying suspended together like a balloon tied down against the wind and Lan Xichen was being held between the two loves of his life. There really was nowhere he’d rather be.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, smiling brightly, “I’m good here for now.”

___

In this AU everyone lives and that includes Nie Mingjue! He gets poisoned by JGY which puts him in a coma, but he comes out of it after a few years (because medical space tech). So pairings are: past Nielan, Xicheng and eventually Mingxicheng because LXC deserves to have two boyfriends.

#lan xichen #xicheng #mingxicheng #the untamed #mdzs #futuristic!AU #lmao this is so long I might even post it on my ao3 #lots of hand holding #Lan Xichen deserves the best 2020 #My writing

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

Text

Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 24-30: Chapter 1, Gentle (Day 24)

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series:

Also available AO3: link

1,994 Words, Post-Canon, Songxiao, Wangxian, hurt/comfort, angst, recovery

Chapter 1: Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen are alive, healthy, and most importantly, together. But they still have a long way to go. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji understand this better than anyone

“I must return something to you,” Hanguang-Jun’s voice rung out like a shout to Xingchen’s sensitive ears.

They were in a guest room in Cloud Recesses, kneeling by a table, having just finished their first meal (breakfast? Dinner? Xingchen didn’t know) since Xingchen had awoken in his body for the first time in seven years. The Gusu Lan Sect food had been bland, but Xingchen had been grateful for that. Any warmth burned, any spice stung, any sweetness was sickly. His taste buds were used to dust and stale air. The scent of freshly cleaned linens and sandalwood was sharp to his nose. He felt full, but was unused to a body that could feel empty. His arms were weak. Zichen had taken the spoon from his hand after his shaky grip spilled nearly half the soup he had picked up back into the bowl. He was delicate, feeling more solid than he had in a long time, but he had also never felt so vulnerable. He was glad to be indoors, since he felt that right now, even a gentle breeze, so tied to his reputation (or previous reputation) in the cultivation world, would seem threatening to him.

“I kept it safe,” Lan Wangji continued to read aloud from the hastily scrawled words as Song Lan reached towards Xiao Xingchen, Shuanghua laid out across his palms.

Xiao Xingchen felt Song Lan’s shaking but warm hands fall into his, slowly sharing, then passing the weight of the sword back to its true master.

Xingchen flinched. He had been expecting the sword’s usual coolness, but the metal seared his skin with a cold he had been unprepared for, a jolt through his palms as the weight of the familiar sword hit his hands, and the backs of his hands hit the table, unable to hold the sword unsupported with the atrophied body he had returned to. He was not sure he wanted to carry the sword anyway.

It thrust forward. He felt the impact. “Is that you?” he had asked, not knowing that his question should have been directed at Shuanghua’s victim, not his seeming companion.

“Zichen? Zichen? Is that you?” he had said, this time directing the question to the right person, but far too late. The realization. The sharp kiss of the blade against his throat… no more until… until…

He swallowed, hands clenching tight on the sheathed blade. A touch on his shoulder, Zichen’s gentle hand, stabilizing his shuddering form as he held Shuanghua in his hands again. The blade that had done such damage. That he had trusted to such devastating effects. It made sense that his body, so unused to feeling, to touch, would be particularly repulsed by the blade that had destroyed first the innocent, then his heart, before finally turning on himself.

Though he was sure the others could see the hot, iron-scented tears he felt running down his face, he forced his mouth into a soft smile. The weight was his to bear. He was not at fault, he understood that now, after all these years of reflection, of slowly putting his soul back together. But it had been the pair of them, his hand and his sword, who had been the instrument of all this hardship, who had trusted each other and those around them too readily. And that would be his burden as the one who bore this hand, this sword, for his life to come.

He breathed, “Thank you, Zichen,” he said, managing to keep a quiver out of his voice as he leaned into the hand. Xiao Xingchen rose to one knee, then a foot as he stood up, unused muscles thrumming back to life as he used them to draw the sword for the first time since it had taken his own life.

Lan Wangji, meanwhile, watched Song Lan’s face. The soft frown, his brows laced with caution. The not so subtle glances from Xiao Xingchen’s face to Shuanghua, gleaming dangerously, no less sharp than it had been all those years ago, trusting the holder, but unable to forget the power of the weapon. Song Lan was a mirror of everything Lan Wangji had felt coursing through him four years earlier in Guanyin Temple, watching Wei Ying easily catch Chenqing and draw it to his lips, memories of quiet nights in the midst of the Sunshot Campaign, a flute and a guqin singing together through the night, overwhelmed and tainted by flashes of tears, blood, pain, Chenqing falling off the cliff first, and, as always, calling its master to follow its descent down… down…

Lan Wangji hoped Song Lan would write something, that it would be made clear that he was still meant to be here. The two rogue cultivators were silent and still, but for the slow circles Song Lan’s hand drew on Xingchen’s back and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers slowly travelling over every inch of the sword, as though looking for some physical defect to confirm its scarred history. Red tears streamed down Xiao Xingchen’s face. Song Lan reached for a still damp cloth from the tray where the now empty spirit pouch lay, reaching to catch the tears before they had a chance to reach white robes. Lan Wangji looked away. This felt like a private moment, but he could neither leave without a word, in case Song Lan wanted to say something, nor did he feel like he could interrupt to excuse himself. But the two, for the moment, seemed to recognize little else but each other.

He tried to clear his mind, closing his eyes and senses to the world around, blurring out the sound of Xiao Xingchen’s gentle whispers of thanks, of reassurance that he was ok, turning away from the tender but hesitant look and touch with which Song Lan refamiliarized himself with his beloved. Lan Wangji longed for a more concrete distraction from the scene before him, both out of courtesy and also because this reunion served as a painful reminder of the long years of separation leading to his own.

He was considering the merits of playing his guqin to remind the couple that he was still there, when Wei Ying, as always, came just in time to save him.

He entered the guest room with a handful of loquats. He grinned openly at Lan Wangji, whose reflexive response was a relieved if still restrained smile. Wei Ying tossed him a piece of fruit. Only after he confirmed that Lan Wangji, having easily caught the loquat, would actually eat it did Wei Ying turn to the guests, then back to his husband, who was still carefully avoiding any glance to that side of the room.

Wei Wuxian let out a quiet laugh, understanding Lan Zhan’s dilemma at once.

“Xiao-xiong! Song-xiong!” Wei Wuxian called. The two cultivators’ faces snapped towards the door, Song Lan blinking as though coming out of a dream, “I’m just going to grab Lan Zhan for a little bit if that’s ok? We’ll be by the warren if you need anything.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled, bowing his head mildly, seeming much less disoriented, or at least better at masking it, than his partner, “Of course, Wei-gongzi. We will come find you if anything comes up.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian bowed quickly, then beamed, grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist, “Let’s go, Lan Zhan!”

The two left the guest room, making their way to the rabbit colony. Wei Wuxian noticed that Lan Zhan’s hand, which had crept its way up to take his wrist’s place in Wei Wuxian’s hand, held his own more tightly than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked, earning himself only a slow, barely audible breath from his husband in response.

Wei Wuxian was not deterred. He had spent years decoding, studying, now practicing the subtle language of Lan Zhan’s expressions. He prided himself in its mastery, revelled in the looks of surprise whenever he correctly guessed even the most well-hidden of worries, (celebrated the rarity of the fearful, tearful, frustrated expressions that had often marked his previous life’s study of a face that should never bear anything but a smile).

While Lan Zhan might not be so forthcoming in the public, well-travelled areas of the Cloud Recesses, the bunnies’ warren provided just the privacy and comfort they needed.

They sat amongst the sea of fluffy snowballs, both silent, enjoying the quiet and the sun. Wei Wuxian felt a tickle on his hand, which was pressed into the ground as he leaned back. He looked down to see a small rabbit sniffing curiously at it.

Wei Wuxian smiled and picked the bunny up, stroking its ears gently, “Little rabbit, little rabbit, can you get my silly husband to tell me what thoughts are going through his head?” he asked, before turning to lay the bunny in Lan Zhan’s lap, “Let’s see if you have any luck.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened as though it was still a surprise that such a small creature would settle so cozily against his form. His mouth curved into the smallest smile as he lifted the bunny to his face. Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at his husband, who seemed unaware both that Wei Wuxian was watching him, and at the fact that his eyes crossed gently as they followed the bunny closer to his face.

Wei Wuxian settled back. He still wanted to talk to Lan Zhan about his conflicted expression in the guest room. He guessed it might be related to the bittersweet memories of their own reunion that their guests, one smiling, one silent, that had been brought to the front of his own mind since Xiao Xingchen had awoken. But Lan Zhan seemed to need some distance from the cause before he could discuss the effects. He knew Lan Zhan would talk to him once he had had the chance to regain his usual calm.

Closing his eyes to the warmth of the sun, the wind carrying a gentle floral scent towards them from somewhere upstream, he remembered a time when Lan Zhan was not simply quiet, peaceful as he was now, but closed off. He remembered the moments he had broken through that wall, first provoking anger, then concern, and finally, the first smile at a bunny on a lantern before they had made the pledge that would define so much of what followed.

He remembered having to slowly ease open the various gates and doors keeping others away from where Lan Zhan was most vulnerable. Admit to pain, to grief, to love. He remembered the simultaneous feeling that Lan Zhan was doing the same to him, tearing down barriers he hadn’t even known he had. The sheer intensity of the initial exposure of long hidden parts of himself to another, of uncovering wounds long concealed, many reopening before they could heal. He remembered a gradual climb, travelling apart, together, building and rebuilding parts of themselves that finally had the space to fall apart. Eventually able to settle into the synchronicity, the stability, the love that had now come to define their every day life together.

The looks on Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s faces reminded him of the them of before, shortly after Wei Wuxian’s return, the awkward reversal of grief, of guilt examined, forgiveness denied due to a refusal to blame. It drew them both to a time before so much healing, so much growth.

Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed and felt sideways blindly until he found the hand he was looking for and squeezed. Lan Zhan, silently squeezed back. Not a word was spoken, no glance exchanged, but everything that needed to be said was understood.

He was glad that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen were now able to start their long journey forward together. He and Lan Zhan would help however they could. He was though, perhaps selfishly, glad that this new beginning was theirs and nothing but a distant memory for him and Lan Zhan.

Next: Chapter 2, Harmony: Song Lan asks Lan Wangji for some help.

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #mdzs #cql #songxiao #wangxian #xiao xingchen #song lan #wei wuxian #lan wangji #I meant to write more of this today but it turns out I don't have the energy after all mypapers #so I guess for me the spring fest will continue about a week into May with this as the grand finale!#my writing #songxiao fix it series

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