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folderolsfollies · 3 years

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Sangyao Arranged Marriage.... III

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Word Count: 2.7k Rating: T Warnings: None to date (Besides discussion of canon events)

Nie Huaisang idly notes that it had taken three servants blanching and running through the halls of the Jinlintai at the sight of him freely wandering through its gilded passageways before he’s caught. He tears his gaze away from a beautiful and entirely inaccurate mural commemorating Jin victories during the Sunshot campaign. There’s Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun in front of him, pieced out in larger-than-life gold. Jin Guangyao, the hero of the Sunshot campaign, is absent from the scene.

He fully turns when he recognizes a quiet but unmistakable pair of footsteps. Jin Guangyao, alone, moves with a leopard’s prowling grace.

“San-ge, thank god you’re here! I got so lost…” he lies hurriedly before Jin Guangyao can say anything, clasping onto his arm. This close, the warm, spicy smell of cloves curls towards him. “Oh! You smell nice,” he says, entranced into losing his train of thought, and leans forward, to where the scent is deepened by the heat radiating out from Jin Guangyao’s jugular. “Have you remembered my trick with the incense?” he says, remembering frozen nights in Qinghe carefully draping his long sleeves over the incense burners. At the time, Meng Yao had kept his sleeves sensibly bound to the wrist, but Nie Huaisang had noticed the hungry way that he had stilled to watch all these invisible tricks of the gentry from out of the corner of his eyes, even back then. It had been the first time anybody had wanted to imitate Nie Huaisang. It had been the first time Nie Huaisang had felt the urge to impress someone, stirring new and strange within him.

“I will always remember your kindnesses, Nie Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao replies in the present, polite to a fault, and admirably suppressing his clear desire to ask what exactly Nie Huaisang is doing in Koi Tower. His San-ge, always so thoughtful! “The Jinlintai welcomes you.”

Nie Huaisang finally remembers his twice-stated promise, and, releasing his arm, darts backwards from him like a startled fawn.

“Jin-er-gongzi, thank you for the hospitality,” he says formally, and bows as deeply and as properly as any Lan.

Strong hands catch him from beneath the elbows before the arc of his bow is complete, and he’s hauled back into a standing position. They stand there for a long moment, with Jin Guangyao’s hands wrapped tight around his forearms, and Nie Huaisang’s hands gently draped on his arms. For a moment, Jin Guangyao’s face is startled into openness, as he looks at Huaisang with his large deer-soft eyes, and Huaisang looks back at him.

There’s a lock of Nie Huaisang’s hair, braided for the dust of summer travel, curling around Jin Guangyao’s sleeve and tickling his wrist. Jin Guangyao swiftly tucks it behind Nie Huaisang’s ear, his thin, cold thumb briefly brushing over Huaisang’s cheekbone. His fingers flex against Nie Huaisang’s scalp, briefly, before he releases him, and Huaisang beats down the brief impulse to envelop those cold hands in his own warm ones.

“Let’s go to my office,” Jin Guangyao finally says, and smiles, a small, reflexive thing.

The room Jin Guangyao brings them to is bright and well appointed, and utterly impersonal. There are no decorations. It is the office of a bureaucrat. It is the office of someone who can leave it at any time. Nie Huaisang, kneeling across from Jin Guangyao at his plain desk, feels suddenly desolate at the idea of bright Jin Guangyao entombed in this dingy room. Even in Qinghe, stark as it was, Meng Yao’s office had a few scattered effects, even if it was mostly scraps given by Nie Huaisang. Huaisang wants to give him something beautiful, something that would chisel him into the very walls.

He’s been silent too long. “San-ge, if I get you a fan, would you hang it there?” Nie Huaisang says, pointing randomly at an alcove in the corner. He’s sure to make the words sound artless, casual. Nie Huaisang knows enough to spare Jin Guangyao the sensation of pity.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao says indulgently, “Of course, Huaisang.”

“Don’t just agree with me! What if it’s awful?” Nie Huaisang says.

“I doubt you would ever choose anything that was not in exquisite taste,” Jin Guangyao demurs.

For some reason, at that, Nie Huaisang flops on his elbows and sighs heavily. He thinks he sees Jin Guangyao’s lips twitch up briefly from the corner of his eyes, but when he darts a glance up at him his face is smoothed into placidity once more.

A servant comes in, bearing a tray laden with the dainty little walnut cakes Nie Huaisang favors, placing them on the table to Jin Guangyao’s polite murmur of thanks.

When she leaves, Nie Huaisang leans in, hiding them both under his fan. “Ah, San-ge, what was her name?” he asks.

“Tang Zhu,” Jin Guangyao says in response, and doesn’t ask why Nie Huaisang was curious, sparing Nie Huaisang from having to answer that he simply wanted to see how quickly he would answer, plucking facts out of his well-ordered brain. Sometimes Nie Huaisang’s thoughts spin out from him, wild and untethered and frightening; at those times, Jin Guangyao’s straight-pathed mind settles something deep within him.

When Meng Yao had first entered the Unclean Realm, there had been a long stretch of months when Nie Huaisang had been anxious and sulky about this new addition to Qinghe’s roster, the slight figure at his brother’s right side who carried no saber and who had nevertheless earned such a large portion of his brother’s respect. It had lasted until the day Huaisang had trailed him silently through the secret passageways of the realm to see him pinching off crumbs of bread for one of the stray cats that jostled around the gates. He had felt an affection tinged with the bloody edge of loneliness. He’s like me, he had thought. He could be like me.

He had looked at him then. Jin Guangyao, only two years older than Huaisang, had seemed to have a steady presence that burned brightly within him, outshining any golden core. And Nie Huaisang never really stopped looking at him.

He spreads his fan in front of his face. He has a sudden hope that Meng Yao remembers how they’d use his fan as a silent method of communication with each other back in Qinghe, the way a brisk tap meant rescue me, a shift from hand to hand meaning, watch out! Da-ge coming. When he twists his wrist he thinks with each flutter: trust me, trust me, trust me. “Jin-er-gongzi, how are you settling in?”

Jin Guangyao looks trapped between exasperation and banked amusement, and Nie Huaisang feels such a rush of nostalgic affection that it makes his teeth hurt. “It would be best if you do not refer to me as such in Koi Tower,” he says instead of replying, lightly scolding. “Our positions are dissimilar.”

Nie Huaisang tilts his head unhappily, but smiles to cover it. “Then you’ll be my San-ge. What would you like to do while I’m in here distracting you?”

“I’d like to do my work , Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, pointedly, picking up a sheaf of papers on the table.

It gives him pause. In Qinghe, Meng Yao was as familiar to him as the downbeat of his own heart; Jin Guangyao in his Lanling gold has new expressions he doesn’t know how to read. Has he been presuming too much on a friendship grown stale through time? He doesn’t know. He has to know.

“Then forgive me for encroaching on your time, San-ge,” he says, penitently. He may have pulled the words from a drama. “I can see myself out.” He stirs to leave.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, and stops. Hope blooms in Nie Huaisang’s chest like a rose, flowered but barbed. Jin Guangyao’s lies are quick and fluent, easy to surface. Deliberation means he’s close to the truth. His smile is a little sad at the edges. “I can spare some time,” is what he settles on. “What brings you to Lanling?”

“Mostly, just avoiding Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, shamelessly. He feels giddy, pricked all over with excitement at the familiar cadence of the conversation. “He’s been after me to keep to a training schedule.”

“He only worries for you, you know that,” Jin Guangyao says patiently.

“Ah, I know, I know that,” Nie Huaisang says, “but this is peacetime! Surely the point of the war was to actually enjoy the rewards of peace.”

“Sometimes leadership demands sacrifice, even if it is peacetime, Huaisang,” says Jin Guangyao, offhandedly. Nie Huaisang puts his fan on the table.

Are you happy? He thinks. But then again, when he knew him best, Jin Guangyao was many things, and happy wasn’t necessarily one of them. When he thinks that he feels such a melting tenderness towards his old friend he has to hold his own hands.

“You always work very hard,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “But San-ge, shouldn’t you enjoy some of the rewards of peace too?”

“Nie Huaisang, you are not subtle,” Jin Guangyao chides, but his smile has turned more fond.

Caught out, Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “I’ve badgered Da-ge into finally letting me host a yaji for the next full moon, you should come, if you can make the time.”

“If I can make the time,” Jin Guangyao echoes neutrally.

“San-ge,” Nie Huaisang, pouting, “I’ll even sweeten the pot; should I invite someone for you?” Jin Guangyao will suggest Lan Xichen, who will be a good buffer between Da-ge and San-ge; he waits for confirmation.

Jin Guangyao looks down at his papers. “It would be a good opportunity to strengthen your relationship with some of the tributary sects. Some of the smaller sects produce fine artisans, like Laoling or Dingtao,” he says, neutrally.

Nie Huaisang tosses his hair back in exasperation. Jin Guangyao looks up again, tracing the arc of its movement. “You know that’s not what I meant, San-ge - wait, since when does Laoling produce artisans?” Laoling, a minor city kissing Lanling’s borders, produces golden maize in the summer, sticky purple jujubes in winter; it does not, to Nie Huaisang’s knowledge, produce any scholars of the Great Arts. Jin Guangyao’s smile freezes; Nie Huaisang feels triumphant. “You’ve been holding out on me, San-ge! Who’s in Laoling?”

Jin Guangyao ducks his head, affecting a modesty Nie Huaisang is sure is feigned: “Lord Qin’s eldest daughter. Now that my brother’s engagement is secure, it’s time to start thinking about my own marital duties.”

“You wish to marry... Qin Su?” Nie Huaisang asks, astonished. Qin Su is sweet, Qin Su is pretty, in a delicate fashion, and Qin Su has a winsome manner that would, Nie Huaisang imagines, make a person who cares for such things want to sweep her up in their arms. Nie Huaisang would rather be swept up, but he is not blind to the appeal.

“She is a generous and loving woman, and she would make anyone a fine wife.” says Jin Guangyao, and there is an admonishment cloaked in his even tone. There’s Jin Guangyao’s protective streak again, and it sends warmth into Nie Huaisang’s chest even as it feels odd, to hear it directed on the behalf of someone else.

“No, I know that,” says Nie Huaisang, so blankly that it seems to mollify Jin Guangyao. “But I had thought… Zewu-Jun…” he trails off, suddenly aware that he is shown more of his hand than he had planned, but helpless against the rush of curiosity. Zewu-Jun is the top cultivator of the cultivation world, the pride of Gusu Lan. Nie Huaisang could never possibly strive to his heights - it exhausts him thinking of trying.

That would be the caliber of a suitor that he would find for Jin Guangyao. That was the caliber of a suitor he had thought he had found for Jin Guangyao.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes glint, and for a second Nie Huaisang is pinned under a piercing gaze. Jin Guangyao has not looked at him like that for a long time, and there is a small, hungry part of Nie Huaisang that would take the anger, if it means having the honesty. “You should be careful about what you think, and who you tell your thoughts to,” Jin Guangyao says. There you are, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Nie Huaisang makes his mouth twist. “Ah, I’ve upset you,” he says mournfully, “I only want you to be happy.” Jin Guangyao doesn’t smile, precisely, but his gaze softens slightly.

“I’m sure you do,” he says.

But something within Nie Huaisang thrums like a badly plucked qin. So that’s the type he likes, he thinks, without knowing why. Agitated, he taps blindly at his wrist with his fan. It’s then when he realizes that to many, a betrothal to Jin Guangyao would be seen as an insult. It feels like a betrayal to remember, but a greater betrayal to have forgotten.

(Once, Da-ge and him had overheard a chef say “What a pretty child the young master is, too bad about the mother.” Da-ge had her thrown out the next day.)

“I’ll set aside your usual room, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, in lieu of asking how long Nie Huaisang is planning on staying, which is rather deft of him. Nie Huaisang squirrels the phrasing away for safekeeping and raises his hands placatingly.

“Ah, no need, no need, San-ge, I just stopped by to say hello before proceeding to Lanling! Between the two of us, it’s a little difficult going shopping in Qinghe, everybody knows Da-ge there,” he says, knowing that his face is steadily turning more flushed and batting cool air at his face with his fan.

Jin Guangyao’s face is as smooth and impassive as a creamy block of white jade. “And what would Nie-er-gongzi need in Lanling that you wouldn’t want your brother to know that you’re buying?” He tilts his head, smiling as serenely as ever.

Nie Huaisang squirms and points at him with his fan accusingly. “Ah, you’re teasing me! That’s so unfair, nobody would ever believe me if I tell them that you have a sense of humor.” He wrinkles his nose against the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him. Decorum, Huaisang.

Jin Guangyao raises his eyebrows. The dimples deepen. “And who would you plan on telling?”

Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “You know I can’t tell anyone, you’re the only person I can actually gossip with.”

“I don’t indulge in gossip, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says primly, which is an obvious lie, and has been since the day Nie Huaisang had first met him. “It’s frivolous, and detrimental to the spirit.”

“But San-ge, I’m very frivolous,” Nie Huaisang points out. “Spare a thought for us lost causes.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Jin Guangyao says, and for a moment he looks almost angry, the raw emotion rippling across his features the way a shark fin breaches water. He calms, and smiles placatingly. “You’ve been raised to this, you and your brother both.”

Jin Guangyao lies. Huaisang knows this. But sometimes, he lies to craft the world into a better shape than it is.

Nie Huaisang smiles at him. “I’ll invite the Qin family at the end of the month; I want to help you.”

He watches Jin Guangyao come to a decision. “You’d be putting me in your debt,” he says, as if doubtful.

Nie Huaisang thrills. “No debts between us, San-ge, we’re brothers!” he says, full of innocence, and watches Jin Guangyao relax in increments - softening his brow, the corners of his eyes, the rigid line of his shoulders entombed in layers and layers of fine silk. That’s never been true, but what would the thoughtless Second Young Master know about obligation? The trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the whole game away.

“I have to go now, there’s only so much time before Da-ge figures out I’m not actually at Lotus Pier,” Nie Huaisang explains, with a trace of regret. He places a hand on Jin Guangyao’s slim wrist as he moves to leave, silk and skin nearly indistinguishable to the touch. “But it was good to see you again, Yao-ge.”

Jin Guangyao blinks slowly down at the hand at his wrist, and then upwards at him. “The pleasure was mine entirely, Huaisang.”

#my fic #sangyao #we're back baby

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folderolsfollies · 3 years

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title: Three Can Keep A Secret (If Two Of Them Are Dead) pairing: Sangyao summary: I just wanted to let my stupid murder twinks have a nice day and plan a fake-date. (discussion of sexual assault - if you want to skip it go from the paragraph ““You’ve been talking to Xiao Xingchen,” to “Nie Huaisang thankfully gets the hint”)

Meng Yao has had enough.

Hasn’t he worked harder than anyone he knows, learnt enough to be the equal of spoiled children who could spend their children at tutoring programs and not second jobs, hadn’t he lied and schemed and shoveled shit so that his father, his biological father, would even deign to look his way? After all that, is he not owed - everything, really - but at the very least something? And if he can’t get his reward, can he not at least get his revenge?

He calls his oldest friend, and lets it ring all the way through as it goes to voicemail. When he calls again. Nie Huaisang picks up on the second ring.

“Sorry Yao-ge, figured if it wasn’t important you’d leave a voicemail and if it was important you’d just call again,” Nie Huaisang explains, with the edge of a laugh trilling his voice, not sorry at all. “So tell me, why have you made me suffer through an actual phone call instead of texting me like a civilized human being who’s joined the 21st century?”

“I want to bring my father down,” Meng Yao says, and then hastily snaps his mouth shut. There’s something about Nie Huaisang which makes him speak too hastily, allow too much of his real emotions, real anger out. The wild shriek of laughter Nie Huaisang is emitting right now isn’t helping with that.

“Hell yeah, love a scheme,” says Nie Huaisang comfortably, and from the muffled thud it sounds like he’s settling in.

“Nie Huaisang, are you putting your feet on the table?” Meng Yao says. Meng Yao is not a mom friend. Lan Xichen is a mom friend. Meng Yao is cool. And, if he is continuing to indulge in wild hypotheticals, Nie Huasiang is a jock.

“So mean to your rescuer, Yao-ge! Do you want my help or not?” Nie Huaisang says.

“I could ask Xichen instead,” says Meng Yao, annoyed, and winces. He’s definitely off his game.

“Lan Xichen will tell you to hug it out,” Nie Huaisang points out, “that’s why you didn’t call him, you called me: your meanest friend. Now tell didi what happened.”

Meng Yao opens his mouth. Then he closes it. Nie Huaisang is the last person on the planet that would judge him for familial related hysterics. But he’s not quite at the point where he can untangle the web of hatred and obligation and trampled love that he feels whenever his father is around and present it for public consumption. He’s not even at the point where he thinks he can try. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he says, and if his voice is low, at least it doesn’t shake.

“Sure, whatever. I’m assuming that you already have a plan in place?” Nie Huaisang instantly says, cheerily.

“You’re just agreeing to this?” Meng Yao says, shaking his head. “People will take advantage of that, you know,” he says, and the words come out with the solicitous edge that he always feels compelled to adopt with Nie Huaisang. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that Nie Huaisang will say, “But it’s not people, it’s you”, and then Meng Yao will say --

“I mean maybe I’d say something if it were Zixuan you were targeting, maybe, but Jin Guangshan? You don’t need to sell me on a revenge plan against him, Yao-ge,” Nie Huaisang says breezily, like it’s that easy. And maybe to him, it is. “Also I’m agreeing to hear you out, not to get involved in anything, by the way, you’ll need to bribe me for that.”

“I already bribe you,” Meng Yao points out, and smiles reflexively, as if it could soften the words over the phone.

“That’s great, then! You already know what works on me!” Nie Huaisang says.

Meng Yao sighs, but he’s smiling, and it's a real one this time. “He’s having a charity gala in a few weeks, and I’m going to be there, as an organizer. I’m allowed a plus one.” He knows this for certain, because he wrote the invitation code.

“Yao-ge, are you going to bring someone shocking?” Nie Huaisang says, all conspiratorial glee and instant understanding.

“Yes,” says Meng Yao, swallowing, trying not to think about what led him here after he worked so hard to gain his father’s favor, or about the way Nie Huaisang’s voice dipped low on his name.

“So you want someone male, to activate his old-man homophobia, and frivolous enough that he can’t even say this is some sort of business strategy. I’ve got a couple of candidates,” Nie Huaisang muses, and Meng Yao can hear his smile through the phone. “How about, oh, Wei Wuxian? He’s always my personal choice when I need a chaos agent.”

“Lan Wangji would kill me,” Meng Yao replies automatically. If he halted that slow-moving daytime soap opera any more, he thinks Lan Wangji would just be the first in a very long line. He briefly mulls over the merits of seducing Wei Wuxian just to stop having to look at their insufferable pining gazes. “Huaisang…”

“Well, how about Xiao Xingchen, then? He’d be nice enough to agree, he’d probably think he was taking a principled stand against bigotry,” Nie Huaisang says, in his best butter-won’t-melt voice.

Here’s the thing. Meng Yao knows exactly what Nie Huaisang is doing right now. And still he finds himself saying “Huaisang… I don’t want Xiao Xingchen,” because then Nie Huaisang will laugh and say -

“Oh, you want me, gege? Now what will I get for that?”

A small part of Meng Yao, still, after everything he knows about Nie Huaisang, wants to say “Anything.” And in truth, there is little that he would not give to Nie Huaisang. Meng Yao sometimes feels like it’s Nie Huaisang’s knowledge of this fact that is the only reason that Meng Yao still gets to set the terms.

“First of all: exposure.” Meng Yao says crisply, relaxing into details. “It will be well attended. Madame Yu will be there, and you can get an introduction that doesn’t need to go through her children.”

“And?” Nie Huaisang says.

“It’s minimal work. We go in, get photographed, and get out. We really just need to be seen for this to work.” Meng Yao lists off.

“And?” Nie Huaisang says, and he’s definitely fucking with Meng Yao now, but what he doesn’t know is that Meng Yao also has an ace up his sleeve.

Meng Yao pauses for full dramatic effect and then pulls out his trump card. “And it’s a masquerade.”

“Meng Yao,” whoops Nie Huaisang, delighted as a child, “why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I led with the opportunity to inflict social repercussions on a known missing stair in the community,” Meng Yao says virtuously, “at great cost to my own career in the company.”

“You’ve been talking to Xiao Xingchen,” Nie Huaisang snorts, and maybe that easy understanding that sometimes bodies need to get buried is why Meng Yao only wants one person on his arm for this. “If you really wanted to expose him properly, there has got to be a woman willing to go on record against him.”

Meng Yao feels three bright stabs of pain in his palm, and realizes that he’s clenched his fist hard enough for the nails to bite in. He relaxes every individual finger. “That won’t work,” he says, calmly. Always calmly. “He’ll get a slap in the wrist and those women’s lives will be ruined for nothing.” And so will his, he thinks.

Nie Huaisang thankfully gets the hint and changes the subject. “Whereas this way, you get a cozy, sympathetic interview in GLAD magazine about how some people can’t keep up with the times, and some exposure that you can use with more liberal companies. Bold move, A-Yao!”

Meng Yao really can’t help himself. “I think Lan Wangji would agree.” Lan Xichen won’t stick his neck out for Meng Yao against the Jins, but Lan Wangji’s sense of virtue can be played like a fiddle. And as Lan Wangji goes, so goes the nation, apparently. Meng Yao thinks he can play this just fine.

Nie Huaisang is laughing approvingly. “You’re my favorite, Yao-ge,” he says, because, Meng Yao reminds himself, he’s a flighty child who says that to anyone who made him happy for more than five seconds, and Meng Yao is just stupid enough to still want it.

“So I’m going for provocative but in a way that appeals to subscribers to the New Yorker,” Nie Huaisang muses. “I’m very good at being a good-for-nothing piece of arm candy, you called the right guy.”

“That’s not true, Nie Huaisang, you know that,” Meng Yao says, because Nie Huaisang’s inexplicable urge to constantly downplay his own intelligence is one of the most baffling things about him.

Nie Huaisang just hums and doesn’t answer. “Well, I’m in, if I have the time,” and then he adds, because he’s still Nie Huaisang, “and maybe you’ll owe me a favor!”

Meng Yao lets himself think for a beat about Nie Huaisang owing him that sort of favor - flushed cheeks, tangled hair - and then sighs mildly. “I suppose.”

“I’m going to take advantage of that,” Nie Huaisang says, and the phone clicks off.

#the untamed #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #sangyao #oh I should have a fic tag #my fic

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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Mo Dao Zu Shi Q || Jin Guangyao Episode 13

#is that a FAN #you know im tagging this #sangyao #this is a visual of chapter like 5 in my Sangyao fic #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #gif warning

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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today I was going to finish the next chapter of my sangcheng fic but instead I wrote 1000 words of Wen Qing/Jin Guangyao, a ship so rare I am going to have to make the ship tag for it.

I'm gonna call them the scary Bambis.

#yaoqing #wild to me that nobody is into this.... nothing but respect for MY two hottest cultivators

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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#jgy still doesn't get to hold the baby #jin guangyao #jiang cheng #jiang yanli

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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platonic ship: mianmian and jin zixuan. setting: in lanling, as children

The last year before Jin Zixuan figures out that his father will only ever love him as an accessory to his power is also the year that he meets Luo Qingyang. For a long time, he thinks of it as the last truly happy year of his life. The Luos are a long-time family of the Jin sect. Most of them live in Lanling City, although there are a few cousins living farther out in the more rural areas. It is to these cousins that Jin Zixuan will go to learn to ride horses the year he turns eleven.

This year, he is seven years old, and his parents have decided that he has finally learned enough etiquette to be allowed to join his parents in Douyan Hall to greet the sect’s retainers.

He keeps his face impassive and nods to accept the salutes and manages to keep his composure for three whole hours. It’s just as he’s starting to fidget that the Luo family comes to pay their respects. The Luo family has a daughter his age who will be starting training in Carp Tower and she greets his parents prettily and Jin Zixuan’s mother finally, finally takes pity on him and tells him to go show Young Mistress Luo around while their parents talk.

Madam Jin reassures Luo Qingyang that she’ll get a chance to say good bye to her parents and that, of course, she can always visit them in Lanling City on rest days. Then, Jin Zixuan rises from his seat and returns Luo Qingyang’s salute and leads her out of Douyan Hall and into Carp Tower proper.

He dutifully shows her around, first to the girls’ dormitories, then to the training grounds, but the tour quickly turns into a game of exploration. It doesn’t take long for Luo Qingyang to insist that he call her Mianmian—“because it’s Qingyang, get it?”—and get him to tell her about his favorite gardens and pavilions. Jin Zixuan wishes he could reciprocate somehow, but he knows it won’t do for her to call him anything but “Young Master,” at least not where anyone can hear. And in Carp Tower, there’s no place where someone might not hear.

“What have you learned so far already?” he asks her. They’re sitting on a bridge over an artificial stream that winds its way from a turtle pond high up in the tower to a carp pond on a lower level. Jin Zixuan passes Mianmian one of the red bean cakes they’d begged from the kitchens (Jin Zixuan had never been in the kitchens before) and she takes a bite before she answers.

“Meditation, of course,” she says, once she’s swallowed the pastry. “And I got my older cousin to teach me some of the unarmed combat forms! But he said I had to wait to learn sword forms from the masters here at Carp Tower.”

Jin Zixuan nods around his own bite of red bean cake. “Makes sense. You want consistency for sword cultivation.” He says this with all the assurance of a proud young master, no matter that he’s barely started his own formal cultivation training. All the games he’d played since he was a toddler had been with an eye toward training his cultivation, his comportment, or his memory, preparing him for the process of forming a golden core and for being sect leader one day. This year, however, is the year he’ll really start down the sword path. He’s been looking forward to it for some time.

“And what about you, Young Master Jin?” Mianmian asks.

“Meditation, of course,” he echoes her earlier statement. “And etiquette, the history of the great and minor sects, calligraphy, music...” He pauses to take a bite of his own red bean cake.

“That’s so much!” Mianmian exclaims.

“You’ll end up learning much of that, as well,” Jin Zixuan says. “Not as much as me, since you’re not a sect heir, but all Jin disciples have to know enough not to shame the sect.”

Mianmian kicks her legs against the side of the bridge; Jin Zixuan looks at her sidelong and she seems to be thinking over what he said.

“I can help you with the stuff you haven’t learned yet,” he offers tentatively.

Mianmian turns to him, smile brighter than the gilding on Douyan Hall, and nudges his shoulder with her own. Jin Zixuan recognizes it as a friendly gesture, not one he’d experienced before. “Thanks, Young Master Jin,” she says. “I’d like that.”

Platonic or kink prompt game!

#I never really thought about this friendship but this is lovely! Jin Zixuan is so prickly and arrogant but you can see his potential #the untamed #jin zixuan #mianmian

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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Oh, hello new people! It’s been a bit of a busy week, but it’s nice to meet everyone :) I’m Folderol on AO3 and I’m basically always down to talk about 1) how the Untamed women deserved better 2) how Lan Xichen deserved better 3) Sangyao :)

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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meng yao & nie huaisang checking out qinghe warriors during training and simply being menaces to society (but if someone asks, they don’t know anything) (if dage asks, they weren’t even there)

(so hc that when they were younger they used to watch trainings very often officially bc nhs wanted to study anathomy drawing more but the truth was nhs had a little bit crush on nzh and my on nmj so,,,,)

visit me on twitter for more content

#oh my god much to think about MUCH to think about #murder twinks #sangyao #jin guangyao #nie huaisang

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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Wei Wuxian & Lan Xichen for @yibobibo

#gif warning #lan xichen #wei wuxian #I was running into a block on my Wei Wuxian breaks LXC out of seclusion fic but this gifset is energizing me #I have powers now #they both see a role model and a cautionary tale in each other

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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WWJCD: what would jiang cheng do

#Jin Ling I know this is you

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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Da-ge NHS

Summary: Sangyao Drabble where NHS and NMJ have switched ages. but everyone else is the same age. 1k. T.

“Take a seat, A-Yao,” Nie Huaisang says mildly, and gestures at the pillow in front of him.

The Unclean Realm, always seeking to disguise in layers of strict hierarchy its butcher’s roots, elevates the seat of its current leader to what is almost a throne. Sitting there, Nie Huaisang usually feels like a songbird in a gilded cage, trapped gazing at the tops of prostrated heads like some emperor. But sometimes, he thinks, watching the tendons in A-Yao’s veins strain as he, never a tall man, has to crane his neck upwards in order to maintain eye contact, these petty tricks have their uses.

He flicks his fan open over his mouth with a harsh snap . They both know what that means. Jin Guangyao stiffens. He pulls a smile over his rapidly hardening expression.

Give Jin Guangyao time enough to fashion a mask, and nothing will coerce him unmask himself. Unsettle and unbalance him, and he will blurt out any truth that you care to know. He was always too prideful to be a successful liar. This has never been Nie Huaisang’s problem. So he goes for the direct approach.

“Inducing a qi deviation, really, A-Yao?” Nie Huaisang says, twisting his wrist to unveil one corner of his lifted mouth. Jin Guangyao jolts through his entire body and quickly gazes at the floor, but not before Nie Huaisang catches an upswell of panic widening his deer-soft eyes. Really, this is the most fun that Nie Huaisang has had in ages . If it weren't for the whole attempted murder debacle, he’d thank him. “And on me, known never to lift a saber except to prune branches? What were you thinking? This is worse than the time with the captain.”

Jin Guangyao stammers, “I’m not sure what you mean, I don’t know --”

“That’s my line, usually, isn’t it, A-Yao?” Nie Huaisang says, smiling gently. He covers his whole lower face with his fan again, a move he knows Jin Guangyao hates. “And I would hope that a man of your prodigious memory isn’t about to try to convince me that you just happened to insert a spiritually damaging sequence into a Cleansing sequence by accident.”

Jin Guangyao glares at him. Good. Nie Huaisang hasn’t lost his former deputy, not quite, not yet. Not if they still have this measure of honesty between them.

“No, this is a deeply stupid plan, and we know there’s only one man that stupid that you would obey, even at the cost of your own life.” Nie Huaisang continues.

Jin Guangyao slumps, putting his head in his hands, and looks at the floor. “You’re very clever, da-ge.” he says, clearly going for flattery. “How did you figure me out?”

He looks up. His large eyes seem even larger when sparkling with the sheen of tears. His mouth is a perfect moue, like he’s about to cry, or he’s waiting to be kissed.

Just because Nie Huaisang is aware a manipulation is occurring, doesn’t mean that he’s not susceptible to one. If Meng Yao had not tried this exact strategy on him over a hundred inconsequential things, it might have even worked.

Instead, he crosses over the dais to kneel by Jin Guangyao conspiratorially, they way that they would lean together a few years ago when they were both kids, too young to rule a kingdom, too young even to realize their own arrogance in trying.

“Yao- xiong ,” he says, with the hint - well, if he’s being honest, probably more than just a hint - of a whine in his voice, raising his fan to shield them both from the sight of his throne. “What am I supposed to do now? We just got out of one war, and now I’m supposed to wage another one? And against the Jins? At least everyone hated the Wens back then.”

Jin Guangyao laughs low and disbelievingly. He closes his eyes and swallows. Nie Huaisang watches the bob of his throat, up and down. “I suppose you’d recruit me to be your spy in that case, given our… previous history," he murmurs.

“Perhaps,” says Nie Huaisang, thoughtfully. He closes his fan, and traces its trailing edge down Jin Guangyao’s fine cheekbone. Jin Guangyao neither flinches away or leans in. “Although don’t you feel like Jin Zixuan would be more reasonable, if he were the one making decisions? Such a noble boy. We mightn’t even have to have a war at all.”

Jin Guangyao smiles neutrally, dimples appearing from under his skin like a pangolin emerging from its burrow. Turning, he clasps Nie Huaisang’s wrist, soft fingertips caressing against his pulse, and trails his hand up to tug Huaisang’s fan out his suddenly unresisting grip. “He would be.” he says.

Jin Guangyao really is so clever! How pleasant to arrange a murder with barely anything said at all.

“Of course, A-Yao, we wouldn’t be having this discussion if you ever hurt Mingjue, you know that, right?” he asks, casually. “I’d be feeding your head to my dogs right now.”

“I’d never hurt Nie Mingjue,” Jin Guangyao says, and the shock and pain of it looks real. Real for now, at least. If Nie Huaisang were dead, and Nie Mingjue suddenly a more straight-forward target, unused to the dance of court politics, then, well, Jin Guangyao has always had his priorities, clear to everyone except Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao.

“I know, A-Yao,” Nie Huaisang says, because what matters is what Jin Guangyao thinks is true in the moment, and Nie Huaisang has plans for if the scales ever tilt.

He reaches forward to grab back his fan, and tilts Jin Guangyao’s chin upwards from its resting position tucked neatly against his chest.

“And A-Yao? Something more subtle than a qi-deviation this time, please.” he says.

#the untamed #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #sangyao #When Will These Fake Bitches Kiss #i ask myself this every day

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folderolsfollies · 4 years

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Sangyao Arranged Marriage ... Part 2

[Part 1]

Word Count: 2.5k Rating: t Warnings: None to date (there is discussion of canon events)

The Unclean Realm was a home first, and then a fortress, and then a home again, and it stands in stark, punishing angles against the mountains that enfold it. The expansions made by Nie Huaisang’s fathers and grandfather’s were hewn by descendants grimly aware of their oncoming death, who built the rooms and wrought the gates as much to keep demons locked inside as to rout the demons at their door.

But the private chambers for the family were fashioned as delicately as any Lan parlor room. These were commissioned by the butchers who founded the clan, anxious to be seen as refined as any other gentry, despite their rough origins, and so the architects were held to the highest standards of taste. And so they remain, gleaming like a pearl in the heart of the realm, embedded within its harsh grey oyster shell.

Nie Huaisang flits through its shining corridors, wrapped in grey robes woven so finely that in the moonlight they glow a pale, iridescent white.

“Da-ge, I’ve come to manipulate you”, he announces, barging into Da-ge’s private office late at night. Better to be upfront about these things with Da-ge, rather than suffer the consequences that come from him finding out about it later.

Nie Huaisang’s brother doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. His desk, a recent addition, is sturdy Qinghe steel, dominating against the elegant background. “No, you cannot get out of saber practice to go to some art show,” he grinds out, implacable as a knife on a whetstone.

Nie Huaisang, seeing that his brother isn’t going to pay any attention to his bravura performance, doesn’t bother to bristle. He just exhales noisily and says, dropping to his knees on the other side of the desk, “No, not about that,” and dutifully picks up a sheaf of letters from one of the stacks on Nie Mingjue’s desk. Stage one in his plan: here comes the filial child, helping with sect duties.

The first letter on the pile is a report of a horde of fierce corpses in a minor provincial town to the south-west of Qinghe. Nie Huaisang frowns, temporarily distracted, and reaches for one of the blank maps and ink sticks that Nie Mingjue keeps permanently on his desk.

“Do you have a map of just the fierce corpse sightings from oh, since the last new moon?” he says, absently, and wets his quill in Nie Mingjue’s inkwell.

“Decorum, Huaisang,” says Nie Mingjue roughly, and so he rolls his eyes around the flicker of annoyance, and starts grinding a fresh pot of ink for himself. Meng Yao would have let him. “And no. Why, do you see a pattern?”

“No-ot yet,” Nie Huaisang says, “No talking for ten minutes, let me draw it out.”

He’s thinking about what he’ll say if Nie Mingjue complains about being silenced in his own office, but his brother just grunts and returns to the accounts. He takes some bright red fresh ink as well as the black, and the thick sheaf of cultivator requests from the outlying counties, and places it all on his side of the large desk.

Maybe it’s just that Jin Guangyao was here, earlier, to draw out the comparison, but the office feels vaster and emptier than it did when Meng Yao’s steady presence at his own writing table anchored the other side of the room. There was something about his fine-boned face that came into focus when seen in candlelight, although it may have just been the proximity to gold.

“Look at this,” Nie Huaisang says finally, fanning at the paper to let the ink dry, “Red is the older reports, black are the corpse sightings from the past few weeks. We’ve been assuming that these corpses are all remnants of Wen casualties from the Sunshot campaign because of their robes, but Qishan is almost entirely volcanic terrain, so for a horde of mindless puppets there are only a few real possible routes of egress without being destroyed- here, here, and here.” He sketches rough circles around wide valleys. “But there’s a different pattern to these reports. If you draw a line,” and he places the ink stick down to draw out the path, “they all seem to be coming from one area in the south-west, and recently, since the older reports are clustered more south.” There’s a warm, pleased flush in his chest. Maybe he lacks cultivation skills, but there are other ways to be useful, he thinks.

Nie Mingjue glowers, and points to where the end of the ink stick lies with gathering anger. Baxia, ever responsive to his brother’s moods, lets out a warning growl in the corner. “Yiling? So this Wei Wuxian’s work?”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “I don’t know! I just don’t know, something about all of this doesn’t sit right.” He drags his fan over his lower lip, waiting for his logic to catch up with the conclusion. “Oh! It’s the frequency. Maybe he’s been slaughtering whole towns to get these numbers, but they would still have to pass through Jiang and Jin territory to get to us, at least, you’d expect it to be more thinned out. ”

Nie Mingjue slams his hand against the desk, but it’s his thinking rap, easily dismissed. “And we can’t overlook any non-related cause - a haunted amulet half-destroyed a town last year and caused a swarm, and that was never linked to any one sect.”

Nie Huaisang hums, flicking his fan open to cover his whole face while he thinks. “Also, Yunmeng is also pretty close to Yiling - it could be that Jiang Wanyin has decided to dip his toes into demonic cultivation.” He drags the fan down his face until it bumps against the bridge of his nose.

Over it, he looks at Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue looks at him. They burst into laughter as one.

“Did you hear him at the last cultivation conference when he pledged to break the legs of any demonic cultivator that crossed his border? He threatened me the exact same way when we were all at Gusu together,” Nie Huaisang wheezes. “Turns out falling asleep in class and raising the dead merit the same punishment.”

Nie Mingjue sobers suddenly at that, and says, “Sect Leader Jiang had to take on responsibilities too young, and now he’s lost his brother, and his sister has married out.” Baxia shrieks mournfully in her holder. “He’s shouldering his burdens admirably given the circumstances.”

Nie Huaisang feels his soft insides twist. There’s a cliff here waiting, and at the base is everything the two of them can’t - don’t - talk about. He tells himself in a familiar refrain that one day they will, just - not today. Instead he says, “Well, now that the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng are out of the running, maybe we can be a brother duo to rival the Twin Jades of Gusu! What do you think the two of us could be, Da-ge - the Mountain and the Small Plum?”

Nie Mingjue just looks at Nie Huaisang for a long moment, solemn and worn, and Nie Huaisang can see the edge of the cliff in his eyes. Are you dying? Nie Huaisang thinks. Would you tell me if you thought you were? “I’d be a bad plum. I don’t wear purple,” Nie Mingjue says finally, primly.

“I will tell the matchmakers you’re funny,” says Nie Huaisang, because he can’t help it.

“Brat!” says Nie Mingjue, not unfondly.

“And sensitive.” he continues, threateningly, wagging a warning finger in his face.

“Put the map away, properly,” Nie Mingjue orders, apparently electing to ignore him. “I’m putting you in charge of following up with this, including coordinating with the cultivators for more information if necessary.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang whines, slumping in his seat and pouting outrageously. “I came up with the idea, why can’t we put one of the deputies on it?”

“Nie Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue yells back immediately, not as loud as he can get, but loud enough to ring through the enclosed room. “You’re going to be sect leader! You have to start taking this seriously!”

Nie cultivators die early and violently as a rule, but not, as Nie Mingjue seems to be resigned to, in their 20s. Nie Huaisang’s father, who was strong, died when he was 48, and that after he was murdered. Nie Mingjue is 27, and stronger, and the world is at a tenuous version of peace. And yet he has this constant paranoia that Nie Huaisang cannot understand, as if the smoke and gore from the battlefield never washed clean from his robes. As if he knows something that Nie Huaisang does not. Nie Huaisang whips his head around, fully prepared to yell back at him, when his eyes fall on Meng Yao’s old seat. Pick your battles, second young master, he used to say, or you’ll find you’ve lost the war. He deflates. Okay, then. Okay.

“Fine, I will,” he says, a little mulishly, and starts putting away the papers and ink.

Nie Mingjue looks a little surprised. Then he puts his head in his hands like it’s an immense burden. “I never wanted us to have a title like that, you know,” he says hoarsely. “Not like the Twin Jades, or the Heroes… it boxes you in. It boxed Xichen in, him and Wangji.” When he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I wish you could do whatever you want, Huaisang, I wish I could—“

“Oh Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, feeling the sting of matching tears well up in his eyes, and clasps his forearms across the table. “You’re a good brother. I know. I know.” A smaller part of him, the cold little whisper in his ear that he can never quell, tells him: this is your moment. You can use this.

Nie Mingjue smiles painfully through his tears. “Now what are you really here for?” he says, thinly.

Nie Huaisang stays silent and rolls the name of Jin Guangyao experimentally across his mind. It’s a powder-keg that will erupt the conversation when Nie Huaisang deploys it, but on the other hand, will allow his brother to wrap anger around his grief like a blanket. Da-ge is not a man inclined to accept comfort, except in the depths of despair, which he has not quite reached, yet. Anger is better. Nie Huaisang makes his choice.

“I saw Jin Guangyao today,” he says mildly, and braces himself for the explosion.

Da-ge starts ranting, of course, like an afternoon Yunmeng thunderstorm - suddenly, all at once, and just as quickly over. It is such a familiar chant that were it not for the volume, Nie Huaisang could be lulled to sleep by it. Jin Guangyao is a traitor, a murderer, a spy, vindictive and narcissistic, liable to stab you in the back, liable to stab you in the heart. The last one, of course, is not said out loud, Nie Mingjue, loudly and publicly, and perhaps even in the thoughts that he tells himself, detests his sworn brother. Really, it is no wonder that Nie Huaisang got on so well with Jiang Wanyin when they were younger. His bluster was nearly the same.

He occupies himself with thinking about his brother’s complaints. They are, of course, strictly true. And of course Da-ge can’t understand. If their places were switched, if Da-ge had grown up in a brothel and Meng Yao been a sect leader’s son, Da-ge would have striven and worked inexorably until he earned his place through merit alone. And he would have died in obscurity. At best.

As a torturer, Jin Guangyao tortured. As a deputy, he handled the accounts efficiently and well. He was the blade to be wielded, with the blade's cold pragmatism. It was love that would cut you with Meng Yao, that was the irregularity that would swing his quick, efficient strikes off target.

When Nie Mingjue finishes up, Nie Huaisang tugs at the two strands of hair hanging in front of his face. “So, will you execute him?” he asks. “You could get a tribunal.”

Over Nie Mingjue’s sputters, he sighs and says, “Manipulation, Da-ge, I told you.” Really, what would his older brother ever do without him? “But you either have to leave the war behind you or step into the future. Why would you ally with him?”

It’s a leading question, to which everyone and their sect siblings know the answer. “To lead him back to the path of righteousness.” Nie Mingjue says, dutifully as a prize pupil.

“And why would Meng Yao ally with you?” Nie Huaisang asks rudely, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t assume that it’s because he’s overjoyed to receive your lectures.” This line of questioning is dangerous, which is why it’s quite lucky that his brother has already burnt his temper out earlier.

Nie Mingjue, as expected, darkens but doesn’t explode. As a righteous and self-flagellating man, he automatically rejects the premise entirely, even as Nie Huaisang, used to chasing for expressions in Meng Yao’s ink-dark eyes, suspects it might not be entirely false. Nie Mingue says, “To ally the Jin with one of the two strongest clans.”

“Then be his ally, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang argues. “Reprimand him in private, if you must, but in public let everyone know that the might of the Nie are behind him, or he’ll have no choice but to lean even more heavily on his father.”

Nie Mingjue sighs heavily. “You’re growing up, aren’t you, Huaisang? You almost sounded like-” He pauses awkwardly. “Well, why this sudden interest in Jin Guangyao’s welfare now?”

Who did he sound like? His father - his mother? He’s so caught up in thinking about it that when he opens his mouth the truth slips out almost unbidden. “I’ve always been interested in Jin Guangyao’s welfare.” He hastily temporizes. “You know that he always helped me establish my claim as a true Nie, even when others thought I was too weak.”

This was one of the many duties that Nie Mingjue had not thought to ask for, but which Meng Yao had anticipated. When Nie Huaisang played at giving orders to adults older and stronger than him, feeling a fool, Meng Yao would stand, properly deferential, until the soldiers relented and only Nie Huaisang could see the shadow of a smile playing around his mouth.

Rudely, Nie Mingjue looks doubtful. But the truth Nie Huaisang senses in himself is as scattered and hard to grasp as motes in the air - Meng Yao stepping in front of him automatically when the Wen attacked Cloud Recesses, the fans that appeared in his room, the way that Meng Yao looks at him, solemn and a little empty, more real than any of his daubed on smiles and thus infinitely treasured by Nie Huaisang. When his smiles reach his eyes, then I’ll have lost him, he thinks, and tucks the thought away.

Nie Huaisang sees his brother giving in on the line of his brow before he even opens his mouth. It has the weight of inevitability: his brother is constantly searching for justifications to forgive Meng Yao; to forgive Nie Huaisang.

“In public,” Nie Mingjue says. “In private, I intend to keep impressing upon him the virtue of the righteous path.” Of course he agreed, and of course he never thought to leverage the favor in order to extract any promises from Nie Huaisang about training. Nie Huaisang feels so much love for his brother suddenly that it is briefly hard to breathe.

“Of course, Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says. “And… one more thing.” He smiles a little anxiously and taps his wrist with his fan.

“Spit it out,” Nie Mingjue says resignedly.

“Well, I was hoping that we could host a party?”

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Small note on ages - I’m assuming that Nie Huaisang is 21, Meng Yao 23, and Nie Mingjue 27 at this point.

And here’s the poem NHS is referencing when he’s discussing a potenial title for the two of them!

Small Plum in a Mountain Garden

Among withered flowers plum trees brightly bloom, Dominating garden with beauty unsurpassed;

In clear and shallow water sparse branches loom, Floating in moonlit air with delicate fragrance; Eager are the winter birds who come to look, Spring butterflies they must equally enchant; To enjoy such beauty writing these few lines I have luck, Want of wine and song these blooms supplant.

—Wu Li, 2017

For a very in-depth breakdown of this poem (and why I think it fits Nie Huaisang particularly well), I really recommend Anne Lu’s essay! Essentially the plum blossom is a winter plant - delicate, fragile, and blooming best after other plants have succumbed to the harsh terrain. I like it for our Headshaker! :)

#nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #sangyao #the untamed #jin guangyao is technically not in this one

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