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captainkirkk · 4 years

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

A collection of fics I’ve read (/reread) and thoroughly enjoyed in the past week-ish from all kinds of fandoms and genres.

ATLA

Heat, Wait, Steep, Repeat by Haicrescendo

[Zuko’s greatest failing, not his only but just one that stands out the most in a very long list, is that he’s never known quite what he had until it’s gone. Or, on the opposite hand, he covets the things that don’t matter, that seem to matter so much at the time and turn out, in the end, to be something that Zuko’s made up in his head.

And then Zuko finds, of all things after it all, that he misses Uncle Iroh’s tea.]

Or: Zuko screws up his life and in the process of fixing it, figures out some tea wisdom along the way.

enmity (isn't for heroes) by blueseam

Part 1 of new ways

Zuko stands to leave, only to waver, swaying just a little. His blood pressure shifts, and Toph can feel what’s about to happen a moment before it does.

“Someone catch him! He’s gonna –“

With a crash, the dish tumbles from suddenly limp fingers, and Zuko crumples to the ground.

“…faint,” Toph finishes.

The Gaang’s journey to trusting Zuko is anything but smooth.

(Slight AU after Boiling Rock)

A Second Chance by araluen_x

Aang's energybending fails, and the war is lost. But before the gaang can blink, they wake up in the past, on the day that Katara and Sokka found the Avatar.

The war's a lot easier to win when your biggest enemies are on your side from the beginning.

Ft. the gaang's antics, loads of dramatic irony, and literally the entire Fire Nation being confused as to why, when, and how the banished prince got happy emotions and friends

Harry Potter

Flashes From a Brighter Time by noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

1986: After Harry's power starts manifesting, the Dursleys want nothing more to do with him. Dumbledore decides to find someone better suited to raising him.

“I thought perhaps you might raise Harry.”

“Me?”

“Who better? I had my reasons for sending him to the home of his relatives, but I am not so hard-headed an old man that I can’t admit when a plan is not working.”

The Witcher

The god of scraped knees. by spqr (+ podfic)

Jaskier’s been pretending to be human for so long now that he hardly remembers what it feels like to be a sorcerer. He doesn’t want to remember what it feels like to be a sorcerer. But people still murmur his name with reverence in certain dim halls; Dandelion, Dandelion, destroyer of worlds.

The Witcher Wolf by im_fairly_witty

It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s...

Untamed

You, Asleep and Dreaming by etymologyplayground (+ podfic)

Wei Wuxian chuckles and starts pushing Lan Wangji's outer robes off his shoulders. "Poor Lan Zhan, subject to such earthly miseries. You must be exhausted, come to bed, come to bed."

"Mm," Lan Wangji says. He raises his arms so that Wei Wuxian can keep undressing him. His clothes will end up on the floor, but no matter. Wei Wuxian's deft hands at his belts are worth wrinkled robes.

"... Goodness, Hanguang-Jun, you wear too many damned layers," Wei Wuxian tells him after a while. "Would it kill you to stop after a reasonable five?"

Wei Wuxian moves into the Jingshi. They sleep together.

sugar stains by lanjingyeet

Jiang Wanyin’s face slowly takes on a kind of horrified expression that Lan Wangji would find funny if it wasn’t for the fact of the actual situation. He’s clearly noticing all the same things Lan Wangji did that first time: the same slope of nose, the light in the eyes, the messy mop of hair. Jiang Wanyin, after all, was far better acquainted with Wei Ying around this age than Lan Wangji was.

"Hanguang-jun, what the f—”

a yiling laozu who lived [PODFIC] by exmanhater, isweedan, miss_marina95, Opalsong, RevolutionaryJo, Rhea314 (Rhea)

The ancient and powerful villain may have had a calm and gentle face as he spoke, but he was furious, not at the hero, but the gods for continually sending kids and teenagers to fight their battles.

from me to you by Ceta

Wei Too Cool ✓ @wei-wuxian correct me if i’m wrong but i’m pretty sure that’s a love song @LanWangJi #AtFirstSight

Or; Three-time Golden Globe recipient Wei WuXian and seven-time Grammy award recipient Lan WangJi’s love story through the eyes of the internet.

Inquiry by incendir

Part 1 of Resolutions (Note: I haven’t finished this series yet, but so far, I’ve found some great fics in there)

Sizhui cannot fall asleep for a long, long time that night. He hears the ever-familiar melody again. He thinks perhaps he has memorized it by now.

#my posts #fic recs #weekly fic round up #untamed recs #atla recs #hp recs #witcher recs #long post

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merakilyy · 4 years

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Inconceivable

By no means does Lan Qiren like Wei Wuxian. Of course not. But yelling at Wei Wuxian is a pastime for him to enjoy alone and it is a grievous insult for Sect Leader Yao to take that joy away from him.

Aka: how Lan Qiren, of all people, ended up defending Wei Wuxian in front of everyone.

Tags: Wangxian, post-canon, canon compliant, fluffy humour

(On AO3) Word count: about 3100

~~~

These days, Lan Qiren has mostly retired from the day to day business of running a sect. For all his nephews’ past errors in judgement, they have been raised well and are leading a thriving Gusu. With the future of the Sect secure, Lan Qiren now spends his days terrorizing the junior disciples, having meditative teas with the Gusu Lan elders, and avoiding Wei Wuxian at all costs.

It is a fine way to live.

Avoiding Wei Wuxian is not difficult. He is wherever the noise is. Minor explosions in the Jingshi have become commonplace as Wei Wuxian tests new talismans and invents new tools for night hunting and releasing resentful spirits.

Yet for all his faults, of which there are a great many, Lan Qiren finds it increasingly difficult to retain his burning hatred of Wei Wuxian when he is just so useful.

Beyond his capacity to churn out invention after invention, Wei Wuxian is an excellent instructor both in class and on nighthunts in the field. Lan Qiren has noticed how the junior disciples assigned to Wei Wuxian’s lectures are able to successfully perform more advanced maneuvers beyond their expected cultivation level. Their essays are of a higher level and clearly demonstrate a deeper understanding of theories of spiritual cultivation. Certainly, this advanced standard was expected of Lan Sizhui but Lan Qiren found this improvement in each of the junior disciples. Even Lan Jingyi had become a good student.

Wei Wuxian could even make Lan Jingyi sit still for longer than fifteen minutes.

Faced with such facts, even Lan Qiren has to set aside his burning dislike of Wei Wuxian and admit that Wei Wuxian is one of the most valuable members of the Gusu Lan Sect.

Also, Wei Wuxian makes Wangji the happiest Lan Qiren has ever seen him. And Lan Qiren has learned his lesson when it comes to questioning Wangji’s devotion.

So, as long as Wei Wuxian continues to make Wangji happy, Lan Qiren will continue to tolerate his existence. Only for Wangji, of course.

There are many days where Lan Qiren longs for the days before Wei Wuxian returned. He longs for the days when the aura of Cloud Recesses was serene and sedate. He misses the tranquility of the past. He has requested that Wangji at least limit Wei Wuxian’s experimentation to the back mountains where they will not disturb the others. But his younger nephew is ridiculously infatuated with Wei Wuxian and cannot deny the man anything so the noise remains.

It makes Lan Qiren’s blood boil but Wei Wuxian is just so incredibly useful.

Lan Qiren knows that Jiang Wanyin would like Wei Wuxian to return to Yunmeng, even if only for part of the year, and that Jin Rulan would like Wei Wuxian to join him in Lanling to help him clean up the mess left behind by Jin Guangyao but Wei Wuxian is a member of Gusu Lan now. He has officially married into Gusu Lan and even has his own forehead ribbon (that Wangji wears after their ribbons were exchanged as per Gusu marriage ritual) and Lan Qiren isn’t letting Wei Wuxian go anywhere. Because he is useful. No other reasons.

Definitely not because Wei Wuxian’s specific brand of chaos is growing on him.

Rarely does Lan Qiren attend discussion conferences now. Even if many cultivators still look up to him, his presence is no longer necessary. Cloud Recesses has produced many respectable cultivators who represent Gusu Lan with honour. Many of the cultivators from other Sects have also been taught by Lan Qiren; he does not need to present to instill fear into others.

Yet, as Cloud Recesses was hosting this year’s Roundtable Discussion, Lan Qiren found himself curious as to what changes had been made since the last discussion he participated in when Jin Guangyao was still the Chief Cultivator.

And, since Wei Wuxian had single handedly organized this entire conference, Lan Qiren may have been just the slightest bit curious as to how it would turn out.

Regardless of his reasoning, Lan Qiren was well within his rights to participate in the discussion despite the apprehensive look Wangji gave him when he requested a seat.

As Lan Qiren settles at his table, he watches his nephews as they welcome each Sect into Cloud Recesses’ main reception hall. His nephews are the embodiment of decorum and Lan Qiren feels a subtle pride at watching his nephews masterfully carry out their duties. Still, he pretends he doesn’t see how Wangji glares as they greet Sect Leader Jiang or how Xichen tenses when Sect Leader Nie arrives. The young Sect Leader Jin complains about having to leave his dog behind but a single look from Wangji silences the boy mid sentence. More amicably, Xichen gently reminds Sect Leader Jin that “pets are forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

In the background, he sees Wei Wuxian running around with Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui quickly walking after him, making last minute adjustments and throwing purifying talismans around the room. Wei Wuxian floats around the room in his white Gusu Lan robes, Wangji’s original forehead ribbon tied snugly in his hair. Most of the time Wei Wuxian wears his plain black and red robes and Lan Qiren has learned to accept that. Begrudgingly. But, Wangji was adamant that Wei Wuxian attend intersect meetings as an official representative of Gusu Lan and therefore he must dress the part.

Wei Wuxian’s red hair ribbon is wrapped around Wangji’s wrist, under his sleeve, and Lan Qiren chooses to pretend he never sees the flashes of red silk when Wangji moves his arms.

Lan Qiren watches as Wei Wuxian pauses by a table and bends over to pick up the cup. Wei Wuxian frowns as if the cup has offended him and hands it to Lan Sizhui. Wei Wuxian says something Lan Qiren can’t hear but he sees Lan Sizhui nod once before taking the cup away. Sizhui returns shortly afterwards with a new cup which he passes to Wei Wuxian. After studying the cup and nodding approvingly, Wei Wuxian sets the cup back down on the table and continues fluttering around the room.

For all his bluster as a guest disciple, and as the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian had always been a hard worker.

(He pretends he doesn’t see Wei Wuxian leave a peony tied to a little note on Wangji’s desk at the front of the hall.)

The conference itself is largely uneventful. They proceed point by point through the agenda without any major hiccups until Sect Leader Jin pushes forward his proposal. What Sect Leader Jin wants is for each Sect to encourage their junior disciples to participate in night hunts in small border villages to vanquish low level spirits and minor monsters. This will bolster the training of the youth and give them more practical experience, Jin Rulan argues, as well as help impoverished communities who cannot afford a senior cultivator.

It is a good idea, Lan Qiren has to admit.

“Preposterous!” Sect Leader Yao interjects rather rudely. It is clear he views Jin Ling as a weakness to be exploited for the benefit of his own Sect, even though it should be equally clear that Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian would never allow that to happen. “This will only encourage more penniless children to train as cultivators.”

“So!?” Sect Leader Jin fires back. Lan Qiren’s brows furrow at Jin Rulan’s insolence. How unfortunate that Jin Rulan became Sect Leader before he could come to Cloud Recesses as a guest disciple. “Then we have more people who can release resentful spirits.”

“This child,” Sect Leader Yao shakes his finger at Sect Leader Jin, as if disciplining a misbehaving child. Jiang Wanyin’s ever-present frown deepens. The hand that brandishes Zidian is clenched in a fist though Jiang Wanyin says nothing. Despite his youth, Sect Leader Jin can hold his own. “He really has no manners! If only his parents survived to teach him better.”

Suddenly Lan Qiren is reminded why he no longer takes part in these conferences.

Beside him, Lan Qiren sees how Wei Wuxian’s previously respectable posture wilts. Instinctively, Lan Qiren wants to snap at Wei Wuxian to sit properly but he also notices how Wangji’s focus has shifted away from Sect Leader Yao and Sect Leader Jin. Instead, Wangji is watching Wei Wuxian, brow subtly furrowed with worry.

“Sect Leader Yao,” a high ranking member of Lanling Jin speaks out, “watch your words! Our Sect Leader has done you no insult!”

“You misunderstand,” Sect Leader Yao shakes his head disparagingly, as if it is tiresome to have to explain himself. “I do not blame young Jin Rulan for the unfortunate death of his late parents. If only Wei Wuxian had not killed Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli,” Sect Leader Yao pauses to sigh dramatically. Lan Qiren can feel the beginnings of a migraine. “I always said that Jiang Fengmian was too soft, that the son of a servant could never amount to anything worthwhile.”

Lan Qiren sees Wangji’s eyes harden almost imperceptibly. He sees how Wei Wuxian winces, how his entire body tenses. Behind them, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi share concerned glances.

To Lan Qiren’s surprise, it is Jiang Wanyin who speaks in defense of Wei Wuxian. “Sect Leader Yao, I will thank you not to disparage the name of my late father and martial brother. Yunmeng Jiang exists today only on account of Wei Wuxian’s extraordinary sacrifices. Despite his practices, Wei Wuxian walks a noble path and it has been established that Su Minshan was responsible for the incident at Qiongqi Path.”

Wei Wuxian looks as surprised as Lan Qiren feels. A cursory glance around the room shows that they aren’t alone in their shock.

Sect Leader Yao sneers. “As if someone who plays with wicked tricks and desecrates the dead could ever be righteous. Surely one who willfully performs such heinous acts cannot be compared to true virtuous cultivators as myself.”

“Sneering for no reason is forbidden.” Lan Qiren calmly recites the rule from the Wall of Discipline. Although Gusu Lan has always been lenient towards transgressions of their tenets by visiting sects during meetings, Lan Qiren is well within his rights to remind Sect Leader Yao that they are in Cloud Recesses, that he is disrespecting Gusu Lan’s practices, and that he is being discourteous to the Chief Cultivator’s spouse.

Lan Qiren continues listing the rules violated by Sect Leader Yao. “Do not praise yourself and slander others. Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others. Do not insult others. Do not make assumptions about others.” He pauses momentarily, well aware that the entire room is stunned. Even before he stepped back from intersect diplomacy, Lan Qiren had taken the standard Gusu Lan approach of playing the silent observer and mediating conflicts. Looking directly at Sect Leader Yao, Lan Qiren finishes with, “Be respectful of others.”

He is received with silence. Unbothered, Lan Qiren pours himself a cup of tea with the tea set he watched Wei Wuxian painstakingly set up and personally prepare earlier that morning. Taking a sip, he notes that Wei Wuxian has -- annoyingly -- chosen an excellent brew and has even thought to use a talisman to keep the tea shimmering at just the right temperature.

It is difficult to despise someone who is just so competent.

As Lan Qiren is pouring himself a second cup of tea, one of Sect Leader Yao’s underlings pipes up. “You defend an immoral adherent of the heretical path! Wei Wuxian is a scourge amongst us! He is no cultivator, only the son of a servant who has turned his back on righteousness!”

“Enough,” Lan Qiren says firmly. He is not loud, but his words reverberate around the room.

Everyone is openly staring at him now, even his nephews. Especially his nephews. Xichen looks like he is convinced Lan Qiren is going through a qi derivation. Wangji’s expression flickers between concern and incredulity as his eyes bounce between his husband and his uncle. Lan Qiren pointedly refuses to look beside him to see Wei Wuxian’s expression.

Even Lan Qiren has to admit that he is surprised at himself. Not for speaking out -- Gusu Lan has never condoned insulting one’s character over personal grievances. Even at the height of his hatred for Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren could understand that Wei Wuxian made decisions that he deemed to be righteous even if his methods were reprehensible. But, Lan Qiren was surprised to find himself speaking out in defense of Wei Wuxian.

Hearing Lan Jingyi’s loud whispers to Lan Sizhui behind him, Lan Qiren makes a mental note to assign more handstands.

With everyone stunned speechless at the turn of events, Lan Qiren continues, “Wei Wuxian is an invaluable member of Gusu Lan. We cannot stand by and allow such a grievous insult to go unacknowledged.”

Lan Qiren takes another sip of his tea. Still excellent, still at the optimal temperature. How infuriating, that Wei Wuxian has become the only one to serve passable tea at these conferences.

Someone from Baling Ouyang whom Lan Qiren does not recognize looks like he wants to voice his disagreements. Lan Qiren simply allows his gaze to bore into the Baling cultivator until the man looks away, ashamed.

“An insult to the Chief Cultivator’s spouse is an affront to Gusu Lan,” Lan Qiren says with finality, slowly turning his head as he speaks to ensure everyone understands the weight behind his words. “We will not stand by and condone such disparagement.”

He ignores the wet sniffle that comes from Wei Wuxian.

Behind him, Lan Jingyi’s whispers grow even louder. Lan Qiren hears Lan SIzhui trying to shush Lan Jingyi in vain. More handstands, he thinks. Perhaps some lines.

Jiang Wanyin gives Wei Wuxian an accusatory glare, as if Wei Wuxian replaced the real Lan Qiren with a doppelganger and was holding the real Lan Qiren hostage in the back mountains.

Wangji simply looks down at the scrolls on his desk with a pleased smile gracing his lips.

No one is in any rush to fill in the silence that has overwhelmed the hall. Sect Leader Yao looks adequately chastened for his denigrating remarks toward Wei Wuxian. Lan Qiren suspects everyone else is too scared to speak now.

Good , he thinks. Silence begets reflection.

In the end, it is Xichen who redirects the discussion to the matter at hand. “I am in agreement with Sect Leader Jin,“ Xichen says. “We cannot ignore the likelihood that it is the very insular nature of our community that contributed to Jin Guangyao’s actions. I cannot and do not forgive him for murdering a sworn brother but his circumstances were always regrettable. We turned our back on him before he ever turned his back on us. With the increased need for cultivators, we may consider opening cultivational training to average families.”

Subtly, Xichen also adds, “We cannot condone personal attack for one’s parentage.”

The discussion continues without any further incidents and Lan Qiren does not speak again. After Xichen’s speech, he does spy Lan Sizhui passing a handkerchief to Wei Wuxian from the corner of his eye but Lan Qiren resolutely refuses to look at Wei Wuxian.

Once the day’s meeting comes to an end, Wei Wuxian jumps to his feet and bounds directly to Wangji. Outrageous, Lan Qiren thinks without any real heat.

Just as Lan Qiren rises to his own feet, Wei Wuxian bounces back to speak to him. Wangji follows closely behind, a pleased expression on his face. They come to a stop just before Lan Qiren and bow. After they rise, Lan Qiren notices Wangji’s hand resting tenderly, protectively, on Wei Wuxian’s waist.

“Old Man Lan, I didn’t know you cared!” Wei Wuxian chirps brightly. Instinctively, Lan Qiren can feel his blood pressure rising from such an informal address. But, he has long since realized that Wei Wuxian has mastered balancing on the line between propriety and impropriety to infuriate without causing genuine outrage.

“I do not.” Lan Qiren folds his arms in his sleeves, looking every bit the respectable Elder he is. “An insult to the Chief Cultivator’s spouse is an affront to Gusu Lan,” he repeats his words from earlier. “It is unacceptable.”

Wangji frowns. “Insults to Wei Ying are common.” Wangji looks content enough to have his husband back in his arms, but there is a dangerous glint in his eyes as though he is prepared to skewer every cultivator who looks at Wei Ying without the utmost respect with Bichen.

Glancing over at Wangji and Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren thinks they are standing too close. It is improper to display such outward demonstrations of affection.

But Lan Qiren doesn’t say anything.

“I mean, it’s not entirely undeserved,” Wei Wuxian says softly to Wangji. Lan Qiren is almost disgusted by how much love they radiate simply by existing in the presence of the other.

Wangji’s frown deepens as his arm tightens around Wei Wuxian. He turns to look directly at Wei Wuxian’s face and Wei Wuxian looks up in return. Wei Wuxian’s hand comes to cover Wangji’s hand where it rests on his waist.

By the way Wei Wuxian and Wangji are wordlessly gazing at each other with minute changes in their expressions, Lan Qiren can tell they are having a completely separate conversation silently.

Lan Qiren clears his throat pointedly, reminding Wangji and Wei Wuxian of his presence. “Wei Ying has atoned,” Wangji says, verbalizing their conversation even though he is still looking at Wei Wuxian.

“It’s an occupational risk.” Wei Wuxian looks away from Wangji as his gaze drops. His smile is not sad, exactly, but it is very subdued and Lan Qiren realizes that he does not enjoy seeing such melancholy on Wei Wuxian’s face. (Only because that somber look is mirrored on Wangji’s face and Wei Wuxian’s sole purpose in Cloud Recesses to make Wangji happy. Definitely not because Lan Qiren cares about Wei Wuxian in any way, shape or form.)

Huffing impatiently, Lan Qiren waves a disapproving finger in Wei Wuxian’s face. “You are a member of Gusu Lan. Do not shame us by allowing your detractors to address you with such offense.”

“And you,” Lan Qiren continues, shifting his ire to Wangji, “do not leave your spouse to protect himself. I taught you myself that diplomacy requires the presentation of a united front.”

With one last unimpressed look at Wei Wuxian and Wangji, Lan Qiren swept his arms behind his back and strode out of the meeting hall.

As he walked away, Lan Qiren decided he was growing too soft in his old age.

He’d have to remedy that softness by assigning Lan Jingyi some lines to complete during his handstands.

~~~

Just so we are very clear, I do not condone Lan Qiren’s view that Wei Wuxian is /letting/ others walk all over him. But, I do think that is the most in character approach Lan Qiren would have towards encouraging Wei Wuxian given his affinity for the tough love approach.

#mdzs #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed #the untamed 陈情令 #cql #cql fic #mdzs fic #wangxian fic #lan qiren #My writing

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kurowrites · 4 years

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Letters from Beyond

So, here we have the second part of that fic. The one in which Jin Guangshan get murdered. So unfortunate.

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The death of Jin Guangshan had long-lasting consequences. It didn’t simply end with the establishment of the Yiling Patriarch at Burial Grounds – the political balance between the sects had now shifted.

Some of the ongoing developments, especially as far as it concerned the Qinshan Wen sect, were difficult to ascertain. They had seemed to withdraw after murder of Jin Guangshan, Wen Chao all but vanishing from sight, but as of yet, no one knew where it would eventually lead to. What was clear to the few individuals that knew about the Yin Iron, it was that Wei Wuxian hadn’t handed the Iron over to the Qishan Wen. As long as the barrier around Burial Grounds was up, the Yin Iron was in the possession of the Yiling Patriarch.

It disquieted Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian, a man of uncertain morals and allegiance, was all that stood between Wen Ruohan and the Yin Iron.

The largest and most obvious change, however, was that Jin Zixuan became Jin Guangshan’s successor and new leader of the Lanling Jin sect. His mother supported him in his duties at first, and it became clear very quickly that his style of leadership was very different from his father. Lan Wangji wasn’t sorry to see it.

To the surprise of everyone who had been at Cloud Recesses at the time, the engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli was eventually renewed. After the renewal of the engagement was announced, it did not take long for the wedding invitations to arrive in Gusu. It was sooner than Lan Wangji would have expected, but then, that they had renewed the engagement at all was perhaps the most surprising part. After all, Wei Wuxian had belonged to the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. The Jiang were partially to blame for the death of Jin Zixuan’s father, and no one would have blamed him if he refused to take Jiang Yanli as a bride now. And yet, it seemed like he’d had a change of heart.

Lan Wangji couldn’t help but think about Wei Wuxian as he read the wedding invitation Lan Xichen had given him. His sister would marry the new leader of the Lanling Jin sect, and Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be able to attend. Wouldn’t even be able to congratulate her. Lan Wangji knew that he had loved his sister very much – to the point that he would fight her own fiancé if he thought her mistreated. But Wei Wuxian hadn’t left the Burial Mounds even once after the barrier had gone up, and he would be a dead man walking if he did. There had been rumours about strange, shadowy figures leaving and entering the mountain in the cover of darkness a few times. But it was all rumours, and no one knew what was happening behind the barriers and the cover of the withered trees of Burial Mounds.

Lan Wangji had only spoken about it once with Lan Xichen, but he was still haunted by his last words to Wei Wuxian. How foolish he had been, in retrospective, to let his own prideful anger come between the two of them. His mistake had cost him the truth. He had followed Wei Wuxian to find answers, not to push him away. But he had succeeded in pushing Wei Wuxian away so perfectly, he couldn’t reach him now no matter how much he tried. The answers of what happened that fateful night were inaccessible to him now.

No, he had said, instead of asking him why he’d done it. He had betrayed the principles of his sect because he had felt personally betrayed by Wei Wuxian’s actions. It had taken him weeks until he had finally felt he’d done penance enough.

His brother had watched him with worried eyes, but said nothing. That had continued until one day, he suddenly sighed and said, “Wangji, you cannot punish yourself for the actions of Wei Wuxian, too.”

That is not what I’m doing, had been on his lips, but Lan Xichen had only smiled sadly and shook his head.

Things had returned to normal, as much as they could. The library was cleaned out and purified thoroughly. Jin Zixuan visited Cloud Recesses, to show that there was no bad blood between the two sects. Lan Wangji congratulated him on his impending marriage, trying not to think about all the things Wei Wuxian might have to say on such an occasion. Weeks turned into months, and the rumours about the Yiling Patriarch swirled even at Cloud Recesses. The last Lan Wangji had heard, the demonic cultivator at Burial Mounds had glowing red eyes and the body of a snake.

And yet, Burial Mounds remained encased in shadows.

It remained that way until Lan Wangji returned to the Jingshi one evening, tired from the duties of the day and ready to rest, and found a letter on his desk that hadn’t been there in the morning. None of the servants could have brought it in. No indication on who had sent it, or that it was even addressed to him. Who had brought a letter into his room? He could only think of his brother, but Lan Xichen had seen him not half an hour ago, and he had said nothing about a letter.

He quickly sat down and opened it with careful movements.

Lan Zhan, it read.

Lan Wangji froze. His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. Could it be–

Lan Zhan.

Forgive me for my impertinence. I do not wish to trouble you, but I felt that out of all the people I could have possibly asked, you are the one who will be unfailingly honourable and will not betray me. Not that I think my brother or sister will betray me. But if Yu Ziyuan hears about me sending them letters, there will be an end to all peace. So. You are the only person I can depend on. Please don’t betray that trust. I always trust your inherent goodness, Lan Zhan. Please believe that.

I know I’m rambling, and I can already see the furrow forming in your brow as you read this. Be patient with me. I’ve been shut up with the same few people in a rather desolate place for a while now, I feel I’ve already forgotten how normal communication works. Wen Qing is constantly judging me for it already, so you don’t have to carry that burden. It’s well taken care of. She’s amazing, by the way, and out of the two of us, she’s definitely the one who’s keeping everything together. If there ever comes a time when you can do something for her or her brother, please do the right thing. They never deserved getting shut in with a criminal. The guilt is mine alone.

I’ve heard that my sister will marry soon. Yes, I hear things, I have my ways. You know how I feel about the peacock, so keep an eye on him and give him a beating if he deserves it. No, tell Jiang Cheng to give him a beating. I think your disapproving glare will be enough. Jin Zixuan isn’t strong enough to withstand it.

I wish I could be there, see my sister wearing red. She will be the most beautiful bride that ever lived. But I can’t leave this place. I know the sects are watching me. So, I ask you humbly to give something to my sister, on her marriage, because she deserves a present from me at least, if I can’t be there for her. I wish I could. But I can’t, so I’m asking you to give it to her. You can do it under your own name, if you are more comfortable with that, I don’t mind. I just want her to have it. Please, Lan Zhan, I know you must hate me now and I know I have betrayed your trust, but I cannot disregard my duty as a brother. If someone understands that, it must be you.

However, if you’re unwilling to comply with my request, know that I don’t blame you. I do understand. In that case, you can give it to Hei and he will bring it back to me. Don’t try to trick him, and don’t try to follow him. He’s smarter than that.

And yes, I know that the name is stupid. I gave it jokingly, and now he answers to nothing else. Maybe not such a smart creature, after all.

Wei Wuxian

The letter disregarded all conventions of courtesy and letter writing, a strange mixture of polite request, cheeky comments, and rambling. There was no doubt in Lan Wangji’s mind that it had been written by Wei Wuxian himself. Who could write such a letter, other than him?

There were two problems, however, he pondered. No present for Jiang Yanli had been attached to the letter. To send such a letter without the present itself made no sense. And then, that strange name at the end…

“Hei?” Lan Wangji murmured to himself.

A croak answered him. He whipped around, and found a raven staring down at him from the top of the bookshelf right behind him. It had its head slightly turned, clearly watching him.

“Are you Hei?” Lan Wangji asked.

The raven croaked again.

He couldn’t believe it. Wei Wuxian had sent him a raven. It was a large animal, with cunningly intelligent eyes. An unusual messenger, indeed. It was so unexpected, and yet so very much like the Wei Wuxian that he remembered. The one who had teased him about rabbits, and then went out of his way to take care of them.

“Do you have the gift for Jiang Yanli?” Lan Wangji tried again.

The raven turned around and picked something up, spread its wings, and sailed down from the bookshelf, right onto Lan Wangji’s desk. He dropped the present onto the letter.

Careful to keep his movements slow, Lan Wangji reached for it. Hei seemed not to mind Lan Wangji’s closeness, so he took it, and opened the string that held the little box together. Inside the box, he found a beautiful hair ornament, embedded in fine silk: an array of lotus flowers in white and pink hues that would no doubt look beautiful in Jiang Yanli’s hair. Lan Wangji held it up and studied it. Truly, it was a suitable gift for the future wife of the sect leader of Lanling Jin. It also contained a powerful protection charm.

Protection against evil.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes.

He thought about the contents of the letter for a moment, but he knew that he had made his decision already. There could be no harm in giving Jiang Yanli this gift. It contained Wei Wuxian’s wish for his sister’s future.

And, he though, perhaps this was his penance. Wei Wuxian was still a murderer, but Lan Wangji had broken the rules of his sect.

He would not deny Wei Wuxian’s request.

“I will bring this gift to Jiang Yanli,” he told the raven. “But if you wait, I will also give you a answer to bring to your master.”

The raven crowed as if in agreement. He picked up one of Lan Wangji’s brushes and waved it into his face, as if to tell him to hurry up. Apparently, the temperamental disposition of master and pet did not differ significantly, Lan Wangji thought to himself. Wei Wuxian might have done the same, impatient as he always was.

He took the brush from Hei, and penned a very short answer for Wei Wuxian.

I have received your gift, and will do what you asked of me. I will tell your sister as much as I can, without endangering you or her. I cannot give you a promise for anything else at present.

You are right, however. Hei is a terrible name.

Lan Wangji

It was hardly an acceptable reply, and lacked both form and courtesy, but Lan Wangji knew that Wei Wuxian, of all people, would delight in his lack of style.

He handed the letter to Hei, who carefully picked it from his fingers and vanished out of the window with a quick rustle of his wings.

Silence settled over the Jingshi once more.

Lan Wangji looked at the letter again.

Wei Wuxian, he thought to himself. You call me honourable. I was not, when it came to you.

He thought about his own short answers. Would Wei Wuxian smile at it? Or would he not care at all? Lan Wangji had wanted to ask so many things, but he hadn’t dared.

Wei Wuxian, why have you killed Jin Guangshan?

Wei Wuxian, are you all right?

#kuro writes #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the untamed #wanxian #mdzs #letters from beyond #tagging this as such so you can find all the parts

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lolmouseywritings · 4 years

Text

Lan Wangji was in the kitchen preparing the meal. He didn’t start it; he knew Andy was on the way, but they had a new person in the group and he intended to get her meal right. He knew Nile may not prefer his Gusu style of cooking, which Nicky had a habit of calling it bland, but she was being kind in saying she would accept any food he made. Nicky and Joe looked at each other. He knew they were making a bet.

He had one meal ready along with several incense sticks, and he intended to take that to a small memorial hall in the back. He walks out of his kitchen and breathes in the mountain air. It was peaceful, even with the laughter he heard from Nile, Joe and Nicky as they played a board game he had lying around. He bowed his head as they waved and walked to his destination. To honor to those that passed and once more play on his guqin, Wangji. Maybe this time he will get an answer.

~~~~~

Joe stomach hurt with how much he was laughing. He couldn’t even get up, much less breathe, but he controlled himself.

“Nile, you cannot move that piece there,” he snorted.

“Yes, I can,” she answered with a smirk. Nicky rolled his eyes and caught sight of Wangji as he walked pass them, a few incenses and a bowl of spicy Sichuan. He nods at them as Nicky waves. On a whim, he looks to the side to where the laundry room was and notices a white outfit.

In a serious tone he looks at Joe. “You’ve got your whites?” Joe looks at him confused until Nicky points his head to the memorial hall. Joe’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Is it that time?” Asked Joe. Nicky nodded, leaving Nile confused.

“Whites? Don’t tell me your talking about your tighty-whities?” She jokes.

“No,” Joe chuckles as he rolls the dice to get his piece moving. “There’s a date that Wangji observes and on that day he wears white, to honor the dead.” Nile sit’s back reminded of their own immortality.

“So he’s still holding on to them. His family.”

“Oh, he’s fine with his family. They lived their life, it’s someone that died long before he found out he was immortal,” Nicky slips out only to receive a silent reprimand from his partner. Nicky scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. He rolls the dice as Joe takes over.

“Since, even back then, the rest of us have a habit of wearing something white if we’re visiting during this time. He doesn’t require us too, but it’s a habit we made.” Nile nods and looks where Wangji walked towards to.

It was hard to get a feel out of a man who had zero emotes and spoke very little. The moments he did were to reprimand or a word of caution. He made small jokes here and there, but she always felt a little late on it until she catches the other’s laughing. She resigned herself that their relationship would remain strained until he accompanied her in the car.

It was awkward as she drove away from Andy and Booker with Wangji saying nothing. But they talked about their siblings, him the youngest and her as the oldest. She knew that he had no choice to stay with his Sect as they found him late by Quynh and Andy. But what she liked about him is that he understood why she wanted to go back and told her there was no shame. Even welcomed her to his home once she knew it was time to go. Till this day, Wangji didn’t tell anyone how the tears fell from her eyes as she laughed. A relief that she wasn’t crazy to wanting to stay with her family.

A ring from Nicky’s cell interrupts her thoughts. He stands up, putting their game at a standstill and with a mischievous smirk Joe moves back Nicky’s piece a couple spaces back. She snorts a bit as they notice a figure right beside them. They both look up, Wangji giving them the usual face.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE BEING SHOT!” Wangji is quick as he gathers their handguns, the keys which he tosses to Joe and his sword, Bichen.

This is not what Wangji meant when he told Andy to be careful.

#the old guard #the old guard au #mdzs #MDZS au #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the untamed au #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi au #Lan Wangji #nile freeman #Nicky #Joe #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #lan zhan #Immortal!Lan Zhan

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theflowergirl · 4 years

Text

❄️ Untamed Winter Fest 2019 ❄️ Day 3: Goodwill

[Post-End]

On the day of the longest night of the year, Wei Wuxian yells at his nephew, “Jin Ling! Smile more!”

The young sect leader, whose immaturity was too much for such a title but just perfect for teasing, only darkens with a tempered storm. With so many people looking at him, hiding their smiles behind their hands, he can do nothing but carry on his designed duty side by side with a glowing Lan Sizhui. Together they pour hot soup in simple but sturdy ceramic bowls, brought all the way from Qinghe for that special day.

Standing in the middle of the crowded street, Wei Wuxian knows it hadn’t been like this in Jiang Yanli’s days. Back then, her little entourage seemed confined to the town’s corner, while women dressed with lotus motifs approached the needed with soup, bread and blankets for the cold days to come. Now, the whole town seems to move as one. To think Jiang Cheng didn’t believe it would work when he first mentioned it in a letter he hid between the fine script of Lan Wangji’s official mail, but he also didn’t ignore it. Begrudgingly moved forward, was Wei Wuxian’s guess; animatedly looked forward to it, was his hope. It was such a long coming event, almost forgotten in time. Would the townspeople even welcome them, after taking so long?

Turned out it was just a spark, awaiting. Or perhaps they were too arrogant to think kindness waited for sects to solve their own issues; perhaps Jiang Yanli had planted little isolated seeds in the hearts of people that just needed the right time to bloom.

Wei Wuxian turns his head from side to side as he walks through the crowd, watching them in full bloom.

On every side of the road, he sees the folk mingling seamlessly with the colorful sects, steam still floating from fresh baked delicacies, handed from townspeople to townspeople, from the elderly to cultivators to the children. The blankets distributed by Yunmeng Jiang are produced in Yunmeng, to serve the people of Yunmeng. Young men with peonies on their chests accompany the weakest around their unusual little festival then home, making sure they aren’t alone. And the white-clad fairies from the mountains of Gusu, with their fluffy coats, seek out those who are too unclean and ashamed to join the crowd, wrapping them in warm clothes and gifting them with smiles as light as falling snow, employing just the right amount of concern not to overwhelm or appear insincere.

A child cries, and Wei Wuxian’s head snaps in their direction. Before his feet even leave the ground, Jin Ling is already by their side, brushing off their knees, saying something with a stern demeanor that resembles only Jiang Cheng before it breaks into something softer as he stands back. Wuxian turns around, trying not to choke, trying not to cry, smiling all the while.

He catches Nie Huaisang talking to street vendors, who, on that day, charge nothing for the simple robes they distribute, which Huaisang enthusiastically compliment. I’ll bring fine materials for you in my next visit, he promises them, winking at Wuxian as he walks past. Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen play with kids with wooden swords, their faces flushed with excitement, their stomachs filled with good food. Wen Ning plays too, carrying kids on his back, sometimes more than one at once, as they tug on his straw hat and laugh. And in the darkest corners of the town, he sees Jiang Cheng asking people if they have places to stay, Zidian reflecting light like a powerful promise as he outstretches his hand. If it becomes too much to bear, come to Lotus Pier.

When he stands and walks to the next person, Wuxian thinks his back has never looked so broad. Broad like the ones he once clung to, on a colder, darker day. Maybe not that dark. Not when the night finally seemed to end, in those warm arms.

He’s glad his A-Yuan doesn’t have memories of starvation and endless winter days like he does, even if his eyes are misty every time Wei Wuxian inevitably orbits closer to him. The laughter and the warm beverages seem to call to him, too. To a family that didn’t wear clouds but lived happily just the same, even if briefly, despite the world.

He wants to keep them too; just the good memories, and forget all the rest.

He finds Lan Wangji too far back, surrounded by little girls. They had braided his hair, and placed small flowers along it. Wei Wuxian wears braids in his hair too, that day, and a blue ribbon with precious silver clouds neatly tied around his wrist. He’s enamored with the way the girls look at Lan Wangji, at the way his white robes pool around him where he sits, like he’s some kind of divinity, ready to fly into the heavens after he grows tired of playing with them and tucking their little blankets closer around their frames. If Wuxian had met him when he was young and lost, would he have feared his mourning white and the coldness of his expression, or would he have looked at him as they did?

His Lan Zhan looks up at him, easily picking him in the crowd, and he smiles. Something small, something solemn, but carrying a heart behind it, so earnestly handed to his hands.

Wei Wuxian thinks he sees his elder sister out the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t look. Instead, he says, “Lan Zhan! How are you the prettiest person in Gusu and Yunmeng?”

After all, on the day of the longest night of the year, with the sects and her people coming together to win against the winter, Jiang Yanli is everywhere. He doesn’t need to look to see her.

She’s there, not even saying anything. Just happy.

Just happy.

#Untamed Winter Fest #The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wei Wuxian #Jiang Yanli

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rosethornewrites · 4 years

Text

Fic: leaves eddied over the earth’s scars (fixed)

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Yànlí & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín

Additional Tags: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Regret, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Summary: Lan WangJi wakes to find Wei WuXian quietly grieving his shijie.

Notes: Spectre was supposed to be a one-shot, but guess not. The title is a line from the poem “Try to Praise the Mutilated World,” which is also the series title. Also, I dumbly initially set this in the fall, but Jiang YanLi's birthday is supposedly May 2. So I fixed it and added the symbolism of the magnolia blossom. For those who don't know, in China magnolia blossoms tend to symbolize womanly beauty and gentleness, which suits YanLi. This is the corrected version.

AO3 link

Spectre

---------

Lan WangJi wakes without knowing what has disrupted his sleep. The jingshi is silent, and Wei Ying’s side of the bed is empty and unrumpled. But he has grown used to Wei Ying’s late nights; that alone would not disturb his sleep.

The silver light of a barely-waning moon spills into their home, the door slid open and letting the soft, chill breeze of late April pour in. When Lan WangJi sits up, he can barely see the shadow of Wei Ying’s figure on the porch.

A sense of unease prickles at his skin as moments tick by and there is no movement, and finally Lan WangJi stands, drawing on his outer robe and bringing Wei Ying’s with, padding barefoot to the door.

Wei Ying is curled in on himself, seated at the edge of the porch with his forehead on one knee. In his lap is a rabbit that has of late taken a liking to him, a gentle white doe dappled in brown spots so light they were almost pink. Fallen white petals from the nearby magnolia tree surround him, a few adorning his robes.

The scene would be lovely to behold if not for tears that glimmer on Wei Ying’s face in the moonlight.

Lan WangJi moves to him immediately, stepping over what appears to be an unopened jar of Emperor’s Smile. He drapes the outer robes around his shoulders, then sits behind him and gathers him close, resting his chin on Wei Ying’s shoulder. There is a tension in him, as though he is so taut he might snap.

“Wei Ying, I’m here.”

“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, shivering as he leans into his embrace. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lan WangJi wishes he had, wonders if there are other nights that find Wei Ying crying alone. Or, perhaps worse, drinking himself numb. Even if tonight has been the first time, the placement of the moon suggests it is after midnight; he has potentially been out here for hours alone, in quiet pain.

“Tell me?”

He makes it a request, not a demand, something Wei Ying is free to deny if he wishes. Over a minute ticks by in silence, so long he thinks perhaps all he can do was hold him in the moonlight.

But then Wei Ying lets out a long sigh.

“Next week would have been shijie’s birthday.”

Though it’s barely a whisper, Lan WangJi can only describe his tone as lost. He understands; for Wei Ying, it will be the first birthday since her passing.

After Wei Ying’s death every anniversary had felt like a fresh lash against his soul—their meeting, the cold spring cave, the battle against the XuanWu of Slaughter… all through the day he’d plummeted to his death. The first year had been the worst.

Lan WangJi wonders how many anniversaries he has quietly grieved alone like this, hiding his pain. He had faced his grief alone, refusing to impose upon his brother, but he doesn’t want Wei Ying to face this alone.

“Tell me about her?”

He keeps it as a request, willing to simply sit here and hold him if that is what Wei Ying needs.

“Ah, you met her, Lan Zhan.”

Something in the way he says it is hesitant, though, and so Lan WangJi responds gently.

“I do not know her as Wei Ying does.”

He purposefully keeps the phrase in the present tense, for Jiang YanLi lives on in the memories of her brothers. He knows Wei Ying has noticed when his breath hitches and he shifts to the side in Lan WangJi’s arms to lean his head against his chest, gently repositioning the rabbit as he does.

Comparing Wei Ying’s speech to a burst dam, though a common metaphor, is inaccurate; rather, words come slowly, sometimes haltingly.

Lan WangJi learns of Jiang YanLi’s dedication to keeping him safe and happy, how she found him up a tree and coaxed him down and home and filled him with warm soup and love. Of her smiles at his antics, and how he sought to keep her smiling through childish behavior. Of how she tried to shield him from Madam Yu’s rages.

Far more than a sister; he is grieving the loss of a surrogate mother. He knows of Wei Ying’s childhood, of the time spent fighting dogs for food in the streets following the death of his parents before Jiang FengMian had finally found him. Lan WangJi is reminded of his own inconsolable grief at his mother’s death. The similarities are incomplete, but pain is not meant to be compared—only acknowledged and eased.

If only he knew how.

Between the lines he hears another fear: that without Jiang YanLi the rift between Wei Ying and Jiang WanYin will never mend, that she was what brought them together, that without her any reconciliation is impossible.

Tears have seeped through the layers he is wearing by the time Wei Ying falls quiet, his breath still hitching irregularly.

“It was my fault she was there. If I hadn’t stopped at Koi Tower…”

Lan WangJi knows how these regrets work, having questioned his own actions for years, critiquing everything he could have done differently that might have saved him. After learning from Wen QiongLin of Wei Ying’s secret, the loss of his golden core, he knows just how many mistakes he made.

“She would have sought you regardless,” he says, and knows it to be true. Just as he had come, Jiang YanLi would have out of love.

A tremor runs through Wei Ying, and Lan WangJi brings one hand up to thread through his hair in a comforting motion.

“She wished to protect you.” And she did goes unsaid.

“She shouldn’t have,” is so soft he barely hears it, and he can’t stop himself from clutching Wei Ying tighter against him. The rabbit kicked at them, squirming out from between them to settle on the porch beside them; Lan WangJi barely registers it.

“She sacrificed herself and I just—“

“Wei Ying.” He can’t bear for him to complete that thought. “That was not you. The Book of Turmoil…”

The sob that rips itself from Wei Ying seems to echo in the still air.

“How can you be so sure?”

There is an air of desperation to his voice, and it pains Lan WangJi that Wei Ying has been so wronged, lost so much, been led to doubt even himself.

“Su MinShan played at Nightless City, just as he did at Qiongpi Path.”

A tremor passes through Wei Ying at the mention of that place.

“His target was me,” Lan WangJi whispers. “Your death was his weapon.”

The events at Guanyin Temple had left him with little doubt: Su MinShan had killed Jiang YanLi to break Wei Ying, to leave him susceptible to the music, knowing he would be too strong to succumb without excessive measures. Just as the other cultivators had given into their worst inclinations, their amplified lust for power leading them to fight each other over the remains of the Stygian Tiger Seal, Wei Ying had succumbed to self-loathing so deep it had led him to...

He can’t finish that thought, panic and grief threatening despite the warmth of Wei Ying in his arms.

Lan WangJi suspects Jiang WanYin had been similarly affected, that perhaps some of the rage that the man still holds onto was truly anger at his own actions.

Or perhaps he just hopes this is the case for Wei Ying’s sake.

“That was not you,” he says again.

Wei Ying’s fingers trace one of the discipline scars that peeks above his night robes, as though he recognizes it as a physical symbol of their trauma. Lan WangJi resists the temptation to trace the almost invisible scar at Wei Ying’s throat, trying not to remember his attempt to convince him his life was not worth sealing his spiritual energy. Even so, he can’t quite contain a shudder at the phantom memory.

“Lan Zhan…” His breath is hot against his collarbone. “Does it ever end, Lan Zhan?”

He knows he is speaking of grief, of trauma and regret and guilt. It had for him, but only because Wei Ying had returned, the notes of their song played by a masked man on a mountain thirteen years into his grief bringing tears to his eyes and hope to his soul.

“I did not wish it to,” Lan WangJi admits.

Letting go of it would have felt like letting go of him, and that he couldn’t bear.

Fingers come to rest on his cheek, wiping at moisture he didn’t realize was there.

“Oh, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying’s voice is grieved, but the apology is implied rather than spoken. They had promised, after all.

“Together,” Lan WangJi tells him. “We can try together.”

“Together,” Wei Ying echoes, but adds nothing more.

Lan WangJi is not good with words; this conversation has required more of them than he can usually manage. But he knows Wei Ying still needs them, needs reassurance, from the way he is pressed close, pliable, drooping against him, the tension eased somewhat but still present under the surface. It would be easy to let action take over and distract, but that will not heal.

“How do you wish to celebrate Jiang YanLi’s birth?” he finally manages, uncertain of what else to say; he only hopes these words will help, not harm.

Nearly a minute passes in silence, and he wonders if he failed, but then Wei Ying speaks so softly he almost doesn’t understand the words, as though he is speaking to himself.

“I wouldn’t be welcome.”

Lan WangJi has to quash old anger before he can reply.

“I will write to Jiang WanYin. We will go to Yunmeng, if that is your wish.”

Welcome or not, there will be words if Wei Ying is denied, he decides. Perhaps sixteen years’ worth.

Wei Ying doesn’t reply, doesn’t say no, only trembles in his arms, and though he knows it is not, Lan WangJi decides to interpret it as cold, lifts him to his feet and wraps the robe more snugly around him.

He stoops to pick up the rabbit, leaving the untouched jar of Emperor’s Smile to put away in the morning. Wei Ying’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale in the moonlight, as pale as he had been at Nightless City. He looks delicate, like he might break. Again.

He looks exhausted.

Lan WangJi hands him the rabbit, then scoops him into his arms, meeting no resistance as he brings him into the jingshi, tucks him into bed, pulling away only to place the rabbit in a small hutch near the bed usually reserved for ill or injured ones.

He isn’t certain whether either of them will truly sleep tonight, but he gathers Wei Ying to him, runs a hand soothingly against his back until his breathing is calm and regular anyway. Even if he isn’t asleep, he is at least no longer so tense it feels he could shatter.

Tomorrow he will make arrangements for Uncle to take over his duties during his absence, will write the letter to Jiang WanYin and send it, will visit XiChen in his seclusion so he won’t worry at his absence and to explain his intentions in Yunmeng, will begin preparations for the journey.

Most important, he will watch Wei Ying, give him what he needs so they can face their pain together.

#the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan zhan #lan wangji #wangxian #jiang yanli #my fanfiction #chen qing ling #cql #mdzs

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chapitre7 · 4 years

Text

Alexandria Chapter VII (End)

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Time Travel/Sci-Fi AU

Read on AO3

“Make sure to tell uncle that the academics at the Observatory find my ideas ingenious and that they’re all glad to have me.”

“Mn.”

“Tell him that they’ve said I have a natural talent for engineering and that they’re including me in a project before my studies are even over!”

“Mn.”

“We’re going to build our own little envoy to travel across space, Lan Zhan! Can you believe that?”

Lan Zhan looks up from his pad at that, lips kissing Wei Ying’s temple before his head lies on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, its natural place.

“Congratulations, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying turns his attention from own pad to beam up at Lan Zhan, pecking him on the lips before kicking the blanket off his feet, jumping down from the couch to hop towards the window. He lets his eyes travel across the brilliant night sky of Qishan, losing himself in questions. What was out there, beyond what his eyes could see? He had already learned so much at the Observatory, but he wanted to know more, see more. What manners of life were out there? What sort of colors, what sort of surfaces, what mountains and rivers, what flowers and sounds? Would he be able to see the birth of a star? He had been such a fool. He thought the world had an end and that he had reached it, but he had just stopped asking questions.

Shifting his attention, Wei Ying focuses on the reflection on the glass. Lan Zhan sits on the couch, typing a letter to his uncle that is both formal and personal, speaking of his achievements and his contentment. His feet are propped up on a low table, a minimal step toward foregoing propriety. His hair is still damp, messy after he himself ran his fingers through it, in all the little ways Wei Ying thinks him rebellious, unrestrained, comfortable in his own skin. He’s nothing like Wei Ying, who can’t keep his whole body on the couch at all times, always dangling sideways, one way or another, clinging or draping across Lan Zhan, shamelessly. His own reflection shows a young man, hair slightly longer than the norm, clad in cotton red robes that are both appropriate and reminiscent of a different Wei Ying. He smiles at himself, finger touching the glass, and in the space that he and Lan Zhan created for themselves, seemingly such a long, long time ago, before everything, before the ice and Wei Ying’s travels, out of order in the order of the universe but right in all the chronology of his heart, in the trusted intimacy between cultivator and his own confidante, Wei Ying allows himself to reminisce.

“Lan Zhan,” he asks, eyes going out of focus entirely. “Do you still marry in red?”

He doesn’t see Lan Zhan stopping his administrations on the pad, doesn’t notice him looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You know, the last event I took part in Yunmeng was my sister’s wedding. I wasn’t entirely happy because it meant she was leaving, and that was actually what made me think about leaving too, but... Anyway, it was beautiful, you know? There was never a more beautiful event in Yunmeng, and there was never a more beautiful bride than my sister, wearing red and gold and the happiest smile I ever saw on her.”

He looks up again, at the once called Nightless City, still as stunning as it once was, with the Observatory sitting at the highest spot on the land, aiming up, always looking up, at the boundless infinity.

“I have so many memories of sister. She practically raised me because uncle Jiang and the Madame were... they had a sect to run and a son to train, and she wasn’t there when I left, so my last memory of her is the wedding and her following departure. She talked about the future like it was this amazing thing, and how no matter how far we were, she, Jiang Cheng and I would always be the closest we could be. And it... slipped my mind after a while.”

Lan Zhan wraps an arm around his middle, gently pulls him back, against him, but says nothing to break his train of thought.

“Jiang Cheng was so angry that I wanted to leave Yunmeng, and everybody looked so disappointed that—... I traveled until I didn’t know what I was looking for anymore, and I didn’t think I had anywhere to return to. But once I jumped into the water, I knew I had made a mistake, and I wanted to go back, but it was too late. I remember now, that my last thought was that they’d be disappointed in me in they knew. Even sister.”

Lan Zhan speaks his name with indescribable emotion, low enough only for Wei Ying to hear, right next to his ear, his hold tightening, grounding him once again in the present they shared. Wei Ying looks up again, not at anything in particular, not at the constellations or the strokes of colors in the clouds; hr just rests his head back against Lan Zhan’s shoulders, hand rising to the glass on the window, ready to draw a new pattern, away from those last moments in dark waters.

“Lan Zhan, nowadays, I keep seeing things that would make sister happy. All the homes of the sects that we learned and knew have changed drastically with the times, but children are still curious of all the things we have yet to see. There’s as much white as there is black in the world, as there will always be, and there are so many beautiful things in the middle, where we walk.” He laughs, turning in Lan Zhan’s half-embrace, resting his hands on shoulders that carry so much on them. “Am I making any sense? I’m rambling again.”

Wei Ying doesn’t see the sheet on Lan Zhan’s other hand until he’s thrown it over him, hooding over his head, trailing down his back, all the way to the floor. Lan Zhan’s skin glows with the dim lights of the living room, so reminiscent of their late nights at the facility that Wei Ying doesn’t question it, embraces it, like he sees him covered in the night, illuminated by campfire, like they’re the wandering cultivation partners of his silliest reveries. Lan Zhan adjusts the sheet over him, so it doesn’t fall off, and Wei Ying, blushing bright like it’s the first time Lan Zhan has doted on him, such clear affection in every gesture, can only stare back at him with wide eyes.

“Wei Ying,” he begins, adjusting Wei Ying’s hair under the sheet. “I’ll go to Yunmeng with you.”

Wei Ying gapes like a fish out of water, like the many holograms at the Gusu hall.

“We can find someplace where you can send your respects to your family and you can say everything you want to tell them.”

“We can do that?”

Lan Zhan tilts his head in a way that tells him he’s being silly again, and Wei Ying follows with a breathless laughter.

“I mean, of course we can, I just...”

Lan Zhan fills his ellipses with a kiss on his forehead, and Wei Ying inhales deeply, exhaling his worries and insecurities.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. They’ll be proud of who you are. I am...” His ears are red, Wei Ying can see them, just like he notices the biting on his lower lip, and the slight trembling of his hands. “Honored that I had a chance to know you, honored to be with you now, like this.”

“Lan Zhan!”

Wei Ying lounges at him, and the sheet almost slips off, but Lan Zhan catches him, pats the sheet back over Wei Ying’s hair as he mumbles against his chest.

“You can’t just say things like that! I’m an old man, Lan Zhan, think of my poor heart!”

He hears and feels the vibrations of Lan Zhan’s chuckle and he’s warm, so warm on that autumn night with a makeshift veil over his frame.

“Let’s go to Yunmeng, Wei Ying.”

He nods, humming his response like Lan Zhan often does.

“What will it look like at this time of the year?”

Wei Ying hums again. “It’s prettier in the summer.”

Lan Zhan leans down slightly, he’s not too much taller, but he leans down just to whisper against Wei Ying’s ear.

“And in the summer, would you like to marry in red?”

Wei Ying can hear nothing but the loud beating of his heart after that, as he pulls away to look at his companion, his patient teacher and friend, his partner and beloved. I never even told him how much I love him, Wei Ying thinks, and the thought is all it takes before he’s pulling him down and kissing his lips, savoring his taste and his breath when they part, guiding him back to the couch where he doesn’t have to worry about staying upright anymore, not when his legs are weak, too weak to carry the weight of all that he feels and all that he thinks about him, them, and their future. He tells him in-between kisses, in-between laughs and uncontrollable noises, he tells his betrothed, as he pulls down the red robe of their promise, he tells him that he loves him, that he loved him in Gusu, that he loves him in Qishan, and that he loved him worlds away, before everything. And after they’re undone in each other’s arms, he tells him he’ll love him still when they’re old, old together despite the gap in time, and if he can meet him in the yet distant future, nothing can keep him from loving him again, a thousand years from now.

Lan Zhan, a man of science, a man of culture and written words, does not question him. He’s a romantic in heart and soul, so he can only promise the same in return.

Outside, Qishan never sleeps, as it never slept, and never will.

***

The troupe comes every year, during the summer, and the city is bright with every the color of every flower that exists, the streets alive with festivities and music.

The celebrations peak at night, when the band marches through the city of Yunmeng, playing songs that have survived generations, and that have yet to suffer from the indifference of the population. The elderly clap along to the tunes side by side with the children, and the adults and the teenagers take videos and pictures and share the elaborated dances with all of the world, everybody joining in the cheer.

This year, there’s a man playing the dizi leading the troupe along, following or introducing every new melody as if he doesn’t even breathe. His red veil waves back and forth with the movements of his feet, secured in place, never faltering, and when he swirls, mesmerizing, he looks like he’s underwater, the soft fabric of his wedding garment swaying with grace, the golden jewelry in his hair tingling, complementing the music. He’s a sight never before seen, and the crowd loves him, throws flowers at his feet, wave at him from everywhere.

His sharp, trained eyes never strays from the man in red that accompanies the troupe by the sidelines, in front of the crowd of Yunmeng citizens, and he winks at him, plays for him, dances, celebrates, loves him with everything that he is and does. Every now and then, Wei Ying thinks he sees a familiar face in the crowd. Jiang Cheng, rolling his eyes at his parade. Jiang Yanli, eyes sparkling with a baby in her arms. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, one exasperated and the other fascinated, enjoying the evening before going back to Yiling; he can’t accompany them, not anymore. He sees them all, old companions, old friends and family, and thinks about how lost he had to be to think he was ever alone. He twirls the black dizi Lan Zhan gave him in skilled fingers and plays a different song, the band promptly joining him, a song to scare the shadows away, a song to cleanse the soul, a song for joy. And no one but he can see how there are real shadows shying away from the crowd, vanishing into the night, resentment failing before the brilliance of his core.

Out the corner of his eyes, he sees a small child, not older than six, peering up at him while adults carelessly shove him around with their legs. Wei Ying stops playing, heads in his direction, while the band marches on.

“Hey there,” Wei Ying speaks loudly, over the music. “Do you like the dizi?”

The boy nods, eyes big and round, taking in Wei Ying’s whole outfit. He’s red like fire, like passion, like the most beautiful flowers and the scorching dusk in the summer. He’s like everything that burns, but his touch is gentle, petting the boy’s head.

“Where are your parents?”

The boy’s eyes grow even bigger as he shakes his head and says nothing. Wei Ying can see his reflection on them, can see a child, lost in time, before a man, gentle and vibrant like a lotus flower, offering him a hand.

“What’s your name?”

“A... A-Yuan.”

Wei Ying grins, happy and wide, because it’s his wedding night, and he offers the child his hand. He learned from Lan Zhan that time often repeats itself, in both the good and the bad, and it depends only on us which of the two sides prevails in the end.

“Do you want to learn how to play the dizi, A-Yuan? We can hunt ghosts together!”

A-Yuan blinks his eyes at him in obvious wonder. Wei Ying bites down a laughter, because he doesn’t want the child to think he’s joking in anything he’s offering.

“We can hunt ghosts with a dizi?”

“We sure can! And my husband can use the guqin, but he’s still pretty bad at it, so if you’re a really good student, you can be better than him!”

Someone clears their throat and Wei Ying laughs before he peers up at his husband.

“Lan Zhan! I’m not even lying!”

“My teacher says I’m a model student.”

“I’m your teacher too and I refute that claim!”

“Only one of you has actually taught how to properly play a song from start to finish without straying from the sheet music.”

“It’s called playing with your heart, Lan Zhan, and it has to be felt and not taught.”

A-Yuan looks between the two men with wonder. The one crouched before him is beautiful with his veil but the other standing is beautiful as well, the golden embroidery on his clothes shining in the night. The child is used to adults yelling at him for stealing food, wholly unaccustomed to the playful banter between the adults, and smiles they don’t spare to each other or even to him.

“What do you say, A-Yuan? Do you want to come with us?”

He focuses on the man before him again, on his out-stretched hand and the tassel of the dizi that swishes around as if the man never stopped moving.

So he takes the hand of the flutist, who swiftly picks him up in his arms. He squeaks and the man can only laugh, but it’s not mean, it’s warm, warm like the red he wears and that brightens up the whole of Yunmeng. The other man asks A-Yuan if he’s hungry, and he nods enthusiastically, making him smile a golden smile that makes A-Yuan shy, hiding his face away on the veiled stranger’s shoulder.

“See, Lan Zhan? I keep telling you your smiles are too much to handle. Don’t worry, A-Yuan, you’ll have time to get used to how wonderful Lan Zhan is. He’s gonna pamper you rotten.”

Wei Ying has never had a disciple. He’s never had much of a legacy, since he quit the Yunmeng Jiang sect and got frozen in ice before the world discovered that he was the most talented cultivator of his generation. But now he has Lan Zhan, and his promise of eternal companionship. He has young alumni from Gusu Facility running and laughing behind the troupe, celebrating their senior’s wedding, who look up at both him and Lan Zhan with stars in their eyes. He has research partners, he has a dream, and looking up at the sky of Yunmeng, he tells his family about the new family he’s found himself.

He feels Lan Zhan’s hand rest on the middle of his back, in lieu of taking his hands, now full of A-Yuan. His husband looks exasperated and tired and happy, all at once, his eyes small and shining. Wei Ying gives him a wink, flashes an apologetic smile, but laughs despite himself, causing A-Yuan to shift in his arms to look at him.

“Mister, are you going to play more?”

“My disciple wants more? Okay, one more song, then we’re going to rest for the night!”

Wei Ying sets A-Yuan down, and Lan Zhan instantly takes the child’s hand. They both look at Wei Ying as the spins his song, a song of Gusu, a song of peace, that harmonizes with the spirits of the living and the dead, sending all souls into peace and tranquility.

That night, A-Yuan sleeps in the room of an equally beautiful mister called Xichen, who seems to think all things are funny. Wei Ying apologizes to his husband for his impulsive decision but Lan Zhan doesn’t even sigh, as he usually does, when Wei Ying acts impossible. He just lifts the veil, steals the words right out of Wei Ying’s throat, and loves him, whispering in Wei Ying’s ancient tongue, always meeting him where he is, crashing on him with the weight of the winds of the Cloud Recesses, where now sits the place where Wei Ying was reborn from ice, and Lan Zhan from fire.

They’re warriors, both of them. Their names and tales already engraved in history, in libraries all over the land.

***

I'd like to thank everyone who stayed with me this far, for reading and leaving me messages and filling my heart. I'm not as good at replying to comments as I once was; I'm still getting used to how things are when I'm inspired and writing and having people following me. It's been long. This isn't my first Untamed story, I still have lingering WIPs from September, but it's the first that made me stop everything that I was doing and share as quick as possible because I was feeling it so much. I was (and really, still am) struggling with characterization, so thank you for the patience, and thank you for understanding where I wanted to take this. Beneath all of the soft touches lies a delicate matter in this fic that I may not have portrayed as best as one should, but I hope the message that stays is this: you're never really alone and we must always allow others to reach us. We can heal. We can move. And we are worthy of love.

Thank you for everything, and may we see each other again.

Happy new year. ❤

- Lily M.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Alternate Universe: Science-fiction #alternate universe: time travel

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ctl-yuejie · 5 years

Text

the grandmaster of demonic interior design or mound squatting & a smitten renovator

⇨ for @howdydowdy who wisely suggested a home renovation tv series au based on my crack gifset

Ia . IIa . IIIa . Ib . IIb . IIIb. Ic . IIc . IIIc . Id . IId . IIId . Ie . IIe ⭐︎ . IIIe ⭐︎⭐︎ . extra

(this fic is super unbalanced, get ready for the 2k part ahahaha)

IIIc.

Despite arriving early, Lan Wangji’s luck has him run into Nie Huaisang as soon as he arrives at the hotel reserved for the experts on the show. Chipper in the wee hours of the day, Nie Huaisang is used to the chaotic scheduling and ensures him that there is no need to join the crew before the day of filming. Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to work with this kind of laissez-faire attitude towards the production that supposedly single-handedly saved the old traditions and the tv station itself. His brother’s guess at Nie Huaisang just using this as an opportunity to find work as an interior designer without actually having to work full-time in the field seems to be spot-on. All the ‘experts’ on the show being a hand-picked group of pretty men just cements the suspicion that he’s got a hand in everything. With a flourish of his fan Nie Huaisang vanishes into the streets, leaving him with the advice to head into the city centre and lookout for fancy birds. Lan Wangji isn’t sure whether that is an euphemism or not.

Sticking to his initial plan he decides to get familiar with the shooting area first. Luckily the hotel was chosen strategically, only a short trip away from the ominous place donning the name of Burial Mound. He isn’t so sure anymore whether analysing the style of cultivation practiced there will be a walk in the park or if he should’ve done more studying despite what little he was given from the production team. After consulting the map on his phone Lan Wangji finds the pathway that leads up the mountain, an old sign announcing the amount of kilometres left to the cave.

He can’t fathom how a filming permit got granted for what seems to be an alternative housing project.

The way up takes time, but despite the slope he doesn’t break out into sweat. None of the woods grow leaves, nevertheless the sky is completely blocked from view. Vines are enclosing him on both sides, and the branches of the old, hunched trees seem to claw their way onto the path. The perfect trap. He finds himself to be more alert than ever before.

At the end of the pathway he is greeted by a buzzling crowd.

Stepping out into the clearing feels surreal, almost like he travelled back and forth in time during his ascend. Shaking of the oppressive atmosphere of the thicket he takes in his surroundings. Cables for the cameras are getting set up while the producers and the director are conferring next to the entrance to a cave. Gingerly he makes his way over, some of the regular inhabitants shooting him curious glances. The stark white of his clothes, unperturbed even after the hike up the mountain, induces a respectful distance. Lan Wangji decides to wear the traditional Lan Clan attire for the actual shooting day then and there.

One of the producers gets alerted to his presence and after introducing herself she starts to apologise profusely. Lan Wangji feels doused in shame. It was inadequate to come here this early. He has caused more trouble than he intended and now he doesn’t know how to express his regret properly.

Instead he settles on inquiring after the briefing, a promise to vacate the premises ringing in the air. The producer almost curtsies to the obvious amusement of the director and makes quick work of her bag, fishing out a thin script and an outline of the show. “We will have a meeting tonight at the hotel in preparation. Most of tomorrows segment will be focused on Huaisang’s area of expertise, so you only have to take a look around and get interviewed afterwards for a first impression on the vibe of the cultivation.” Her eyes almost vanish behind the brim of her bucket hat as she cranes her neck to try and match his height. Lan Wangji thanks her and ponders how much he should prepare for his segment. Listening to the stories of his brother most people on the show are affiliated to powerful clans which allows them to own such peculiar houses in the first place. He just assumed that he’d already be familiar with the cultivation style, but just standing here, even surrounded by a friendly group of people, something feels off. A cold wind clasps his feet in confirmation.

He flips open the script and his eyes just so fall on the name on the top corner of the paper when a delighted voice calls out for him..

“Lan Zhan! Lan WangJiii! I knew it was you!” Grinning Wei Wuxian comes to an abrupt halt before him, curiously looking him up and down. Lan Wangji feels surprisingly unsettled by this unexpected encounter. The constricting feeling from the climb up is back.

His brother must have known.

Wei Wuxian seems to be very impressed with how Lan Wangji has changed in appearance since they last saw each other in school.

13 years ago.

Lan Wangji still hasn’t recovered from the initial shock, a tiny “Wei Ying” living his lips before he corrects his posture and bows formally. Wei Wuxian follows his movement in an almost flippant imitation, still grinning at him.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I didn’t expect you of all people to be in show business.” Lan Wangji doesn’t know if that is a good thing, so he says nothing. “Makes me curious what your area of expertise is on the show.” And with that he has pulled the script from his hands studying the cover page. “Script – Cultivation expert” is written on the front with a “confidential” stamp across it. “I didn’t know this show was about cultivation as well? I thought it was all remodelling and refurnishing advice. Hopefully Huangang Jun will be lenient in his comments, -“ Lan Wangji’s brows ever so slightly knit together after hearing Wei Wuxian call him by his title. How does he know?- “I really want this to focus on the community having to live here.” Gently he retrieves the script from Wei Wuxian’s hands to stop himself from staring.

“But isn’t this a happy accident? Jiang Cheng signed me up for the show not knowing you were one of the hosts, otherwise he would’ve let me know. Or not.” He seems to contemplate that thought for a moment.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know why Wei Wuxian is so excited to see him again but he basks in the pleasant albeit novel feeling, relaxing with every word that leaves Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Not much has changed since they attended the same after school classes at the cultivation heritage centre. Wei Wuxian still animatedly talks without a pause and seems to find joy in everything around him while pulling all kinds of faces. Lan Wangji’s pulse quickens when realization dawns on him that different majors at university and over 10 years weren’t enough.

13 years.

He has grown, he has changed,

But it isn’t enough.

The director joins them shortly, curious at how they know each other and while Wei Wuxian tells him an abridged version of how the Lan Wangji used to supervise his detention, he takes in the other people in the area.

Around 30 people are working in the communal space in front of the cave, fixing up the small wooden huts and looking after the vegetable patches. Most of them are well over 40 and unsurprisingly he doesn’t recognize anyone. There is only one child and his eyes are fixed on Wei Wuxian as his little fingers daringly get closer to a muddy puddle.

“Ah-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian calls out in mock-rage and runs over, picks up the young boy and holds him upside down. Ah-Yuan giggles and laughs, before wriggling out if his grip and running off to an old woman weaving baskets. Wei Wuxian turns around, waving him closer, the last sunrays of the day basking his face in a warm light.

Around them the group of artists (?), squatters (?) cleans up and gets ready for the night but Wei Wuxian grips his wrist and pulls him towards the cave.

“Let me give you an exclusive first look of my private quarters before shooting starts!” Wei Wuxian says accompanied with a suggestive wink as they cross the entrance. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t know Wei Wuxian anymore, that he was very young and inexperienced back then. Lan Wangji’s burning ears betray him.

As they proceed into the second chamber of the cave candles light up, illuminating the harsh rock that encloses them. Now with nightfall the place feels more eerie, finally justifying the legends of the Burial Mound that still get told in town. Sensitized after years of training, he can feel the old dark energy.

Wei Wuxian must feel it as well, he can see the talismans on the walls to ward off evil. For the first time he wonders why Wei Wuxian chose to live in this place.

The chamber is empty with the exception of a makeshift bed and a round table with woodwork on it.

Does Wei Wuxian sleep here? Only lurking spirits for company?

“I can show you more tomorrow, but if you like you could take a look at the gadgets I’ve carved. You are much more knowledgeable with these kind of things...at least you used to be...” Wei Wuxian’s smile is so soft, eyes gently vanishing into lines. Lan Wangji takes extra care in schooling his face into an impassive look.

At first sight the gadgets seem to be the perfect prank material, they are designed to cause small explosions or form a cloaking fog. But he can’t help and think about what confrontation Wei Wuxian is preparing for. The carving is done very carefully and judging from the papers on top of the table, much work went into finding the perfect designs.

He settles on an “Acceptable.” Wei Wuxian’s face pulls into a smile, making him want to repeat the word over and over again.

“I really didn’t know you were coming. But I’m glad we meet again. It has been a long time since I could talk to someone who understands what I’m talking about.”

He was right. A lot has changed. He isn’t used to this Wei Wuxian who is mature in his honesty. And he knows he is doomed just like before, because even this unknown Wei Wuxian he wants to be close to and find out who he is.

“But it is getting late, Lan Zhan, I shouldn’t keep you on the mountain. I bet they arranged suitable accommodation for the esteemed Huangang Jun down town. Let me show you off!”

“Hm.” He hums in agreement and they make their way back to the entrance.

“Don’t worry I will show you the rest tomorrow. I will need you to stay sane when Huaisang starts berating me for my tasteful furniture choices.”

“I will be there.”

Wei Wuxian is visibly startled by the fervour in his voice. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Of course you’ll be there. Or the crew would have schlepped all the equipment up this godforsaken mound for nothing. And we can’t have that taint your reputation.”

Wei Wuxian laughs most of the way down.

Just before the path opens to the road at the feet of the Mound he says his goodbyes.

“See you tomorrow Lan Zhan.” Then: “Sleep well, Lan-Er Gege.” The mischief in his voice bubbles over.

“Wei Ying!” It comes out sterner than he intended but Wei Wuxian seems pleased at having struck a chord, making his way back up the Mound while waving him goodbye, back turned.

Lan Wangji allows himself to wait until the red of Wei Wuxian’s hair band vanishes into the grey thicket. With nightfall the cold is creeping into his bones and he becomes aware of the old grave stones that line the path. Even in the 21stcentury, Burial Mound stays a fitting name.

One step onto the well-lit road and he’s enveloped by the humid heat of Yiling’s night.

#the untamed #the untamed fanfic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wangxian #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #the grandmaster of demonic interior design #ctlyuejie writes #long post #ahahahahahahahah i know it might not have seemed like it but this fic is actually quite long #this is when the crack caught feels and i couldn't turn back #and i have ton of head canons for this au that won't even make it into the fic orz #and i love socially awkward but aware lan wangji and oblivious social butterfly wwx #i know i shouldn't bring it to everyone's attention but the name of Wei Wuxian gets dropped a lot in this part...not because I couldn't have #edited it down but lwj's everything pretty much focusses on Wei Wuxian soooo...#hiding this in the tags so it won't be too obnoxious #wwx might call lwj's name a lot but in his mind lwj #says wwx's name A LOT #hope everyone is enjoying this update as much as i do

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victortortor · 5 years

Text

princess mononoke au

I. The Demon God

II. Journey to the West

Slowly, the land began to change.

The dense, rolling woodland became arching and steep mountains, with treacherous waters and little creeks and streams. A great plain lay between two cliffs, then more peaks beyond. Then as Lan Wangji crossed them, he began to see signs of human civilization. At the foothills of the great mountains, rice paddies filled the land, and thin wafts of gray smoke signaled a village nearby.

Yet… it looked so very different from Gusu.

The first settlement was ramshackle and half-alive, half-dead. There seemed to be an outbreak of some sorts, and Lan Wangji saw local soldiers blocking the roads leading down into the valley. A quarantine? It would be no good to enter then.

He was running low on food. He could forage, but it would be easier to simply buy things from local settlements. Besides, with so many rice paddies, it would be impossible for them to not have cheap rice.

Even so, he and Bichen wandered onto the next one. It was best not to risk it here, and he would rather not grow ill, along with caring for his cursed arm.

Between the first and second village, Lan Wangji encountered a scuffle of sorts.

A woman’s scream was suddenly heard, then abruptly cut off. Sounds of commotion prompted him to quickly pull of the road, toward the farmland that stretched to the north of it. What he saw made him draw a quick breath.

There were many soldiers stationed in the area, likely serving the local lord. Lan Wangji wasn’t particularly surprised by this, but he had never expected that they would be attacking the villagers.

It couldn’t be because they were a menace, and it was doubtful they were doing it for the sake of looting, either. For someone who served the local landlord directly, it would be easy to simply… take.

So this was not harassment. It was simply killing was sport. Without hesitating, Lan Wangji held up his bow.

He aimed, intending to disarm a soldier on horseback, and all of a sudden, his arm spasmed just as he let the arrow fly.

For the first time in a long time, Lan Wangji missed his target. The arrow flew hit the soldier’s neck with such force that his head was thrown off in an impossible manner. The empty stump spurted blood, and the rest of body slowly fell of the horse.

For a moment, he could not understand what had quite happened, until someone shouted, “There’s someone else!”

“Look, a warrior!”

“Get him!”

Arrows flew his way, and two more men on horseback approached.

Lan Wangji quickly recovered from his shock. “Bichen, go!” He had no wish to fight them all, and to flee would be the best option. It was wrong of him to have gotten involved in the first place— someone died because of him.

But showing one’s back to the enemy proved to be a bad choice. More arrows were aimed at him. Thankfully, they all missed his steed.

One of the soldiers got close enough to attack him with a sword, and Lan Wangji’s arm jerked once more. Acting on its own, it jerked up, and to both the soldier and Lan Wangji’s own shock, blocked the sword with nothing but skin.

The impact of the blow caused the sword to spin out of the soldier’s hand, and a stray arrow suddenly pierced his palm. He screamed in pain, and Lan Wangji shouted, “Let me pass!”

He urged Bichen to run faster, as fast as he could. No one followed him.

However, by the time he was sure he was alone, the traces of the demon god that he had been following were gone— and he did not dare to backtrack.

Lan Wangji took a moment to pull up his sleeve, exposing the skin of his right arm to the air.

The cursed area was larger than before. It throbbed, as if reminding Lan Wangji that it was the curse that had made him kill that man.

The second village was in better shape than what Lan Wangji had seen of the first. There were people out and about, but their expressions were grim and their clothing brown and dirty. It did not take long for Lan Wangji to realize that the white cloth of Gusu marked him as a stranger and outsider.

He could hardly tell where were the cheapest places were in the marketplace, and he simply chose an arbitrary seller. The woman at the stand looked at him warily, then at his clothing that was far too clean.

“A bag of rice,” he said quietly, and held out a bit of gold. When leaving Gusu, he had only taken some of that with him, unsure of what sort of currency, if any at all, the people of the west would use. Surely, however, they would always take gold.

Yet, it seemed it wasn’t the case. The woman snatched the gold bit out of his hand, but upon squinting at it she snorted and said, “What’s this supposed to be?! A bit of rock won’t get you anything here, you know!”

There was nothing he could do about that. If gold meant nothing here, then Lan Wangji would simply not buy anything. He could feel eyes that had been on him the whole while quickly look away, likely disappointed that he was not as rich as his clothing made it seem.

“Excuse me,” a mellow voice spoke just as Lan Wangji was about to take his leave, “May I see that bit of rock?”

Before the lady could respond, a man quickly took it out her fingers. He took it and examined the nugget carefully, and said, “If this esteemed lady does not want it, I would gladly take it. Name your price, young master, for this bit of gold is worth far more than that bag of rice you wished to have.”

“‘Gold?’” The woman demanded, as if the word was foreign to her. Nevertheless, she quickly snatched it back. “It’s mine! He gave it to me first! Here, have your rice!”

She threw bag at Lan Wangji, who swiftly caught it. It seemed that it was worth far less than what he paid for, but he did not mind. More importantly, it was best to leave now, for it seemed that he had attracted far more attention than he had expected.

In the future, perhaps it would still be best to avoid such settlements, then.

When he reached the edge of the town, a voice once again called out to him.

“Excuse me!”

Lan Wangji did not turn back, and Bichen did not falter.

“Young master,” the man called again, and he recognized it as the one that belonged to the man from the marketplace. “Young Master Lan!”

Lan Wangji jolted to a stop.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” even though he most certainly did. Bichen began to trot, and the man jogged lightly to keep up. “I am just here for a bit of fair warning. There are quite a few men behind you right now, intent on following you and killing you in your sleep— then taking your gold.”

Lan Wangji did not look at him, and stared straight ahead.

“I am called Meng Yao,” he said. “I am but a simple traveling monk, but I have met another one of your people before, the Lan people, yes? No one else wears such pure white clothing, with an elk instead of a horse, and walks with such regality. You are far from home.”

“...”

“I rather suspect you would like to run away now,” Meng Yao said kindly. “It would be best to avoid the bandits tailing you. May I follow you? I promise I mean no harm. I hope my assistance in town can prove that.”

Lan Wangji was quiet, then allowed Bichen to begin to gallop. “Keep up,” he said.

They camped in a cave, the fire burning while the night raged on in fury— rain pelted the entrance, and wind howled.

As soon as the rice was finished cooking, Meng Yao quickly filled both their bowls and handed one to Lan Wangji. “For you, Young Master Lan.”

He took the bowl, but said, “Don’t call me that.” He had already forsaken his name and his family, so it would be no good if someone called him that.

Meng Yao eyed him carefully, then finally nodded in agreement. They ate in silence for a while, until he finally said, “The truth is, I saw you during that skirmish with the local soldiers. I have to thank you; I was caught in the middle, and you gave me the opportunity to escape.”

Lan Wangji continued to eat. Guilt gnawed at his stomach.

“You possess great strength,” Meng Yao said, “But you are one of few words, aren’t you?”

“...”

“If I can confess more,” he continued, “I first mistook you for someone else.”

Lan Wangji could piece it together from there. “You have met my brother.”

“I must assume so, for he was your spitting image.” Meng Yao set down his chopsticks and bowl, having finished. “I traveled far, far away. I had not eaten in weeks, and your brother found me and gave me food and supplies and nursed me back to health. During that time I grew fond of him, and he grew fond of me.

“I inquired if he could possibly travel back with me once I regained my strength, and he told me that he would never go west. His people never did.”

The unspoken question lingered in the air. Lan Wangji considered Meng Yao’s words. His brother had never told him of an encounter with a foreign man, but it was not as if Lan Xichen had always told him everything. He judged MengYao honest in his words, and he had no reason to doubt his goodwill. Still, he was reluctant to speak on the matter of the boar and his cursed arm to him.

Instead, he pulled out the iron ball that had been found in the demon god, and he gave it to Meng Yao. “Do you know where this is from?”

Meng Yao took it, examining it carefully. He held it closer to the fire. “... Where did you find this from?”

Lan Wangji was not willing to say more.

“Very well, no need to tell me.” Meng Yao tossed the ball back to him. “Tell me, young master, did you there used to be a village right here?”

“No.”

“There was, about a decade ago,” he said. “However, natural disaster after natural disaster struck the area— lightning, fires, floods, earthquakes, and all of them at once. They were all natural, you see, but unnatural. The gods really were angry at this place, and many people died. That’s how it always is, when it comes to the gods. People die when they are angry, and you can’t do anything but swallow your tears, and move on. No one lives here now, just angry ghosts and maybe the remnant of an angry god.

“When you shot that soldier today, you did out of kindness, didn’t you? And you aren’t very happy that you killed him. Perhaps you’ve never killed a human before.” Surprise must have flickered in his expression, for Meng Yao said, “Don’t worry about it. People say I’m very good at understanding people.”

He said, “Most people are not like you, young master. People die every day, from all sorts of things. You must have seen it in the village today— people are always dying. Even if they aren’t dead, they’re dying. They only care that they are dying, because no one else will care for them but themselves. If you kill someone, so be it. They were already dying.”

“...”

“Your face says you disagree,” Meng Yao said. “And I don’t intend to argue with you, but your expression simply reminds me of someone else who also disagreed.”

Lan Wangji said, “Who?”

Meng Yao said, “Far to the west from here, there is a town that goes by the name of Yiling. It is a town that specializes in ironworking, and beside it is a massive forest, known as the Forest of Gods. There, the beasts are impossibly large, and gods roam among the trees. But the man who built Yiling up from nothing, Wei Wuxian… I feel as if you and him would get along very well.”

The Forest of the Gods… and Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji finished eating quickly, then set his bowl down as well. “Thank you for the information.” In the end, even though he had not said thing, he felt as if Meng Yao had figured out all of it anyway.

Meng Yao smiled politely and looked to Lan Wangji’s things discreetly. His strange stone arrowheads, his elk, his clothing… and he put those things aside. “I am simply repaying a favor,” he said. “If your brother did not need anything, it only makes sense to help you. Come, let us retire for the night.”

They did so, and Meng Yao woke, Lan Wangji was already gone.

III. The Land of the Impure

#mo dao zu shi #my writing

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