Title: looking at you looking at me Author: lunchee (lunchy_munchy ) Pairing: merlin/arthur Rating: M Word Count: ~7,700 Warnings: angst,
sometimes it lasted love, but sometimes it hurts instead
Title: looking at you looking at me
Author: lunchee (lunchy_munchy )
Pairing: merlin/arthur
Rating: M
Word Count: ~7,700
Warnings:angst, major character death, not a happy ending, grief themes
Betas: the wondrousglass_moment, who worked it good. Then I suddenly wanted to change it, and slashitup101 worked it up good too. Thank you so much bbs ♥
Summary: Modern AU. Arthur can't let go. Merlin forgets.
The king sent me to get you," Merlin said, with a tone that implied strongly that he wasn't rolling his eyes where Arthur could see, but just wait until his back was turned. "He said you're to get changed into formal clothes and meet him in the Great Hall, there's a delegation coming from the Summer Court."
Title: Bucket up, all for Luck Summary: Merlin didnt really expect it to take five Knights, two old men, a woman and a horseshoe for his pla
Title: Bucket up, all for Luck
Summary: Merlin didn’t really expect it to take five Knights, two old men, a woman and a horseshoe for his plan to work, but then again the extent of his plan had been more along the lines of an adamant ‘I’m not in love with Prince Prat (except, really, I am)’ than an actual plan.
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~30K
Warnings: Spoilers for S3E13 – continued directly from series. (Canon) mentions of Arthur/Gwen and (canon and non-canon) Lancelot/Gwen. Little bit of swearing.
Potions and Snitches :: Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive
The Art of Forgetting and Forgiving by Scorpia
[ - ]
Series summary: Every year it was the same, Severus Snape cleared his face of all emotion, apparated to Privet Drive and visited a little boy whose only desire in the entire world was to have someone that would love him.rn
Then, If Severus could just keep Harry from dying in the night, then maybe they could both experience a life better than the one they had lived so far.
Nie Mingjue knows what Jiang Cheng will say, even before he sits down. He guesses three years have been ample time to learn to read someone and so he’s not surprised when Jiang Cheng says “I want to leave.”
“I see,” Nie Mingjue says, because he does.
He even understands.
Theirs is not a marriage of love, even though Nie Mingjue finds himself wishing it was more and more often lately. But it is a political match, made even before Jiang Cheng or Nie Mingjue were old enough to consent to it, and their alliance was the only thing that stopped a war.
It might have saved the world they know, but feelings didn’t play a part in it.
At least at first.
“I wouldn’t—” Jiang Cheng starts but he cuts himself off. “I’m not leaving-leaving,” he then says, even though they both know he couldn’t anyway.
If it should be announced that they split, the possibility of war will be back in their lives. A divorce is not in their future, if they want it or not.
“Okay,” Nie Mingjue says, because there is nothing else to say.
He will not force Jiang Cheng to stay when he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not—” Jiang Cheng cuts off again, clearly upset with himself and his lack of words in this situation, so Nie Mingjue leans forward and takes his hand in his.
This, these small touches; they have worked hard for them and Nie Mingjue is loath to give them up.
“It’s alright, Wanyin,” he tells the other man. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t!” Jiang Cheng hotly says, the spark that Nie Mingjue loves so much in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave. I just—I wasn’t allowed to go on night hunts before we were married,” Jiang Cheng explains and instead of looking at Nie Mingjue he looks down, at their intertwined hands. “My parents feared I would die or get seriously injured and you’d call the marriage off, so I simply wasn’t allowed to. And even here—”
“You always have to go with me,” Nie Mingjue finishes for him because he sees how that could be grating for Jiang Cheng.
He knew that it would upset Jiang Cheng the very first time he went with him, but Nie Mingjue isn’t strong enough to let his husband out of his sight and night hunts are dangerous.
The burial mounds require a yearly sacrifice from The Main family of a sect, that's why jgs has so many bastards, ans also why madame Yu decided to adopt wwx.
That is … so grim. I can easily see Jin Guangshen just ordering some men to go look around the local brothels for one of his bastards when its his sect’s turn to sacrifice and Wen Ruohan has zero issues throwing one of the branch family members in. The Lan and Nie probably ask for a volunteer because their all noble and cling to morals even when they doom someone to death. Jiang sect are big on “adopting” some teenager in exchange for their actual families financial stability.
My hands are itching to write this but I have absolutely no time but my hands are itching to write this so buckle up for my rant.
@angstymdzsthoughts
Sacrificial Lamb AU
Part 1 of 3(?)
The burial mounds is a dark place, somewhere even sanity left the person while they were reduced to a husk of bones and dry flesh. That place was rotten, echoing with the screams of the long dead souls. Icy wind blew there but it never crossed the border of the burial mounds as if the burial mounds was holding itself in chains with the promise of a gentry soul’s sacrifice every year.
Wei Wuxian was 12 when he heard the whispers about this. 13 when he was told that he was the chosen one.
His name was glorified as if they anticipated him to win a war. Wei Wuxian, the middle child of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan who had been lost on the streets for a year.
He huffed at the lie his adoptive family created. He may have been young when he was brought in but he remembers his parents. Though he dares not to speak about them, at least this way he will be able to save his siblings, the only people who cared about him and fought their mother day and night, from an early death.
Sometimes he feels if this was the only reason he was taken in, to be sacrificed in the place of the blood children of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan. But life has never been kind to him, at least this death is better than the meaningless one he would have had were he to die on the streets.
——————–
He hates the pitiful glances of the people dressed in colorful robes. The ceremony will be held when the sun is at the peak. He is dressed in purple robes for the first time in his life. Madam Yu had lashed out when he had asked to wear his black and red robes for the last day of his life.
Now, his robes were a dark shade of purple, patterned with lotuses in silver thread to signify his clan. His belt was the shade of black with a simple silver ornament in the front. The only thing that was normal was the red ribbon he always wore, even if his hair was styled in a different style today.
He doesn’t know why these people took so much care to show a good face in the gentry even at this occasion.
He diverted his eyes from everyone, looking at his clarity bell hanging by his side. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were left in lotus pier because they were not leaving the side of Wei Wuxian even last night when he had gone to sleep, with hopes of waking up, for the last time.
The Jin clan was the most abundant one there, dressed in their golds. He had heard they were the ones who had sacrificed a child last year, an 8-year-old girl who was one of the sect leader’s bastard children.
On the left was the wen clan, standing with straight backs while their leader lounged in his seat and observed the Jiangs with interest. Wei Wuxian immediately cut off his gaze when the sect leader met his eyes.
The Nies and the Lans stood closer together, less in numbers even after being two of the five great Clans.
He almost laughed, the Lans were the only ones wearing an outfit fit for the occasion. Their white pristine robes stood out in the soup of colors the ceremony was. But they were no different, eyeing Wei Wuxian with the same emotion he had begun to hate since last week.
He spotted one Lan boy who was looking straight ahead. He followed his line of sight and found that he was the only one who was looking at the burial mounds with a straight face.
Huh? Is the Lan sect the next one? Is that boy the next one?
His mood immediately soured, the boy had such flawless skin and black hair, it would be a waste to send him to the burial mounds.
He almost laughed at his stupidity; it was not in Wei Wuxian’s hand what the gentry did. He was even praying for that boy as if he wasn’t going to be dead in less than three hours.
A sizeable crowd has gathered on the streets outside of the palace gates by the time Lan Wangji arrives, freshly bathed and changed out of his travel-weary and battle-worn armour into his formal robes. He dismounts as the guards approach, keeping the reins in his hand as he shows his pass; they grant him passage with a low bow, moving to the side as he leads his horse through the gates as quickly as decorum will allow.
The maids and eunuchs he passes on his way to the Hall of Mental Cultivation pay their respects with low bows and bent knees, lowering their gazes as they murmur his title with something akin to awe. He nods curtly in response but otherwise does not halt in his progress—it would not do to keep the Emperor waiting, war hero or not.
It’s been over a year since he went to war, defending Gusu’s coast against the invading forces of Dongying. The war had been harrowing and brutal and there were many times Lan Wangji where hadn’t been sure he would survive. But he’d fought on with grit and tenacity, acutely aware of his role as a member of the Imperial family to lead and inspire his troops by example. That is, until a well-aimed arrow caught him in the shoulder between the plates of his armour, and sent him overboard in the midst of battle.
He’d survived. Barely.
The doors to the Imperial study are open when he arrives, and the eunuchs kneeling on either side of the door touch their foreheads to the ground in greeting. He walks up to the eunuch standing closest to the door.
“I am here to see the Emperor,” he says.
“Yes, Wangye,” the eunuch replies. He gets to his feet and turns to the door, raising his voice to announce: “Huangshang, Hanguang-wang begs an audience.”
I hope you get plenty of prompts that you enjoy. Thank you.
NMJ bonding with child Wangji. Maybe a few times NMJ beat little LWJ in a spar and the time he knew little Wangji would one day beat him. Mostly Pre Cloud Recesses arc?
Of Few Words - ao3
The first time Nie Mingjue met Lan Xichen’s little brother, he thought he would be just like Nie Huaisang, so he picked him up and threw him.
“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen gasped, clearly horrified. “What are you doing?”
Probably something forbidden by the rules, Nie Mingjue thought, and shrugged.
He wasn’t good with words, was too blunt and too direct, especially for the Lan sect, and so over the past couple of weeks or so that he’d been here he’d found it was easier not to speak at all. They’d make whatever assumptions they wanted about him, no matter what he did; it was easier to just let them do that and work with that than it was to futilely strive to get them to actually understand him.
“Even if Wangji has done something to upset you, you may only assign him to do copying,” Lan Xichen told him, and Nie Mingjue was briefly surprised that his new friend had assumed he was angry before he remembered that everyone here thought he was angry all the time, so it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise. “Please keep that in mind. Also, I don’t know if I’ve said, but he’s very reserved, so please don’t take offense if he just points things out...oh, I wish I wasn’t needed elsewhere this afternoon! I’d much rather show you around myself, but as it is, he’ll be showing you around this part of the Cloud Recesses in my place.”
Nie Mingjue grunted assent, and watched, a little desolately, as Lan Xichen disappeared down the still confusing twists and turns of the paths of the Cloud Recesses. It was all gardens here, carefully tended to maximize graceful tranquility, and he was sure he would have no chance of ever finding his way back on his own if left to it.
It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if he was. The other Lan disciples hadn’t really taken to him the way Lan Xichen had, much less a younger brother that the (rather reserved, by Nie Mingjue’s standards) Lan Xichen had described as reserved…
Unexpectedly, a small hand slipped into his own, and he looked down in surprise.
Lan Wangji looked up at him, his cheeks flushed a little red.
Nie Mingjue instinctively smiled at him, charmed by the reminder of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that too much exuberance seemed to only disturb the Lan sect and struggled to get his expression under control. He expected him to start leading him around the Cloud Recesses without another word – he had overheard Lan Qiren telling his father that Lan Wangji wasn’t much of a talker, very quiet, and to not expect much interaction with him – but to his surprise Lan Wangji did not move, looking at up at him thoughtfully, lips pursed as if he was considering saying something.
Nie Mingjue waited for his judgment.
“You weren’t angry,” Lan Wangji finally said. “When you threw me.”
Nie Mingjue blinked.
“No,” he admitted, breaking his own informal vow of silence. “I wasn’t. I thought you might enjoy it.”
Nie Huaisang loved being tossed around, whether up into the air or into bushes, headfirst shrieking into his bed or ass-first into a pool of water; he’d thought tossing little brothers around was what big brothers were there for. Sure, there was a small age gap – Lan Wangji was six, Nie Huaisang still not quite five – but he hadn’t thought it would make such a difference.
Lan Wangji hummed thoughtfully. He did not speak for another long while, but Nie Mingjue was starting to think that that was just him chewing over his thoughts before forming them into words.
At last, he spoke again: “I did.”
Nothing afterwards. Hesitantly, Nie Mingjue asked, “Would you like me to do it again?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
This time, Nie Mingjue was a little more cautious: he threw Lan Wangji up into the air and caught him, trying to demonstrate that he knew what he was doing, that he could be trusted, and by the third or fourth time Lan Wangji was smiling. It wasn’t quite on part with Nie Huaisang’s giggles and shrieks, but felt rewarding nevertheless.
Satisfied by his success, Nie Mingjue was about to put him down on the ground, but hesitated. “Do you want to ride on my shoulders?” he asked, and waited as Lan Wangji considered it.
“Another time,” Lan Wangji decided. “Not today.”
Nie Mingjue nodded and put him down. Lan Wangji took his hand once again and, this time, led him around the way he’d expected from the start, pointing out various places and naming them in a quiet murmur.
Lan Wangji really wasn’t much of a talker, a person of few words, but that was fine. So was Nie Mingjue.
-
It was a few days later that he came across Lan Wangji kneeling beside the training grounds and impulsively challenged him. He was getting bored of training alone: Lan Xichen was busy again, and the other Lan disciples had already made clear that they didn’t want to have anything to do with him, the interloper who’d pushed his way into their lessons by force.
It wasn’t actually like that at all – his father had sent Nie Mingjue to learn here for the season as a gesture of goodwill, wanting to support Lan Qiren’s lecture series and make it clear that other sects should follow suit, to encourage Lan Qiren’s goal of eventually creating a safe haven for all the Great Sect’s heirs to come together and learn and build friendships while still in their youth – but Nie Mingjue knew that there was no convincing any of his wary Lan sect peers of that. Even if there was, he certainly couldn’t do it, not with his clumsy tongue and scowling face and too-tall height that made everyone immediately assume he would resort to violence as his first and only argument.
So he trained alone and studied alone, or with Lan Xichen in the rare times when his friend was free, but it was boring, and anyway, he thought he’d gotten on pretty well with Lan Wangji the first time they’d met. It wouldn’t be a real spar, of course, not against a six-year-old, but doing the moves slow and mirroring a smaller opponent would force him to pay close attention to his own technique, which would pay off in the long run.
He explained this to Lan Wangji when the boy frowned up at him in what Nie Mingjue was starting to be able to identify as a silent question – he didn’t use many words himself, just spat out “Mirroring improves technique,” and saw that Lan Wangji understood the rest – and a moment later Lan Wangji nodded and rose to his feet, picking up one of the practice swords and taking a position opposite him on one of the fields.
Nie Mingjue started with a standard warm-up routine, unsure of Lan Wangji’s skills. Supposedly he was the opposite of Nie Huaisang in this respect, too, startlingly advanced for his age, but Lan Qiren had also said something about him pausing his sword training as a result of some incident, not specified; his father had nodded in response as if he’d understood, which was very unhelpful to the eavesdropping Nie Mingjue, who didn’t. Since he didn’t know the background of the incident or when Lan Wangji had picked up sword training again, and more to the point wasn’t inclined to ask since he knew that Lan Wangji wouldn’t enjoy explaining, he just started out with the basics and went up slowly from there.
It turned out his concerns were mostly unnecessary – Lan Wangji was a bit stiff at first, maybe because of the kneeling he’d been doing, but he clearly had the basics down flat, and they were able to progress to something a little more interesting quick enough, trading very slow swipes with saber and sword.
Nie Mingjue didn’t even notice that they had an audience until he heard Lan Xichen say his name in a strangled voice. He finished the follow-through of the move they were on, since stopping in the middle could be dangerous (not for them, not with training swords, but in the future, when it was real, and forming good habits now would help more later on), saluted Lan Wangji with his saber and was saluted in return, and then turned to look for his friend.
Lan Xichen was staring at them as if they’d turned into ghosts, and there was a whole crowd of Lan sect disciples standing around gawking at them instead of doing their own training.
Nie Mingjue hunched up his shoulders, assuming he’d somehow managed to do something wrong again, and automatically stepped in front of Lan Wangji, blocking the others’ views of him. “I challenged him,” he said bluntly, hoping to take the brunt of whatever punishment would need to be imposed here – generally speaking, he’d learned that the Lan sect’s penalties for being lured into misbehavior were less than the penalties for instigating it. “He didn’t seem otherwise occupied.”
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, or started to say, but Lan Wangji was already turning to put away his training sword. He then formally saluted his brother and trotted away from the training field entirely.
Lan Xichen watched him go without stopping him, then turned to Nie Mingjue. “Mingjue-xiong, how did you get him to fight you?”
Nie Mingjue blinked, confused. “I asked.”
“Yes, but – how?”
“I asked him to train with me,” Nie Mingjue said slowly, not sure if he was missing something. “I pointed out that mirroring improves technique. He probably did it as a favor to me…listen, do you need me to copy lines or something?”
“Copy lines?”
“For whatever rule I just broke,” Nie Mingjue clarified, but Lan Xichen only looked more confused. “Was it because he was kneeling and I interrupted him?”
Everyone is staring at me again and I don’t know why, again. Just tell me what it is that I did, impose the punishment, and I won’t do it again, I promise – but you need to tell me what it was that I did wrong first.
“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen said, staring at him even more strangely now. “You didn’t break any rules at all.”
That was even weirder. “But –”
“Wangji was kneeling because that’s what he always does during training hours,” Lan Xichen said. “He doesn’t train the sword anymore.”
“He – doesn’t?” Nie Mingjue asked, now even more confused, and in his confusion forgot that he was in the Lan sect with their carefully thought-out sentences and myriad of prickly unwritten rules. “Why not? He’s so good at it! And he seemed to be having a good time, too…listen, I know your sect prizes musical cultivation, Xichen, and that it’s often one or the other, but there’s really no reason he can’t do both.”
He belatedly realized he was talking too much and shut his mouth, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have brought up that subject.
After all, Qingheng-jun had been a sword cultivator with little interest in music beyond battle-songs – still was, Nie Mingjue supposed, although he was in seclusion so much that it might as well be ‘had been’ – and Lan Qiren was an expert at musical cultivation, skilled in both xiao and guqin, but used his sword only to fly. They’d been trained that way, complementary to each other’s strengths – Qingheng-jun the attacking hand, Lan Qiren the supporting arm – which was a pretty decent plan right up until it had all rather been ruined when Qingheng-jun had for whatever reason retreated from the world.
“Of course,” Lan Xichen echoed, and luckily he didn’t seem to notice the implied criticism. “He should, of course, if he wants to…Mingjue-xiong, I’m sorry, I have to go again, I need to talk to my uncle at once. But you should feel free to challenge Wangji again – in fact, I would appreciate it if you did. Liu-xiong, can you tell Mingjue-xiong what Wangji’s training hours are?”
One of the other Lan disciples nodded, and Lan Xichen flashed them both a thankful smile before disappearing again, even though he’d promised that his uncle only needed him for half a day and that they’d be able to go down to visit Caiyi Town that afternoon.
As a result, despite Lan Xichen’s assurances, Nie Mingjue still had the distinct feeling that he’d done something wrong, but he really couldn’t see what. Best not to think too much about it, he supposed.
-
By the afternoon, Nie Mingjue had retreated to the library to avoid being stared at. He’d thought that the indirect sneers and silent rigid politeness that invited no familiarity was bad, but apparently it was actively worse when the Lan sect disciples treated him like he’d just turned into a performing monkey that had done a neat trick. They still wouldn’t condescend to talk to him, of course, but they felt no issue staring or talking to each other about him – even though Nie Mingjue was sure there was a rule about not talking behind people’s backs.
Maybe it didn’t count if you did it in front of their faces.
Nie Mingjue actually rather liked the library, despite the Lan sect’s general tendency to treat him like an illiterate ape that only knew how to swing a saber – even Lan Xichen had looked a little puzzled the first time he’d asked to spend the afternoon there, though of course he hadn’t said anything out loud beyond reminding Nie Mingjue that they didn’t have to go there and that it wasn’t necessary to sacrifice his own enjoyment for Lan Xichen’s.
It wasn’t his friend’s fault that he was brought up to prefer those were gentle and scholarly, Nie Mingjue reminded himself, even if it chafed a little every time that Lan Xichen automatically sided with someone who could express themselves better, someone cleverer with words than he; that trait was common to just about everyone at the Cloud Recesses, and at least Lan Xichen would eventually listen to him if he kept his temper under control and persisted in trying to make his point.
Nie Mingjue might wish that the Lan sect didn’t view losing one’s temper as an automatic forfeit of the argument – do not succumb to rage had been whispered in his vicinity more times than he could count, though rarely to his face – and he might think in his heart of hearts think that they were simply wrong in dismissing his viewpoint just because he felt too strongly about a matter to contain himself, but he was a guest here and he needed to respect their ways, conform himself to their customs, even if it upset and disturbed him to do so.
At least sometimes those ways and customs served him, including in the deliberate air of quiet contemplation in the Library Pavilion. There were separate rooms for private study, of course, but an emphasis was put on preserving the tranquility of the location, and it seemed that the Lan disciples at least knew enough shame to avoid coming to gawk at him from the door when he was there.
Deciding to entertain himself, Nie Mingjue picked out several books on military strategy utilizing musical cultivation – just because he was all but tone-deaf didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the power of the Lan sect’s core techniques – and settled down for a nice afternoon of being alone.
Until, of course, he wasn’t.
He was pretty absorbed in an analysis of altitude effects on range attacks for a while, deaf and blind to the outside world the way he usually was when he was reading, and then, perhaps alerted by some sound, he looked up to find that the sun had shifted position and also that Lan Wangji was sitting across from him with his own book primly laid out in front of him.
Nie Mingjue blinked and thought briefly about saying something. If it had been Nie Huaisang, he would have – some friendly jibe that Nie Huaisang would return in full measure, before they both settled down to enjoy each other’s company in communal silence – but this was Lan Wangji, who was a Lan, and probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
So he didn’t say anything, just looked back down at his book and continued reading.
After a little while, there was a tug at his sleeve.
Nie Mingjue looked up. Lan Wangji was pointing to one of the words in his book – “Frivolous,” he said, assuming that Lan Wangji was asking for assistance with the more complicated characters the way that Nie Huaisang would have, albeit with much less whining. “Means lacking purpose or value.”
Lan Wangji nodded, released his sleeve, and returned to his reading.
They carried on in this fashion for a while, quiet reading interspersed with occasional reading comprehension questions, and it was nice. Nie Mingjue could feel the stress of the day slowly sliding off his shoulders – more than just the day, maybe the whole week, the entire time he’d been here, or even before, when Nie Huaisang burst into tears at finding out his big brother was going to be leaving him behind. He would need to write to him again soon, Nie Mingjue thought to himself, and send presents; he’d been hoping to pick something up in Caiyi Town today, but then Lan Xichen had gotten busy…
It’d be nice if he could get him something from the Cloud Recesses itself, though.
“Wangji,” he said before he could stop himself. “What is a present you would get for someone who likes pretty things?”
Lan Wangji blinked up at him, then frowned. Nie Mingjue was pretty sure that it was a thinking frown, though, so he just waited, and sure enough Lan Wangji carefully closed his book and stood up.
“Flowers,” he said, and held out a hand as if to help Nie Mingjue up.
Nie Mingjue long ago learned that when a small child offers to help you, you accept regardless of whether or not they were actually capable of performing the action in question – though with Lan sect arm strength, who even knew – so he took Lan Wangji’s hand and scrambled up to his feet.
“Flowers?” he asked, a little dubiously. “I don’t know if they’d survive being sent by post.”
“Flower petals,” Lan Wangji clarified. “Pressed.”
Nie Mingjue blinked, but actually, no, that sounded perfect for Nie Huaisang. Especially if he got them pressed into a bookmark or something.
“My brother will love it,” he said enthusiastically. “Do you know where there are good flowers?” He knew himself well enough not to even try to make that sort of judgment call. “Can you show me?”
Lan Wangji frowned, and this one wasn’t his thinking frown – it seemed sad, almost.
“You don’t have to,” Nie Mingjue assured him, but Lan Wangji set his shoulders in a look of fierce six-year-old determination and he nodded as if he was going to go to war. “Really, if you don’t want to interrupt your reading –”
“The place is sad,” Lan Wangji said. “But it has the best flowers.”
Nie Mingjue frowned. He could tell from the way Lan Wangji’s little lips were firmed up in stubborn intent that there would be no stopping him, that he was determined to get Nie Mingjue the best flowers – truly, Lan Wangji was such a good boy, unlike that junior hellspawn and walking calamity named Nie Huaisang – but also that he thought it would hurt him to do so.
He didn’t want Lan Wangji to hurt.
“Do you want to ride on my shoulders this time?” Nie Mingjue asked, and Lan Wangji looked at him in surprise. He shrugged. “Sometimes having a different perspective on the same place makes it feel different.”
He knew he was butchering the explanation – he really wasn’t good with words – but he didn’t know how else to explain it.
He didn’t know how to explain that he used to spend days and days looking at the place where Nie Huaisang’s mother had gone in to give birth and never come back out, equally drawn and repulsed by it, right up until the day he climbed up the gate of the Unclean Realm on a dare and by coincidence happened to see it when he looked down from that great height, only to realize that the place he’d thought of as dark and depressing and even haunted was just a room like all the rooms right beside it: he couldn’t even tell it apart from the rest.
“…mn,” Lan Wangji said, sounding doubtful, but he hopped onto Nie Mingjue’s back when offered and scrambled up to sit on his shoulders, ducking his head to avoid the doorway to the Library Pavilion as they exited out the side door, and then he showed him the way to a nice looking cottage that seemed a little out of the way but which was surrounded by what were undoubtedly lovely purple gentians.
“Wow,” Nie Mingjue couldn’t help but say. “They’re very – purple.”
Lan Wangji poked him in the head.
“They are! Very purple. I’m sure Huaisang will love them to a ridiculous degree and that my father will write me angry letters about trying to sell him to the Jiang sect again –” There was a very small snort from above his head. “In my defense, he was really annoying when he was a colicky baby, and at the time I thought the Jiang sect were pirates.”
Another snort, this time less small. Somewhat disdainful.
“Listen, they’re ‘known for their watercraft’, right? It was a perfectly reasonable mistake to make…”
Lan Wangji didn’t giggle the way Nie Huaisang did when Nie Mingjue clowned around for him, but he was smiling by the time he edged onto a nearby tree branch to get a particular blossom that Nie Mingjue had set his heart on, declaring it the fattest of all the flowers and thereby a necessary acquisition, and in the end they collected a full basket of the purple flowers, more than enough for a dozen pressed bookmarks.
The smile made Nie Mingjue feel like he accomplished something.
It was almost enough, even, to let him brush off all the stares they got as they walked back together, side-by-side.
-
Nie Mingjue reported to Lan Qiren’s study with a great deal of trepidation.
It only got worse when he saw Lan Xichen sitting there as well, and when Lan Qiren instructed his nephew to serve them all tea. Nie Mingjue was abruptly seized by the fear that something terrible had happened: that he’d broken some unknown rule and needed to be punished severely, that he’d failed all his tests, that they’d decided he wasn’t actually a good fit for the Cloud Recesses after all, that his father had been summoned to take him back home early in disgrace –
“You’ve been spending some time with Wangji of late,” Lan Qiren said.
Nie Mingjue nodded.
“Yesterday, you presented the craftsman with a basket of purple gentians. Did Wangji show you where to find them?”
“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said cautiously. “He helped me pick them.”
Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen exchanged glances.
Nie Mingjue somehow felt even more nervous.
“Was I not supposed to take them?” he asked. “Wangji said they’re his mother’s favorites.”
Lan Xichen dropped his cup.
“Xichen,” Lan Qiren said sternly, and Lan Xichen apologized and quickly cleaned it up. Luckily the cup had not shattered. “Nie-gongzi, to confirm, Wangji told you that himself?”
Nie Mingjue nodded.
Lan Qiren stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Nie-gongzi…if I were to tell you that Wangji has not spoken to anyone in nearly six months, what would you say?”
Nie Mingjue blinked.
“He also hasn’t trained with the sword in that time,” Lan Xichen interjected.
Nie Mingjue opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no idea what to say.
“Our mother died,” Lan Xichen explained, his brow creased in misery and concern. “Wangji didn’t really understand…it took a long time before he understood that he couldn’t see her any more.”
“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Xichen.”
Now it was Lan Xichen’s turn to blink. “Sorry? For what?”
“For your loss? I mean, she was your mother, too, right?” It occurred to Nie Mingjue that she might not be, the way his mother and Nie Huaisang’s mother weren’t the same, but he was pretty sure the Lan sect only allowed for one marriage, and the age gap between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji was smaller than the one between him and Nie Huaisang…
“Yes,” Lan Xichen said. “She – was. Thank you.”
Lan Qiren made a thoughtful sound.
“If you’re asking if I did something to convince Wangji to come with me and do all that,” Nie Mingjue said, having finally figured out why he was sitting here having tea and being uncomfortable, “I really didn’t. It may just be that enough time has passed for the wound to scab over.”
“Perhaps,” Lan Qiren said.
“I think he feels bad for me?” Nie Mingjue hazarded. “I’m not sure. I’m still learning how to understand him.”
“The fact that you’ve realized that there’s something there to understand puts you way ahead of most people,” Lan Xichen told him.
“Why would he feel bad for you?” Lan Qiren asked.
Because your sect is full of snobs that all hate me.
“Uh,” Nie Mingjue said. “I – have no idea.”
Lan Xichen frowned at him. “Mingjue-xiong, ‘do not tell lies’ is a rule.”
“So is ‘do not insult people’,” Nie Mingjue said sulkily, and refused to say another word no matter how many ways Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen asked. He’d already figured out that not talking was the best way to avoid getting into trouble – the Lan sect was much more insular than the Nie sect, with all sorts of restrictions about getting brought in, and he didn’t have any confidence that expressing grievances would result in anything other than more shunning.
Eventually, Lan Qiren dismissed him, frowning, and Lan Xichen escorted him back to his rooms.
“Is it because you don’t trust me?” he asked, and Nie Mingjue stared at him.
“What are you talking about?” he said. “Of course I trust you. You’re my friend.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me that there was something wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “And don’t say nothing’s wrong, that’s obviously a lie.”
“It’s because we’re friends,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. Most of the time, he forgot that there was an age gap between him and Lan Xichen – three and a half years, same as the gap between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji – but sometimes it really hit home. “I don’t want to make trouble for you. This is just a place I’m staying for a little while, but you live here; after I go, we’ll still be friends, but you’ll still be stuck with whatever mess I make for you.”
Lan Xichen was scowling, his lower lip trembling a little, and Nie Mingjue cautiously reached out a hand to put on his shoulder, squeezing. He would prefer to give him a hug, but he didn’t know if it would be welcome – he’d already told Lan Xichen that he himself was always open for hugs, but he knew very well that Lan Xichen was uncomfortable with too much contact.
“It’s all right,” he said.
“No, it’s not,” Lan Xichen said. “Wangji noticed that you were unhappy, and I didn’t! What kind of friend am I?”
“You’re a good friend,” Nie Mingjue insisted. “You are. It’s not about you. I promise.”
They still hadn’t resolved it by the time Lan Xichen left him at his room. Nie Mingjue sighed, hoped that he hadn’t inadvertently ruined everything, and went to sleep.
The next morning, he woke up when the door to his room opened abruptly with a slam that seemed, in his sleep-fogged brain, to echo throughout the entire Cloud Recesses.
“Mingjue-xiong!”
“…Xichen?” Nie Mingjue said, and rubbed his eyes disbelievingly. “Did you just slam a door?”
It wasn’t really a slam. It was a small shove, at best.
“Why didn’t you tell me people were being mean to you?” Lan Xichen demanded, and Nie Mingjue stared at him. “I would’ve made them stop! Really, I would have! I don’t care if they’re Lan sect and you’re not, they shouldn’t be – I shouldn’t be – making assumptions about you or pushing you out or – or – or anything!”
“Where did you get all of this from?” Nie Mingjue asked, utterly at sea. He was right, of course, about the problems Nie Mingjue had been having, but he certainly hadn’t known it last night before curfew and while, yes, it was only morning by the standards of guest disciples and not Lan sect members themselves – he got an extra shichen to sleep in while he adjusted to the earlier schedule, of which he generally tried to use only half – it still seemed a little implausible that Lan Xichen had managed to puzzle all of that out overnight.
“Wangji!” Lan Xichen said, and threw himself on the bed next to Nie Mingjue and gave him a hug, a good proper one like the ones he used to get all the time back in Qinghe and which he missed rather terribly. “He actually came and talked to us! With words! Well, a few words, anyway, but he hasn’t said anything to Shifu or me for six months up until now. He said you were unhappy because of the other Lan disciples persisted in thinking that you were stupid and angry when you’re neither.”
Nie Mingjue felt warm inside.
“Your brother’s smart,” he said gruffly.
“He is,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I also thought you were stupid and angry and nothing more than that. I know you’re not.”
“I didn’t think that,” Nie Mingjue said, and it was mostly not a lie. “We’re friends, aren’t we? A friend wouldn’t think that about another friend.”
“That’s right,” Lan Xichen said, nodding firmly. “And friends don’t let friends go around thinking they didn’t do anything when they did something big – I still don’t know what exactly you did, Mingjue-xiong, but you helped Wangji a lot, and I’m eternally grateful.”
“There’s no need for thanks between friends,” Nie Mingjue reminded him, the first rule of their friendship formed in the spaces between discussion conferences that neither of them had any choice but to attend, and Lan Xichen smiled.
“I know,” he said warmly, and Nie Mingjue felt warm in response. “But I’m going to abuse my privilege and ask you to keep spending time with him – with both of us, sometimes, but with him by yourself if you don’t mind – so I think you’re owed at least one ‘thanks’.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Nie Mingjue said, grinning. “You just want a free babysitter, is that it?”
“It is not! Mingjue-xiong!”
Nie Mingjue started laughing. Lan Xichen smacked him – lightly by Lan standards, no doubt, but it was a good thing Nie Mingjue was as strong as he was.
“I don’t mind,” Nie Mingjue finally said. “I like your brother.”
Lan Xichen’s smile was as dazzling as the sun. “Good,” he said. “He likes you, too.”
I have an easy plan, I said. I have it all figured out, I said. Three parts, dusted and done, no problem at all, I said.
I think not, this story said, and proceeded to throw some unnecessary relationship drama at me.
This chapter is very NieLan heavy. Content warning for in-book level of violence.
Nie Mingjue is humming under his breath as he prepares dinner. It’s Jiang Cheng’s favourite, and while Lan Xichen had sent him a knowing look when he saw what Nie Mingjue was making, Nie Mingjue didn’t pay him any attention.
He is not spoiling Jiang Cheng. At least not since the bruises and cuts on his face have faded.
This is just because Madam Yu summoned Jiang Cheng to Lotus Pier and Nie Mingjue knows that such summons always leave Jiang Cheng unsettled and upset and he wants to do something nice for him.
It has nothing to do with spoiling him, Lan Xichen’s glances be damned.
“Get out of my kitchen if you keep looking at me like that,” Nie Mingjue eventually grumbles under his breath and it makes Lan Xichen laugh before he darts over to press a kiss to Nie Mingjue’s cheek and then he leaves.
Finally Nie Mingjue can concentrate on making their dinner.
He’s mostly done by the time his phone rings and when he sees that it’s Nie Huaisang, Nie Mingjue quickly wipes his hands before he accepts the call.
“Di-di,” he warmly says, but he tenses when he isn’t met with an answering “Da-ge”.
Something must be wrong then.
“What is it?” Nie Mingjue asks, using the tone that used to make his people quiver with fear usually, but Nie Huaisang is silent for a moment longer before he finally speaks.
“Lotus Pier is burning,” he then says and Nie Mingjue’s entire body goes cold even as his mind struggles to understand the words.
“No, it’s fine, Wanyin went there today,” he tries, but his voice is already trembling, his body clearly understanding what Nie Huaisang’s words mean even if his mind is still struggling with it.
“Da-ge, it’s burning. No one came out, there are said to be no survivors.”
“Who?” Nie Mingjue demands to know, because this is easier to think about than the fact that there are no survivors. He doesn’t pay attention to the sick feeling in his stomach. “Who did this?” he asks, even though he damn well knows who did this.
“The Wens,” Nie Huaisang predictably says and Nie Mingjue has to grab for the counter so he doesn’t collapse right then and there.
The Wens took his father and now they took his heart.
AU - The Jedi say "The Padawan Chooses The Master" Qui Gon lives, Obi Wan is very preoccupied, and Anakin is put into the creche as an Initiate to learn what he can until Qui Gon wakes up from his coma and gets yelled at by the Council. In the meantime, Anakin meets other Jedi Masters and when the Council asks him who he wants to be his teacher, his answer isn't Qui Gon. Instead it's *insert your fav Jedi here*
My Friend, I both hate you and love you for this prompt. Because I am so very very torn. But let me give it a go.
Naboo is a debacle. No one debates that. Qui-Gon Jinn comes back to the Temple barely alive, accompanied by his Padawan - the first Jedi in a millenia to have slain a Sith - and the powerful young boy they found on Tatooine.
At first they wait - while Obi-Wan Kenobi is considered more than deserving of Knighthood, they hold out hope that Qui-Gon will wake and perform the ceremony himself, and take Anakin on as he originally intended. It is not to be.
Obi-Wan is knighted and sent off on missions, Anakin remains in the creche - as Qui-Gon lives, it seems presumptuous to have any other Jedi take him on. But Qui-Gon may never wake, and so the more senior Masters take it upon themselves to get a feel for the too-powerful boy. Just in case.
Months later, Qui-Gon wakes.
He is in no shape to do anything more than argue with the council, but he is awake. Still, the matter of Anakin Skywalker is put off a little longer, until Qui-Gon is in a better position health wise. Besides, while he is not completely at ease in the ranks of the initiates, Skywalker has settled in somewhat - it will do no harm to wait a little longer. And it also gives some of them a bit more time to try an mitigate Jinn’s eventual bad influence.
A year after Naboo, the council requests the presence of Initiate Skywalker. The boy who faces them is so very similar and yet so very different from the child they interviewed a year earlier. Still far from emotionally balanced, but much less fearful. After all, by this stage he knows them all somewhat, and he has begun to accept that he is not going to be turned out - over the last year it has become very apparent that he cannot remain untrained, and as such the Creche Master had taken the time to explain the notion of a Padawan accepting a Master.
(They will never know how how much that notion affects Anakin. Because what slave chooses their own Master?)
And so they ask him. “Who would he choose as his Master?”
And Anakin is torn. Because this is a huge decision, and he knows it. Never before has he had the power to CHOOSE. He has to do this right. Qui-Gon Jinn freed him and brought him to the Temple. He is Anakin’s hero. It would make sense to accept him. And yet… What of the other Masters?
What about Master Billaba, who so patiently walked him through the First Forms when he worried about being so far behind his classmates? Or maybe Master Fisto, who laughs and smiles and pats him on the head and tells him not to worry, he will get the trick in time - has he considered a moving meditation, like this? Or even Master Windu, who is stern and forbidding, but UNDERSTANDS the anger that coils in his chest? And Master Koon - he’s kind and an absolutely WIZARD pilot. What should he do?
But Anakin Skywalker is a child of the Force. And all of the Masters he has encountered over the last year have told him the same thing. So he reaches out and…
The council watches as the boy raises his head and looks up at them with an unassailable sense of certainty.
“I’m sorry Masters, but I can’t choose. Not yet. It’s not the right time.”
And it takes everything in him not to back down in the face of Qui-Gon’s sadness and the Council’s impatience, but Anakin stands firm.
The Force is speaking to him. Loud and clear.
“Not Now.”
In the end it is Yoda who breaks up the raucous arguments with a few firm taps of his gimmer stick. If the Force tells young Skywalker that now is not the time then so be it. The boy is still younger than the average new padawan, and still has some catching up to do. There is no hurry. Let him remain in the creche they shall, until the time is right.
And so they do. Except Anakin’s little demonstration along with the general increased interaction during Qui-Gon’s convalescence means that several of the Council members are seriously considering the merits of taking him on themselves. And Qui-Gon? He is determined to regain little Ani’s regard.
You can imagine the result. Anakin Skywalker becomes the envy of his classmates, as multiple senior masters court him to be their padawan. Plo Koon in particular seems to take great delight in tweaking Qui-Gon’s ire by allowing Anakin to learn to pilot the Temple ships, and Mace has spent a lot of time showing Anakin how to control his darker impulses. Kit sneaks him sweets but both he and Depa have the suspicion that they are not seriously in contention. Ironically all the attention has done wonders for his attachment issues.
Still, every time he is asked if he is ready to take a Master, Anakin will close his eyes and reach into the Force, before saying. “No. Not yet.”
Incidentally, his lack of Master has very much impeded the Chancellor’s efforts to spend time with the boy alone. After all, a Padawan is very different from an Initiate from a Jedi perspective - one is considered a semi-adult capable of assisting in basic mission duties while the other is not. The Chancellor may be their direct superior, but even he cannot order them to facilitate private audiences with a CHILD under their care. For now, he must make to with infrequent and supervised visits in which he must take care not to overstep the role of a genial man interested in the welfare of the child who saved his planet.
It infuriates him.
But anyway.
Time passes, and Anakin’s classmates start to dwindle, as they are either apprenticed (Anakin feels smug at having facilitated one of two of the matches - having Knights and Masters watching him keenly means he can try and push others in direction the Force suggests) or drawn towards alternate pathways. Anakin is nearing thirteen years of age, and he knows the time for a decision is coming soon.
But there are things he needs to make sure are in place first. Luckily, he knows who to speak to about that.
“Time then, it is, Young Skywalker?”
“Yes Master Yoda.”
“Hmm. Certain, you are?”
“Yes Master Yoda.”
“Good. Done well, you have, to follow the Force in this. Who is it, you have chosen?”
Anakin tells him.
And the old Jedi starts cackling.
It is not long after that Anakin Skywalker stands before a large crowd of Knights and Masters (Because this? The apprenticeship of Initiate Skywalker? This is going to be the thing of temple legends and NO ONE wants to miss out.) and asked who he would take as his master.
And Anakin Skywalker looks his choice straight in the eye as he speaks their name.
Obi-Wan Kenobi nearly faints there and then.
.
Let’s take a step back.
When Obi-Wan Kenobi first accompanied his comatose Master back to the Temple, he had been consumed by their last conversation. The one in which he had promised Qui-Gon to train the boy. Except, those were obviously the words of a man who thought himself dying, and Qui-Gon still LIVED. When the council decides to put Anakin into the creche until things are more certain, Obi-Wan is so RELIEVED. Because while he would if he had to, Obi-Wan doesn’t feel READY to take a padawan just yet, not while he is still processing the end of his own apprenticeship, and Anakin is meant for Master Qui-Gon - Obi-Wan would never wish to steal that role while the possibility remains that the man will wake one day.
Still, he made a promise. And there are many ways to teach.
So Obi-Wan makes an effort to check in on Ani, make sure he’s settling in ok. It’s a big culture shock for the boy from Tatooine, and Obi-Wan does his best to help explain some of the things Temple raised initiates take for granted. Anakin’s glee when he finally gets the hang of something is infectious, and Obi-Wan finds himself enjoying the time they spend together.
When he starts taking missions as a Knight, Obi-Wan makes the effort to farewell Anakin every time he leaves, and if he can, brings him back some toy or trinket from wherever he ends up. Nothing major, but Anakin has often expressed his desire to visit every world in the galaxy one day, and he gets so excited even if all Obi-Wan has to show him is a rock he found while running for his life from upset dignitaries…
Obi-Wan thought his missions might be less exciting now he wasn’t partnered with the most infuriating diplomat in the Order. He was wrong.
When the Masters begin paying more attention to Anakin it is Obi-Wan he contacts for reassurance he is doing the right thing. After all he is listening to the Force, but what if he’s listening wrong? And Obi-Wan tells him he’s doing fine, to follow his instincts, and sorry he has to go now due to potential pirates, but maybe to take time with each of them to work out how well they connect, just in case the Force changes its mind? And it is Obi-Wan who tells him he should just confess about the incident with the door chimes, and reassures him that no one will hate him over the accident with the speeder.
As time goes on, Obi-Wan becomes known in the Temple as the BEST source of information on the Skywalker Situation, because he has THE most up to date gossip on what Masters Jinn and Windu have decided to challenge each other with this time, or which Knight has decided to throw their hat into the ring most recently, only to find the kid too much to deal with. Obi-Wan finds himself feeling a little protective over Anakin, rolling his eyes at the latest stuff up on the part of Ani’s potential masters, and during one of his morning meditations he comes to the startling realisation that he is well and truly Attached to his young friend.
Well then.
So of course when it comes time for Anakin to make his final decision, Obi-Wan Kenobi puts on his best face and mentally tries to work out which master will have the honour of training the Chosen One. The selfish part of him hopes it’s not Qui-Gon. He adores his former Master, but time has convinced him that he would be a poor match for Anakin. And he wants what is best for the boy.
Maybe once Anakin is safely matched to a Master of his own Obi-Wan might consider the merits of a Padawan himself. Certainly he is feeling a lot more confident in his skills that he was a few years earlier…
But then Anakin gives his name.
His.
Obi-Wan Kenobi.
So many faces are turned to face them and he can feel them all asking “Why him?” and he doesnt have an answer and…
Anakin is looking at him. Waiting. For his response.
His heart gives him his answer, but he has to be SURE this is the boy’s decision.
“Why now Anakin?”
And Anakin smiles, bright and sure.
“Because you weren’t ready before.”
Oh.
Obi-Wan Kenobi laughs then, in joyous wonder and kneels to look the boy (his student!) in the eye.
“In that case, Anakin Skywalker, I would be honoured to be your Master, if you would agree to become my Padawan.”
And the Force sings.
~~~
I hope you’re not too disappointed! I was tempted to write a Plo Koon is Anakin’s Master AU, but in my heart of hearts, I just can’t keep the Team separated! :)
Why do you sound so surprised???!!!! I can totally write fluff!
Just for that I’ll prove it by writing a bit more. And especially for @letslipthehounds and @princesspotpourri I’m going to see how this might have changed the universe in terms of a certain Sith.
When Chancellor Palpatine hears that Anakin Skywalker has taken a Master, he can hardly contain his joy. Oh he hides it as relief that the boy will at last progress in his chosen vocation, but in truth he is eager to take advantage of the opening the Jedi have finally shown him.
He has prepared a number of different contingencies depending on which of the esteemed Masters has won young Skywalker’s approval - should it be Windu, then he has a multitude of sly insinuations designed to make the boy buck at authority, if it is Koon then a few well placed comments about his non-human nature possibly making it difficult for him to understand a young boy’s passions would be a good start. As for Jinn.. well he need only pass on certain personal truths to raise the spectre of abandonment. In fact, he has considered the possibilities involving every member of the council, up to and including the tiny green troll.
Which is why he is completely unprepared for the announcement that Skywalker has chosen not one of the many Masters vying for his attention, but the relatively inexperienced Knight Kenobi instead.
It is… not something he had ever considered. Oh he was aware of Kenobi’s movements in the general sense - he was after all responsible for the disappointing demise of his former apprentice, and it was always a good idea to keep an eye on promising young Jedi showing signs of disaffection - but the for the most part the Knight had not done anything truly worthy of his attention. He had managed to disrupt one or two of Sidious’ less critical schemes and generally caused an inconvenient ruckus or three, but for the most part his actions had been of little consequence. Just your average new Knight undertaking their first few solo missions.
Well then. All the better. If the Jedi wish to entrust the training of the Chosen One to an untried young man unused to detecting the subtle machinations of a Sith Lord, then who was he to argue? It would just make his life easier.
It won’t take long for him to realise just how wrong he is.
Knight Kenobi is not a grief stricken young Jedi burdened with responsibilities far to early, or a callow youth burning from the sting of rejection. Knight Kenobi is a man who has spent the last three years working out who he is in the absence of his teachers. And as it turns out, he is still fundamentally the same Obi-Wan Kenobi as ever - determined, principled and self sacrificing to a ridiculous extent. All those three years have done is give him the self confidence to trust his own decisions and the skill to hide the fact that he’s about to do something reckless in the name of what is right.
As a side note, Qui-Gon’s close call with the Sith still has Obi-Wan switching his sabre style to Soresu - he has had ample practice with his new forms thanks to several missions gone wrong. Just HOW good he his isn’t yet known to the Temple. Nor is his growing ability to talk his way in and out of problems with ease.
Which is why the Jedi Order takes the news of Anakin Skywalker’s choice with a growing sense of bewilderment. Why him? Why a newly fledged Knight? Yes, they were friends but Kenobi was barely on the books as an outside chance!
(Yes, there was betting involved in the whole situation. Nothing monetary, favours are the currency of the Temple, but the pot was still substantial. Quinlan Vos cleaned up in the end - he put two and two together and got “Force ordained bond” after accidentally picking up one of the souvenirs Obi-Wan gave Anakin. He will never have to do senate duty again!)
But any muttering over Anakin’s decision is soon quashed by Yoda firmly announcing that he supported the match. After all, moved by the Force young Anakin was yes? Who are they, to question this? Also, he admits privately to his fellow Masters, Obi-Wan is far too careless with his own life. Even if Anakin hadn’t made the decision he did, Yoda would have done his best to push a Padawan his way in the hopes of mitigating his more reckless decisions.
Which is exactly what happens. Obi-Wan may be willing to risk his own life on a plan with only a slim chance of working, but he is not willing to risk Anakin in the same way. Anakin meanwhile, for all his extra training to deal with his emotions, is still a possessive little ball of attachment (he’s just expanded his range of Jedi he considers HIS in some form or another) and refuses to let his Master leave him behind to do stupid things. Obi-Wan is HIS Master! He CHOSE him, and nothing is going to part them now ok?
(Obi-Wan melts every time because ANAKIN chose HIM. It is hard to hold on to your low self esteem when you are reminded every day that the Orders most desired Padawan turned down half the council to become your student. He vows to live up to the task - Anakin deserves the best after all.)
This incidentally, means Palpatine has one hell of a time to even to get to see Anakin because as a thirteen year old he is considered old enough for most missions and there is no way Anakin is letting Obi-Wan go on missions alone.
And when the Chancellor DOES get the opportunity to talk to him, he finds it nearly impossible to drive a wedge between the pair because Obi-Wan is neither the hide bound traditionalist nor the radical maverick, and will openly admit his lack of knowledge. Also Anakin’s continued relationships with assorted council members mean that he is used to the idea of there being no one answer - Master Mace and Qui-Gon could and would spend hours arguing the finer points Jedi philosophy, and Obi-Wan was very helpful in explaining how they could both be correct, and wrong, at the same time.
Similarly his hope of using the “Jedi don’t care about the slaves/people in need” is undermined not only by Master Koon's clear and educational lecture on how the Order because subordinate to the Senate, but also by the fact that Obi-Wan persuaded Quinlan Vos into taking a detour into Tatooine to check on Shmi Skywalker. Blackmail was involved. Either way Vos returns to the temple able to reassure Anakin that his mother is free and in good health, and with an extra comm code that he surreptitiously hands off to Obi-Wan. Attachment is one thing, but Shmi was a nice lady and deserved the occasional message. It’s not like he’s at all sympathetic to the kid and his fears. Not at all.
And so in next to no time everyone knows. Kenobi and Skywalker? They’re going to be legendary.
So, as the start into the new year, have Lan Zhan getting hounded by his brother’s groupies and despairing over Wei Ying’s compulsive flirting. :)
—
“Hello, handsome,” the woman said, smiling at Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan looked at her, and tried to remember if they had met somewhere before. She was carefully styled, wearing a tight black dress and high heels, with long hair and equally long red nails. She looked somewhat out of place in this cosy coffee shop, more like she was on her way to a fancy event than looking for a cup of coffee. It was certainly someone he would remember, if they had indeed met before. She was, however, entirely unfamiliar to him.
And if that had not been enough of a hint yet, there was a certain gleam in her eye that immediately put him on edge. Her smile was friendly, but there was something about her that made her feel not unlike a predator, smiling at her prey before she opened her mouth and swallowed it.
Lan Zhan sighed internally. Another one of his brother’s fans, he assumed.
Curse me, Wei Ying thought as he walked away from Lan Zhan. Couldn’t anyone have given me a warning? ‘Don’t be a stranger, Lan Zhan,’ my ass. I wanted to leave a good impression, not sound like an idiot. Lan Zhan’s brother probably thinks I’m a weirdo now.
He shook himself once, trying to get rid of the negative thoughts. It was a ridiculous thing to wish for anyway, to make a good impression on Lan Zhan’s relatives. He rarely left good impressions on first meetings, and Lan Huan was a celebrity. He must be meeting new people all the time, and probably couldn’t be bothered to remember one of Lan Zhan’s university classmates.
And why was he so intent on making Lan Zhan’s relatives like him, anyway? He still had severe doubts that Lan Zhan himself liked Wei Ying. The amount of side eye and chastisements he got from Lan Zhan was significant, though he had long chosen to understand these things as a sign of concern and love.
“wangxian au where wei wuxian shitposts an ad to be hired as a gremlin boyfriend for family gatherings and lan wangji replies to him, seeking his services.”
Gremlin Twitter Boyfriend
wangxian au where wei wuxian shitposts an ad to be hired as a gremlin boyfriend for family gatherings and lan wangji replies to him, seeking his services.
also podfic on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427096/chapters/58934188
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: “Oh, and that time I ran away? From the family that had me before the Jiangs took me in? I got hypothermia.” Wei Ying says all of this with the same easy demeanor that he uses when he tells playground stories about Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, like he’s not discussing trauma. “When you get hypothermia once you’re more susceptible to it in the future, which is a fun side effect.” He shrugs and kisses Lan Zhan’s neck with lips that are still cold but not horribly so. “I just get cold easy now. I’m used to it.” “Mn,” Lan Zhan says, and means, “We’ll fucking see about that.” Or: Wei Ying is not allowed to be cold, therefore Lan Zhan must learn to knit.
[ part one: /post/632687951228354560/coloured-glass ]
The moment he arrives at the cave beneath the Cold Pond, he’s hit by a wave of spiritual energy so overwhelming it almost brings him to his knees. He staggers back a step and steadies himself, his eyes immediately drawn towards the crystal lamp on the stone altar in the centre of the cavern.
The last time he’d seen it with his own eyes, just over four years ago, it had been guarded by a serpent spirit, a beast sent down from the Heavenly Realm to prevent anyone from drawing near. Now that the serpent spirit has been slain, there is nothing left to guard the lamp, preventing the Demon God’s consciousness from being released—or destroyed. He realises with horror that the energy surge he’d felt upon entry into the Cloud Recesses belonged to Lan Wangji, who is now locked in a silent battle with the lamp itself, channelling all of his spiritual energy into doing exactly that.
Within the barrier, Lan Wangji is visibly struggling to hold his own; his veins are popping in his neck and his jaw is clenched as he braces against the opposing force—the consciousness within the lamp fighting for survival. Between them, bright blue light—the physical manifestation of Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy—clashes with the red lightning from the lamp, and the two intertwine where they clash, flaring out into a dome that prevents anyone from coming within ten metres.
“Lan Zhan!” he cries. “Lan Zhan, stop it! You can’t destroy the liulizhan!”
His pleas fall on deaf ears; there is no way Lan Wangji can hear him through the thrum of spiritual energy encasing him in a barrier of red lightning along with the lamp. But he has to try.
Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren don’t die. Some things change.
Some things don’t.
~
Lan Xichen had told himself not to worry when he and his brother had been summoned to their uncle’s chambers just as the foreign sect’s children were arrive in Cloud Recesses. Looking at him now, he’s wondering if that was a mistake. Uncle looks moments away from pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache.
“I didn’t tell you earlier because I thought there was a decent chance that he wouldn’t even show up,” he sighs. “But I just received word that he’s passed through the gate. Wei Wuxian is going to be joining the guest disciples.”
It’s unusual for a rogue cultivator to be invited, but not unheard of, especially considering the friendship between Uncle and Cangse Sanren that he’s almost certain actually exists and isn’t just rumors. “Do you foresee a problem? He’s a very accomplished cultivator.”
Despite being Wangji’s age and not being allied with any sect, Wei Wuxian had made quite a name for himself. He learned to cultivate under his parent’s tutelage, had been a guest disciple of the Jiangs, traveled for several years with the famous rogue cultivators Xiao Xingchan and Song Lan, and there were rumors that he’d even somehow snuck up to Baoshan Sanren’s mountain and convinced her take him on as a pupil, although Lan Xichen thought that had to be a just rumor.
While that was all impressive, what truly distinguished him had only happened last year. Yiling had come under near constant attacks from fierce corpses and resentful energy that most cultivators had refused to deal with.
Wei Wuxian had walked into the Burial Mounds, which of course was certain death. Three months later he’s walked out, somehow still alive and only slightly worse for wear and now wearing a flute alongside his sword. He’d gathered his parents, Xiao Xingchen, and Song Lan and they’d erected a barrier of glittering resentful energy around the base of the mountain, containing all the miserable and frightful things that had plagued the area of the Yiling. It harnessed the natural resentful of the energy of the mountain and channeled it through several complicated talismans and arrays.
Copies had been sent to the heads of every sect so to avoid rumors of demonic cultivation, something that reportedly had been Wei Changze’s idea. The arrays were deceptively simply, barely different than what most sects were already using. It’s just that no one had thought to use them quite like that before. Rumors credited everyone but Wei Wuxian, which surely meant he was the one truly responsible.
They called him the Yiling Patriarch and that he was still a teenager hadn’t seemed to matter much to anyone.
“Do you really think he’s here to learn?” Uncle asks, and Lan Xichen has to concede that it’s unlikely. There is little in their cultivation classes that Wei Wuxian would not be able to learn on his own or from his many mentors. “No, that little brat is working on another invention and he wants use of the library without having to go through formal channels. Little hellion. No matter what he pulls or what mischief he starts, you mustn’t get caught up in it, understand?
Even Wangji seemed taken back at Uncle’s vehemence. They hadn’t known that Uncle knew Wei Wuxian personally, but it seems he must, to be this disgruntled. “Disliking Wei Wuxian will not stop us from upholding the Lan practice of courtesy and decorum,” Wangji says.
Uncle stares. Wangji breathes like he wants to shift his weight, but doesn’t. “I never said you’d dislike him.”
Whatever either of them have to say to that is cut off by a loud, boisterous voice outside the door shouting, “UNCLE QIREN!”
Uncle grips the bridge of his nose.
The door slams open and in comes who must be Wei Wuxian, black and white robes with hints of purple along the edge and his hair bound up in purple silk ribbon much finer than anything else he’s wearing. He doesn’t bow or pause, instead crossing the room and throwing his arms around Uncle in a hug.
Lan Xichen wonders if perhaps he hit his head and this all a dream or perhaps a hallucination.
Uncle turns a shade of red he hadn’t previously known him capable of and a vein twitches in his forehead, but he doesn’t push him away. “Wei Wuxian!”
He laughs and steps back, going into a picture perfect, formal bow. “This is from my father,” then he darts forward to yank on Uncle’s beard. Wangji’s eyes have widened in horror. “And that’s from my mother!”
Uncle rubs at his chin and glares. “Who was the hug from then?”
“Me,” Wei Wuxian says shamelessly. “I missed you, Uncle Qiren! We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we? We should go to Caiyi so I can drink Emperor’s Smile and you can yell at me for being right in ways you don’t like, that always cheers you up.”
Lan Xichen can’t be seeing what he’s seeing. Uncle’s lips are pressed into a firm, tight line, like he does when he’s trying not to smile.
“Hi!” Wei Wuxian says, very loudly and right in front them. “You must be Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji! I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And us you,” he says, after only a half second’s hesitation.
Wei Wuxian isn’t paying attention to him, instead focused on Wangji. “Aw, don’t look so disapproving, it’s good to keep Uncle Qiren on his toes.” Wangji’s face is in fact almost perfectly neutral. Lan Xichen can’t help but be impressed, since most of the clan elders wouldn’t have been able to pick up on that. His admiration quickly turns to horror when Wei Wuxian reaches out and uses his fingers to push his brother’s lips into a facsimile of a grin. “Don’t be mad, Lan Zhan!”
Lan Xichen has to resist the urge to gape. Using his brother’s given name like that, when they’ve just met! What’s worse is Uncle doesn’t even look surprised, just resigned.
Wangji scowls and he reaches for Wei Wuxian’s wrists, but Wei Wuxian slips away, just out of his reach, still laughing. “You’re going to have to be faster than that to catch me, Lan Zhan!”
He’s then darting out the door, which he hadn’t even closed in the first place, like he actually expects the Second Jade of Lan to go chasing after him.
Wangji takes a stop forward before remembering himself and freezing.
“Wei Wuxian!” Unfamiliar voices are calling the boy’s name. They all step outside to see a crowd of guest disciples grinning and waving.
“A-Cheng!” Wei Wuxian waves back. “A-Sang!”
He runs down the steps toward them, still grinning. “No running!” Uncle barks.
“Okay, Uncle Qiren!” Without skipping a beat, Wei Wuxian tucks his sword into his best and launches himself forward, doing continuous cartwheels down the steps even quicker than he’d been running. The guest disciples are cheering, and even Lan Xichen has to admit that it’s an impressive display of strength and balance.
Technically, there is no rule against cartwheeling in Cloud Recesses.
Uncle sighs. “The problem,” he says mournfully, “is that if I make a rule just for him, he and his mother will be far too pleased with themselves, and then he’ll just put even more effort into not breaking the rules in ways that make me add more rules.”
Lan Xichen notices how Wangji hasn’t taken his eyes off Wei Wuxian and thinks that perhaps they have bigger problems, actually.
Summary: It happens exactly once, at a party, and never again. But Lan Sizhui will never forget it.
My comments: Oh, dear god, go read the whole tumblr post.
This is exquisite.
13 years, BAMF lan wangji, badass lan wangji, lan wangji is DONE TAKING SHIT AND HE WILL FUCK THINGS UP, adorable juniors, jiang cheng went a step too far, @mondengel
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Xichen has loved his brother so much he thinks his heart might bear him ill will at this point. He will always ache when he is gone, like one of his arms is missing. He will try to soothe his brother’s troubled heart for a thousand years, if loving this boy is what will bring Wangji the most happiness, but it pricks at him like a doctor’s needles to see his brother’s open devotion treated like nothing by its very object."
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Lan Xichen and the brother he loved and nearly lost.
