It is odd to be out in the sun - odd to be face to face with warmth, with brightness, with life. Wen Ning does not much care for his residence, for residing so close to the sea, unable to do anything but look out into the depths, but luckily he does not need to sleep.
He has found that wandering the Sea of Nectar wasn’t as unpleasant as he’d once thought, though he still fears the light, a bit, feels as if a corpse such as himself shouldn’t be allowed in it without a keeper, without Wei Wuxian at his side, ready to pull him back, ready to muzzle a dog prone to going wild at any moment.
His feet are bare, unencumbered by the chains and shackles that had kept him company before he arrived here, and the sun is warm, and his muscles are more cooperative, and all in all, his mood is positive, however often his thoughts stray to the negative. His face, though, is neutral, snow-white irises and pitch-black pupils scanning the horizon as he walks through ankle deep water between small islands. Wen Ning is wandering nowhere in particular, but too soon he comes upon someone else - fishing, is it?
Wen Ning is curious; it was never something he’d done, Qishan not being Yunmeng and on the water, though he was quite aware that Wei Wuxian had enjoyed it. He creeps closer, not meaning to be creepy - not meaning to be unnerving, but a 6′ man, hair half obscuring his face, skin grey, eyes white and piercing - well, there’s only so much that can be done to make that not creepy, especially given the quiet lurk.
It’s only curiosity that pushes him forward.Â
He makes himself speak, voice soft and uncertain, when he thinks he isn’t disturbing what the other man is doing. “Is that - difficult?”
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The Fool: When has your character been excited to start a new journey?
The Magician: How does your character unleash their creativity or resourcefulness?
The High Priestess: When has trusting their instincts paid off for your character?
The Empress: Who has been a positive female figure in your character’s life?
The Emperor: Who has been a positive male figure in your character’s life?
The Hierophant: Who has served as a mentor to your character?
The Lovers: Which of your character’s relationships has been the most positive? (Romantic or otherwise)
The Chariot: What goal is your character determined to reach?
Strength: On what issue is your character persistent?
The Hermit: Write about a time your character did some soul searching. What did they find?
The Wheel of Fortune: What are your character’s proudest successes?
Justice: When has your character felt satisfied with the conclusion to a major dispute or concern?
The Hanged Man: When has your character needed to step back and look at things from a different perspective?
Death: When has your character had to let go of something in their life?
Temperance: How does your character balance their life?
The Devil: Does your character ever neglect their wild side?
The Tower: When has your character lost an ideal or relationship?
The Star: When has your character been most hopeful?
The Moon: When has your character’s path been unclear?
The Sun: When does your character sit back and enjoy themselves?
Judgment: Has your character ever been given a second chance?
The World: When has one of your character’s dreams come true?
Bonus: Major Arcana in Reverse!
The Fool in Reverse: When has your character acted recklessly?
The Magician in Reverse: When was your character manipulated?
The High Priestess in Reverse: When has your character felt betrayed emotionally?
The Empress in Reverse: When has your character felt dependent on another?
The Emperor in Reverse: When is your character inflexible or stubborn?
The Hierophant in Reverse: When has your character’s personal beliefs been challenged?
The Lovers in Reverse: Â When has your character experienced heartbreak?
The Chariot in Reverse: When has your character’s pride or arrogance been their downfall?
Strength in Reverse: What are your character’s doubts or insecurities?
The Hermit in Reverse: When has your character felt the most alone?
The Wheel of Fortune in Reverse: When has your character felt their life was no longer under their control?
Justice in Reverse: When has your character been treated unfairly or cruelly?
The Hanged Man in Reverse: When has your character tried to avoid making a major decision?
Death in Reverse: When has your character tried to fight change?
Temperance in Reverse: When has your character felt overwhelmed?
The Devil in Reverse: When has your character suffered from refusing to break off an unhealthy relationship?
The Tower in Reverse: When has your character’s actions led to disaster?
The Star in Reverse: When has your character lost faith?
The Moon in Reverse: When does your character mistrust their feelings or intuition?
The Sun in Reverse: When does your character’s goal seem just out of reach?
Judgment in Reverse: When has your character found it difficult to forgive themselves?
The World in Reverse: What is your character holding back?Â
ok now that classes are actually winding down and i have time to be here!
i have one starter to write that i know of, but i’d like to get wen ning out there a bit more - feel free to like this for a starter! even if i owe you one, feel free to like this again and i’ll get to you hopefully in the next week.
Knoll returns Wen Qionglin’s nod, giving him a wobbly smile– one that spits the fresh scab on his lip and sets it to bleeding again. Ah, hells damn it. He swipes away the new blood on his lip, nods in a way he hopes is reassuring, then points towards the stairs.
“They’re hidden,” he says. “Through that door.”
He sets off toward it, looking back once or twice to make sure his guest is following behind him. Through the door they go, up the stairs, Knoll trying to set a pace that is neither too fast or too slow. Up and up and up they go, Knoll eschewing the railing in favour of moving just a little faster.
Too fast, it seems. He goes to take an ambitious step, slips on the wetness of his own self, and falls backwards, foot shooting out from underneath him with a wet squeak. He lets out a strangled, panicked cry–Â
–One that is abruptly cut off as he lands against Wen Qionglin. Knoll’s heart lurches in relief that he’s no longer falling, then panic that he will cause Wen Qionglin to fall, then incredulous relief as the other man doesn’t, just wobbles a little bit, reaching his arms around Knoll in a seemingly instinctual motion.
Then the reality of the situation crashes into Knoll, and he freezes, a shiver only half to do with cold running down his spine. He just fell– onto his guest– who now has Knoll in his arms–
(It’s almost comfortable, being held like this, despite the chill and the damp.)
“Uh,” Knoll says, looking up at what he can see of Wen Qionglin’s face at this angle, scared to move and scared to stay where he is. What does he do now?
Wen Ning startles at the yell, freezing in place rather than growing hostile, which is for the better - when Knoll stumbles, Wen Ning does, in fact, simply stand there; his arms come out to try to catch or steady him, trying to prevent the strange young man who seemingly was willing to be the benefactor of an equally strange corpse from coming to any harm.
The other, smaller than he, lands in his arms, the weight not nearly enough to even have any hope of destabilizing him, much less in making him fall. The body of a living human is warm - Wen Ning forgets this, sometimes, so long cold and removed from it - and it isn’t unpleasant to feel the slight warmth radiate through the layers of clothes, even as small as it is, which is why he doesn’t think to immediately have the other stand, doesn’t think to put him back on his feet, just stands there basking in the warmth of another body after years and years on his own, after only Wei Wuxian touching him to brush branches from his hair, after nothing to this.
It’s only when Knoll speaks that Wen Ning realizes what’s happening. His face would flush if he could, and the curl to his lips is awkward and self-conscious, as well as clumsier and less natural than his previous smiles have been. His eyes avert, the white irises flitting to the side, as his hands shift to carefully take Knoll by the shoulders and help make sure he’s got his balance and is back on his own two feet.
“Are you alright?” He sounds genuinely worried - he is. “Did you twist an ankle or anything?”
There’s a furrow in his brow that conveys the actual concern, even for a stranger, even as he tries to ignore how long he’d held a stranger in his arms.
Send a word for me to tell you about a good and a bad memory of my muse’s associated with that word!
Good:
Archery is difficult - you put your all into it, pulling the string back, releasing the arrow, again and again. You work until your fingers bleed, until your muscles scream with it, until you think your fingers or arms might physically fall off if you draw the bow again. No one sees the fruits of your labor, mistaking you as worthless, and you don’t mind, not really.
But a young master from another sect sees you - though he frightens you, having seen your secret practice - your pain has meaning, has worth, because finally someone has seen you, cared about you.
Bad:
Cut for gore.
Pain no longer means anything to you - it’s nothing you have any concept of; you can hardly remember what it felt like, to be in pain. There’s nothing, the faint push of pressure, the way skin splits, but it itches if anything, and even that is generous.
But you still remember the gasping, crushing pain as they beat you to death. As your rib-cage collapsed, as you couldn’t get the air into your lungs, drowning in your own blood as you coughed it out, unable to save anyone, even yourself. You’ll always remember that. The helplessness. You could save no one. You could never do anything - you’d never helped anyone. They’d all die, all because Wen Qing had left.
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Send a word for me to tell you about a good and a bad memory of my muse’s associated with that word!
Good:
For too long, you’d been lonely; no one had ever taken much notice of you, far preferring Wen Qing, her company, and her skills as a healer. You’d never noticed loneliness, before, because you’d never had anything to compare it to.
And then there was Wei Wuxian, bright as the sun and warmer than it could ever hope to be, complimenting you, telling you that you could be more than you thought of yourself.
You only know loneliness once it’s gone, you’ll learn, and it’s something to be grateful for.
Bad:
Spoilers for Mo Dao Zu Shi up through chapter 77!
The dungeon is silent. There is no one here. Wen Qing is dead, and you are alone - you are paying for your crimes, paying for them more because you have made your sister die for your crimes, as well. You don’t know why the Lanling Jin Sect is keeping you alive, you don’t know what they want with you, but you know, until then, you’ll be here.
It’s so quiet.
There’s nothing to listen to - your heart doesn’t beat in your chest, and your chest doesn’t rise and fall with breaths. There is nothing. Distantly, some water drips, quiet and soft. Drip... drip... drip.
You close your eyes, but peace and sleep are unavoidable. Time is a concept that no longer applies to you. There is nothing here.
At some points, you aren’t sure if you exist any longer.
Send a word for me to tell you about a good and a bad memory of my muse’s associated with that word!
Good:
You are standing there, sheepish, shamed - you are looking at the second young master of the Lan Clan, and your young master, and you know you look like a beast. You fear they will hate you (that Lan Wangji will, for he seems to, already), and you anxiously comb at your hair, trying to tame knots, trying to tame your appearance, clean up, look better so that you don’t offend him.
You don’t make eye contact, you don’t look at them, you have already been scolded for the quality of your yell, even though you cannot help that, cannot help it, what you are. You are what you are. You don’t want to be shunned by Wei Wuxian, one of the only people who has ever accepted you for who and what you are. You can’t handle that - the concept of that - the eventuality of that.
But he doesn’t.
He’s always surprised you like that. Wei Wuxian laughs, hands coming out, gentle and delicate, to pluck a twig from your hair, twirling it as he laughs; you watch his hands, fascinated, moved by the gentleness, the care he’s always shown you.
Bad:
cut for gore [I’m serious. It’s a little gross. Skip the second paragraph if you’re still interested in reading!], Mo Dao Zu Shi spoilers up to chapter 76.
When Wei Wuxian plays Chenqing, when he summons you, it pulls your sense from you. It isn’t something you ordinarily mind, really - it isn’t something you can mind, in the moment, little more than a feral animal held loosely on a tether and released upon the world, held only to sanity by the gentle notes rising masterfully from the flute held in your master’s hands. But even after, even after, you do not mind. You cannot mind - you are your master’s, brought to life by his whims and held here by those same ones. If he wishes you to attack, then you will.
That day is the first time you mind. When your sanity comes back, all at once, you still have the memories of what you’ve done when you weren’t in control of yourself. Too vividly, you recall everything you’ve done and you know the feel of your hand shoved through a chest, a beating heart (getting weaker with each futile pulse, just the last twitches of a dead muscle of a dead man who doesn’t know he’s dead) in your hand, and the hole left behind when you pull your arm out, the sick, sucking pull of his lungs and muscles as you draw it out, too slowly, grey skin dyed red with blood that isn’t yours, blood that no longer flows so vibrantly and warmly and quickly through your own veins flecking your face and coating your arm.Â
You remember the feel of a throat collapsing beneath your hand, pressure nothing to you but more than enough to collapse it, shut him up, destroy the enemies that Wei Wuxian has pointed out to you, you, his trained dog, his feral beast, his sword left to run free.
Crying is nothing you’re capable of, now. It hasn’t been for awhile. But when you see Wei Wuxian’s anguish - when you remember that kind woman who had made sure to feed you soup and the fact that she is now a widow and her son, not yet a month old, is an orphan - you want to, though you cannot. Instead, you take Wei Wuxian’s kicks, the pressure of his weight on your sternum as he yells, as he rages.
Those hands you love, Wei Wuxian’s hands, lift you up by the collar of your robes, and he’s in your face - those hands you had ever associated with gentleness, with kindness, treat you so roughly, but you know you deserve it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you beg. You’re sorry. You’re sorry, you are, you wish that you weren’t this way, you wish that you could be better, but you can’t.
They are both dripping puddles onto the floor, Wen Qionglin moreso it seems– his long, unbound hair wicks the water down to its ends quite effectively. Knoll shivers a little. It’s cold in his sodden clothes. Well, this is what he gets for dropping the umbrellas.Â
His lip hurts. Knoll presses fingers to it delicately. Pulls them away. Stares regretfully at the faint bloom of red on his fingertips. Had that really been necessary? (Had any of it been necessary? Was anything–)
A drop of water runs down his spine. Uncomfortable, but grounding. Knoll blinks up at Qionglin. “U-Um, I’m on the eighth floor. We can take the s, stairs, but it’s a bit of a walk, and they’re narrow… Um, we could also, there is a box in the walls that takes you up and down, instead of the stairs. It’s called an ele.. elevator. Since it…. elevates.” As if that wasn’t entirely obvious. Good going, Knoll.Â
“The, the elevator is safe, but it can be. Disquieting. If you aren’t used to it. I’m n-not fond of it myself, but it’s faster than the stairs?”Â
Wen Qionglin’s movements seem rather stiff and slow. Knoll thinks it’s polite to offer the elevator. He isn’t fond of it, but it does make the trip shorter, and the shorter trip means a sooner bath. Well, he’ll let the other man decide. He seems as skittish as Knoll feels, so Knoll doesn’t want to force him into anything.Â
At Qionglin’s thanks, Knoll blinks in surprise. “Oh– It’s, It’s nothing, really.” This was kindness? Surely Qionglin wouldn’t think so if he knew Knoll just went to give him an umbrella because there was nothing better for him to be doing. Because he was bored. Because he was curious, and thought this stranger might be a suitable distraction.Â
Inhale, exhale. Another drop of water runs down Knoll’s back. He fixates on that sensation, on the sound of water hitting the floor, on the sound of his own breathing. He will wait for the other’s answer.Â
Wen Ning tilts his head to the side as he listens, taking in the options. Still, at the admission that Knoll doesn’t like the elevator much, he knows which option he’ll pick. His limbs aren’t so locked, so frozen, that he’s no better than the most basic of fierce corpses, unable to do anything other than hopping, stiff legged. It’s not the easiest option, but Wen Ning had never considered what was easiest for him in such things.
His companion’s comfort is what matters most, the same as it has been his whole life. He shakes his head after the silence settles and it becomes clear that he’s meant to give an answer - that he is in fact, expected to give an opinion instead of going along with whatever anyone else wants to - and struggles to find his voice.
“I - the stairs are f-fine. I can manage them. Eight floors isn’t too much for me.” He hopes his nod is reassuring - he is a bit touched that the other thought of him, in this way, although it’s not anything he’d consider himself. The fact that he’s wet and dripping doesn’t occur to him, truly, as a reason why stairs might be non-ideal, or that it might be inconvenient for any number of reasons - he honestly seems to forget that humans need warmth, after so long without it and so long not needing it beyond simple comfort.
He thinks of the blood on the lower lip - he wonders what caused it, why. He doesn’t dare ask, though - simply follows Knoll to the stairs and follows him, a few steps behind, an obedient servant even to one he’s known only a few minutes.
A person who doesn’t cause him conflict to speak about. His face is neutral, but that’s to be expected, given dead and all - but there’s a faint curl to his lips and a light to his white pupils.Â
“He - he is pleasant. And he is thoughtful. I - was glad that he... he thought of me, and came out. I would like to t-talk to him, again.”
Thoughtful:
“But - I don’t - I’m n-not sure if he.. would want the same.”
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“Young - Young Master Wei is - I - I really enjoy his company. H-he’s always been, um, good to me. From - from the first moment. I ... I look up to him. Even ... even with everything - no matter what anyone says. The - the way he does.. what he thinks he should. Wen - Wen Qing was that way, too. But I’m - um, I’m not.”
He flinches, a bit, once he processes his words, but he doesn’t adjust them.
“I - if ... if Young Master Wei ha-hadn’t reached out to me, that day, um, I ... I think I would have been useless my whole life. I never would - would have... stepped away from Wen Ruohan, and I -- I would have d-died anyway, and Young Master Wei, probably... probably would have... But I - I prefer... this way. I can, um - I can help him, this way. I can see him. I have my sense.”
His smile is smaller, now; more thoughtful.
“I want to - to help him. I want - I don’t want to -- to hurt... him again, like I did. When I...”
He stops speaking. He seems to be done answering, except for:
“He ... I should have been left, but he gave me a chance, so I have to use it.”
Wen Ning seems as if he’s been struck by the name.
“M-my... My sister? Wen - Wen Qing is... was-was the strongest person I knew. There was nothing she couldn’t d-do, if she wanted to. Sh-she was so gentle, even if - if she could be.. be blunt. I really - I really looked up to her. Everything, um. It - it was all her, um, idea. Going - going to... Going...”
He stops speaking, regathers himself. His face is tense in a way that would likely hint at crying, if he could. He can’t.
“Um. I ... I miss her. I w- I wish it had been - been her. She’d know what to do. She’d b-be more help, and I know she wouldn’t have - have lost... control...”
like this for a starter of variable length - uncapped but will be selective. priority will be given to any of wen ning’s roommates! he needs to meet the people he’s living with eventually by god.
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â–ł Would you rather embrace true death, than continue this half-existence?
Send me a â–ł and ask a really invasive question aimed at my character!
8/10
This one gets a reaction out of the corpse. He tenses, muscles locking up, eyes widening before slowly closing. They do not open again, his mouth working in thought. Wen Ning is completely still, appearing as if in the “true death” asked after; it is not a question he has not thought of, and it is not a question he does not know the answer to.
“I -” ... Half-existence. The words hurt, in a way, though he would not have thought they would. “I am alive to serve Young Master Wei, because he gave this to me. But I ...”
Wen Ning pauses again, mouth slightly open, the eyelids closing tighter as he tries to get the words out.
“I would... I would like to rest, some day. There are - I ... I want to see...”
Send me a â–ł and ask a really invasive question aimed at my character!
2/10
“Am I...?” The corpse seems confused by the question, eyes blinking slow several times as he processes. “No, I am not -- not unhappy. I do not have anything to be unhappy about...”
He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t seem like he’s lying, either. If anything, his voice is a bit distant, as if speaking through layers of fog obscuring his thoughts. “I have my senses, and I have Young Master Wei, and that is -- enough...”
