The Bleak Chill of Wind-Swept Pines

@aeipathic​ asked:

"lan zhan, lan zhan!" a blur of black robes streaks across the jingshi, fairly hurling itself at lan wangji the moment he crosses the threshold. wei wuxian flings himself into lan zhan's arms, irrespective of any ceremony, and reaches up to kiss him. "i missed you." it's only been two days, but in his defense, two days without his husband is a very long time.

  ༺🌕༻ Lan Wangji returned from the most recent hunt not so long ago, having stopped by the main hall to inform his brother and uncle of their success — he left Sizhui and Jingyi to handle the debriefing, knowing them both to be more than capable at this point while he settled back in at home with his things and greeted his no doubt restless husband. 

  Sure enough, no sooner had he set foot over the threshold he found himself assaulted by a flourish of black, hair and robes filling his field of vision as he teetered precariously on long legs and dropped the rucksack to the ground in order to catch the man by his waist in one arm. 

  “I’m home,” he barely managed to utter before lips were sealed in a kiss, returning it all-too-willingly with less of a willingness to part for more words. He set Wei Wuxian back on his feet, both hands reaching up to cup his cheeks and bestow another kiss on lips, nose, forehead. I missed you too, these kisses said without needing further explanation. 

@laozubun​ asked: " er gege ~ " pinches his cheek. 

  A small shiver ran down his spine at the moniker, torn somewhere between exasperation and intrigue, though managing to lift only a single dark brow in response. Honeyed eyes lifted to gaze steadily over his writing to his assailant — at one time he might have swatted Wei Ying away, but now he allowed those pinching fingers to pluck at him as they pleased.

ofwindsweptpines said:

hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . (For Papa Lan pls and thank you ;A; whatever age)

hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . 

Some would say that in another universe he was a deadbeat dad riddled in his guilt to face his sect and his sons, but that was another him problem. The him now paraded around with his sons at his sides beaming proud papa aura. Although he had moments that his guilt towards the way his family began was overwhelming and he forced himself to work for hours at end to drown the angry emotions within him. 

Today was like other days where he thought too much and in returned pushed those around him further away, until a pair of hands tugged on his sleeves and it jolted him away from the pile of paperwork he was crafty ignoring. 

He turned to see hs youngest son looking at him expectedly, eyes that blinked at him as he held out a small basket with oddly shaped treats inside. The elder felt his chest swell in pride as the guilt faded back into the darkness. “A-Zhan, were you and A-Huan in the kitchen again?” he didn’t wait for an answers as he accepted the basket with a smile. “Thank you little one, now shall we have some snacks and tea? I can’t wait to try A-Zhan’s cooking!” he laughed whole-heartedly as he reached out to place a gentle hand on top of his son’s head. 

༺🌕༻ Lan Zhan knew not to bother his father when he was deep in his work — his uncle had warned he and his brother as much. Lan Zhan did not wish to be a bother, he wished to remain filial, but it had been days since they’d taken a proper walk, or shared a meal, or since his father had read aloud to them from the many volumes of cultivation tales the boys so liked to listen to after being tucked neatly into their beds. One of these days had coincided with a visit to their mother who had gently urged the boys to interfere — that their father had likely gotten himself distracted and needed a gentle nudge to put him back on the path of priority to his family. She would not tell them why their father struggled so, though she knew well herself, and instead imparted on them, Lan Huan specifically, a recipe she kept dear to her heart.

  His brother had not been able to join him in presenting their father with the spoils of their day’s labor, having been conscripted by their uncle to assist in sect matters, and so A-Zhan hauled the basket of osmanthus cakes into his father’s study with soft grunts of effort. 

  “Mn!” he nodded once, a smile brightening that effort-strained face as he gazed up at the man he most admired in this world, finding his face a comforting one after days of not seeing it. He presented the basket, teetering on his legs a little, and inside Qingheng-Jun would see that the boys had crafted the small cakes as best they could into makeshift molds bearing Gusu Lan’s clouded sigil. They were not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, a couple of them cracked and smooshed gently back together by tiny fretful fingers, but the pride with which they were presented was quite obvious. 

He had, had a long day an exciting one. He had lived in borrowed robes from other Sect children which had never bothered Yuan. He had clothes that had been made from curtains before these were pretty in comparison. His forehead ribbon was beautiful as well. He had managed to memorize the reasons behind it, no one but family. No one but loved one. He thought he had it down. Little A-Yuan was always perceptive and he held tightly to a hand not a leg because baba’s back was hurt, and he didn’t want to stop his movement all together. There walk had been long and tiring.

Still A-Yuan paused to pick flowers to give to his father. Or examine a rock here or there. His robe pockets would be littered with small pieces of nature that a little boy found interesting. A scrap of cloth that had no owner in a vivid shade of blue, a ribbon that had been lost a soft green, four rocks all that shimmered under light, a feather from a predatory bird that caught his eye. He was curious and learning as he went. He was also empathic and slowed to match, though he was also easily tired after his fever, his endurance was already twice of what it had once been.

He was used to being alone, or with the spirit children in the burial mounds. Now Lan Yuan, he was still a bit intimidated by the huge boost in status. Since now people paid attention to him. They knew the Lan’s by reputation, but a child who had very little memory was sometimes intimidated by attention. Let alone the loud boy, who was suddenly interested in the fact that Lan Yuan was there was overwhelming.

He peeked at his father from the sleeve he hid behind. Violet eyes huge. The other boy was taller, bigger and so much louder. Loud noises could still startle a little Yuan and he would flee to hide behind something for protection. He wouldn’t know it was because the seige on the burial mounds, or how when A-Xian blew something up in the cave, he was supposed to hide to be safe.

“Mmmm.” he agreed quietly as he blinked his eyes a little bit. Long lashes brushing his cheeks. A little more of his body peeking from behind the safety that baba provided. To see the loud boy still moving excitedly and still waving frantically in his direction. As though he was instantly A-Yuan’s friend, as though he didn’t care who A-Yuan was that he wanted to know him immediately. “Will A-Yuan not get height ?” he asked curiously. 

Again it was overwhelming.

“Yes. polite.” he repeated the words in agreement a little nod followed he had to be kind, be friendly . A small hand went up timidly and he waved back to the boy that he would come to know as Lan Jingyi. “hello.” he said softly though the other wouldn’t hear him over the loudness going on around them. It was a start –right ?

@ofwindsweptpines​

༺🌕༻ Hanguang-Jun did not begrudge the child his small interests — delicate treasures found on their walk and preciously stowed in his new robes where there would be no fear of holes to drop and lose them. He did not show signs of greediness, possessing a very discerning eye even at an early age, and was generous as well, as seen by the small clutch of wildflowers the older man held in his free hand; they would be allowed to float in the painted ceramic bowl alongside the deep blue gentians he kept by the window in the Jingshi. 

  The children of the Gusu Lan sect were unspoiled by gifts — not that there were no kind gestures made from the elders to the young ones and vice versa, but most gifts were of a practical nature, or if they were not they were deeply heart-felt and of great significance. Lan Wangji and his brother had a few toys between them in their childhood, gifts from their mother who had insisted that children needed toys, but Lan Qiren maintained that too many would be a distraction from their lessons. On trips into Gusu he had silently coveted colorful kites and puppets and things of superfluous but joyous nature, and with that memory embedded deep inside him he could not deny A’Yuan such happiness, especially when the little treasures cost nothing at all; even if they would come to clutter his windowsill in time. 

  Lan Wangji recognized the little boy across the way as the son of one of the inner family, Lan Qishu, a cousin of his uncle and father. The man had died during the siege protecting Cloud Recesses against the Wens, and the sect had taken in his son at the behest of his mother, who knew it to be her husband’s greatest wish in life; she possessed no significant cultivation herself and thought her son’s natural talents wasted at home. But it seemed it was not before he’d cultivated that natural talent for being quite loud, the other junior disciples shushing him to equally loud protestations of ‘what?? This is just how I talk!’

  Wangji knew it would take time for A’Yuan to grow used to such attention, but if there were any small saving graces it was that the boys seemed star-struck into speechlessness when the second Jade of Lan was around. Such was the case when Jingyi’s little hand stopped flapping eagerly upon realize whose leg A’Yuan was attached to. Wangji cleared his throat softly, glancing down at the boy at his side and nodded once in approval. 

     it is cold outside. not enough to soak through his layers and render true discomfort, but a cold that brushes its fingers against his face and neck as he kneels and reminds him of other days, other snowy nights not so different from this one. they have always been, he thinks, a family of winter. his uncle the winter storm, sleet-grey skies, the promise of shelter but not of warmth. his brother the frozen river, a thick layer of ice over swift-running waters. himself, a field of snow glowing softly in the moonlight. gentle, obscuring, shaped by the hands of others.

     his mother had not been made for winter. it had sunk into her by the end, the chill, but she was not at home in it. she was spring, or maybe summer, and visiting her had felt like stepping into a different season where the trees were in bloom. she would listen to him play the songs he had learned on his xiao or his qin and say, that’s lovely, a-huan, but don’t they teach you anything fun? and then she would swing his hands in hers and hum some bright melody of her childhood, and he thought that was better than the oldest, most powerful songs in the library.

     but here they are, winter again, with nothing in that house to show that it had ever held spring. he raises his head as wangji breaks the silence, and is immediately beginning to shake his head — it is late; whatever duties he had are long finished; even if it were not so, to be here is more important — but wangji clearly knows what he would say, and forestalls him. xichen makes to rise with him, but is stopped in that, too, and looks up into his brother’s face as the request is made.

     he is not sure whether wangji is asking for xichen’s sake or his own, but after a silent moment of meeting his didi’s eyes, he nods, a single dip of his head before wangji leaves him there by the steps alone, retreating down the path. and then it is just xichen, kneeling before their mother’s house. in a way, it is funny, he thinks: but for the lack of any bamboo sticks to hold, there is little to mark the difference between supplication and punishment. how often had he knelt outside like this as a child, assigning his own punishment for a fault he felt he had committed?

     alone on the cold stone, he breathes out, letting some weight he has been only half-aware of carrying slip from him like a discarded robe. here, at least, he can be only himself: not sect leader or zewu-jun, only lan huan, with all his faults and uncertainties; there is nothing to hide before his mother’s memory. he lets himself imagine it, for a moment: her kneeling before him, as he remembers her from when he was ten, raising a hand to his cheek and lifting his face toward hers. he imagines, for a moment, his own absolution: that she might tell him, it is all right, a-huan. you have done your best. there, head bent, he feels the sting of unshed tears behind his eyelids.

     he remains there a few minutes more, and then, with a sigh, stands, surveying his mother’s house once more before turning toward where wangji is waiting beyond the wall. he meets his gaze for a moment, and then gives a faint smile — one of thanks, perhaps. “i’ll help you back.”

  ༺🌕༻ It was a clear night, and the clouds drew thin wisps across the moon that lined them in silver just as it made everything seem semi-precious in its glow. The cool air felt good on his fever-flushed skin, having waxed warm after hours of shivering chill, and he let his eyes dowse shut as he listened to the wind rustle the dry, rattling leaves and branches of the tree above him. He heard the quiet shuffle of stones as Xichen rose, the pad of his feet as he made his way back along the path to join him once more, long lashes lifting off his cheeks to turn tired eyes back to him, the fire of purpose dimmed to a low ember now.

  “Mn,” he hummed in assent after a moment’s silence, seeing in the man’s face a bittersweet look that felt familiar in his heart; the sadness that visited him time and time again and now embraced his brother like an old friend. Slowly he would push himself to his feet with a quiet huff of effort, that hand reaching for his brother easily now where before he had been so reluctant to grasp at him, feeling he was somehow miles away even within such close distance. He was beginning to realize it was he himself who put him there out of reach, just as he did with others; he’d never done such things with Xichen before, and the thought brought him a small amount of shame. 

  They walked in silence for a time with only a periodic stagger to stir their cadence, Wangji’s head filled with any number of apologies, explanations, words that were both uncomfortable in their own right on his tongue and which he knew would be immediately rebuffed by the man who had always been to forgiving, too deferential for even his own good. And so he would offer something else instead — something far less painful, and far easier to accept between them.

He would feel the touch, light at first. Pet pet pet, along one tail. The indulgent gesture would indulge a bit further, moving to another tail as if to see if it was likewise silken… pet pet pet. Do not mind him, Wuxian. Carry on about your business.

    AN EAR FLICKS IN RESPONSE, DRAWING IN A SLOW BREATH. His mind focuses for a moment on the feeling. Then he tries to go back to what he was doing– which was? Eyes look down at the materials in front of him, narrowing. Ah…notes. Just then he was part way through writing something about…spirits? The brush dabs momentarily in one spot, leaving a blotch of ink that grew until he pulled it away.

“ Lan Zhan… ” he admonishes gently, head turning a bit. Only to find he’d taken another tail into his hands, running his fingers through the fur. It was quite soothing, and distracting! After being met with customary silence, he exhales a quick breath. “ Don’t touch them one at a time, it’s so hard to focus! ” a smile, and a little laugh. Before he leans back, practically flopping into Lan Wangji’s lap. Tails poofing up, and blanketing them both in a wash of dark, smoky grey fur. “ Ahh, this is much better don’t you think? ” taking two of them in his hands and moving them closer to touch. “ Now you can get all of them at once. – C’mon, you can hold them if you want, they’re all very soft. ”

@ofwindsweptpines​  /  random asks

༺🌕༻ He had been mostly polite up until now, his self-restraint a thing worthy of admiration. But oh how his fingers had itched whenever he was around those full, fluffy tails — so soft. So silken. He had quite the weakness for things plush and comforting. Things that tugged at the heart strings and made one want to make strange and embarrassing high-pitched noises (he was not given to any of those, thankfully.) He often walked a step or two ahead of the other just to avoid the temptation to reach out and. . .

  Well. It looks like it had all caught up with him now, hadn’t it?   The admonishing voice prompted a pause in the petting, thinking he’d perhaps overstepped — it was not as if he had never touched one of them before, but he’d certainly never lavished those appendages with his undivided attention. “Mn,” he hummed softly by way of understanding; by way of apologizing, his hands going back to his lap, though no sooner had they come to rest the other flopped himself back, sending a wave of fur rippling in his direction, causing dark lashes to flutter with surprise.

  He was motionless at first, frozen in place beneath the pile of Wei Wuxian and his wonderful tails, slowly melting as arms withdrew from beneath him, slowly circling the other and drawing him close, burying his face shamelessly in the furry embrace.

  “Mn.”

“How did this happen?” (For Jingyi) @ofwindsweptpines​

He turned and looked at Hanguang-Jin his eyes wide and back to the mess that the disciple’s barrack he shared with Sizhui was. There were dirt tracks (everywhere) little prints. The bed had been overturned, Jingyi’s blankets were in a pile by the small window. The perceptive eye could see them move and quiver every few seconds.

“That’s a really funny…” Lan Jingyi began slowly. “Umm.” he added eyes everywhere but on his idol. It was a real thing that Sizhui’s father was the second jade and Jingyi sometimes managed to forget that. He and Sizhui had been room-mates since they were old enough to be in a room. So how could he. Sizhui was usually the one here to deal with everything. 

“None of this is Sizhui’s fault.” he said before he began his story. He stepped aside to let the senior into the room. “Sizhui brought one of the bunnies home with him from the glade.” he said as he began to clean up. “It had been bleeding, and you know Sizhui.” he said pointedly. The boy was to sweet and kind to be anything but convinced he had to nurse it back to health.

He pointed to the pile of his clothes. “It’s not just a random mess. I took the bunny out of the box Sizhui kept it in. Had to treat its back paw…” he continued. “It managed to leap up, kick me in the face when I was trying to put the cream on it.” he held up the pale colored bottle. I have been chasing it around this room for the past half hour. I trapped it in a pile of my clothes.“ he pointed again with a sigh.

”I guess the loud noise was heard huh ?“ he said swiping a hand back through his long bangs nervously. “Sizhui tends to it all the time, he asked me too. While he went to investigate what could be hurting the bunnies…it looked so easy when he did it.”  he offered a puppy dog look. “I didn’t mean to be heard.”

༺🌕༻ Hanguang-Jun had been walking the path up to the barracks with the intent of seeking out the young cultivator he’d raised as his own son to speak with him on matters regarding the last Night Hunt when the commotion had given him a moment’s pause. One might have thought a bull had been let loose in the boys’ living quarters, and not such a small creature — an injured one at that. He supposed Jingyi could be held responsible for the bullish illusion. 

  He took a step or two into the room, surveying the damage before his gaze settling on the rustling pile across the room, moving to it as Jingyi uttered fearful apologies and tried desperately to excuse his friend’s actions. Hanguang-Jun bent down and gently moved aside the fabrics until the creature was revealed, it’s heart racing almost visibly, the bandage hanging loose from its back paw. With one decisive scoop he picked the creature up and brought it over to Jingyi, turning it gently onto its back in the cradle of his palms and presenting its leg; the creature seemed to know not to struggle in the presence of the Twin Jade.

      HE WAS HORRIBLY, TERRIBLY BORED HERE. Neither of them had any idea how long it would take to leave, and he was injured. It wasn’t anything serious, just a scratch really. The pain easily swallowed up by the suffocating boredom. Nothing to do but wait, and see when their next opening was. Not so subtly, his face scrunches up. The tell tale sign he would loudly proclaim his every complaint, knowing fully well he would be heard. “ Lan Zhan! Don’t you find this a bit funny? — The two of us? Stuck in a cave, waiting. Though last time if I remember right it was you who cried and had to be taken care of! ” exaggerating and spinning the truth of course, as he so often did when he knew it’d be taken lightly.

@ofwindsweptpines​ / sc

  ༺🌕༻ Lan Zhan did not find it funny. In fact, he found it quite bothersome, gazing up along the steep wall of the narrow crevasses to the thin strip of blue above, cradling his arm. He’d made the mistake of trying to catch them on the way down and dislocated it at the shoulder, Bichen shamefully far from reach stuck firm in the earth where he’d initially attempted to anchor them when the ground gave way beneath their feet. If it had not been for these little details he might have climbed his way out through sheer force of will and a vehement refusal to get stuck in a tight stone prison for the second time in his life, but talented and capable though he was, he could not climb a sheer rock wall one-handed.

  He frowned, mostly to himself, though it was unlikely that Wei Wuxian would know the difference, his gaze lowering to the other and interrupting that silly exaggerated notion. 

  “I’m going to need you to put it back,” he spoke in a low tone, his voice holding a grave seriousness unbefitting of the air of humor his partner was desperately trying to loan the situation; he had likely mentioned it to the cultivator before, but the illustrious Hanguang-Jun, holder of light, did not do dark, tight spaces with a high probability of spiders. He had not since he was a child in much the same situation that had left a long white scar from ankle up his calf.   

It was the guilt that seemed to rise up inside him that forced Wuxian to turn from Wangji, for the cultivator shouldn’t see that on his face as it would only elicit sympathy which Wuxian felt he didn’t deserve. No it wasn’t the answer he was looking for but he did appreciate the honesty, the earnestness that came from it. Yet Wuxian couldn’t stop feeling guilty. Chenqing was taken from behind his back and once more swirled between his fingers as his eyes were focused on the entrance. His head turned only slightly, but it was enough to glance back at Wangji. It was strange. Every moment he let his eyes linger on the Lan cultivator, he was reminded of the promise the two made as they raised the lanterns. He then could only question once more why it was Wangji had come there; why he had stayed. “Lan Zhan… Why…” He paused a moment, struggling for the words. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful because he truly was. Wangji was his lifeline here, his only means to a past he had let go of to keep strong to his core beliefs. Wangji made him feel… like himself. He even made him feel as if the choice he made was the right one. Without Wangji around, sure Wuxian would’ve been able to survive with the Wens, perhaps even find a moment of happiness with them. But with him around, the burial mounds felt more like a home. Wuxian turned back to him but he had a hard time looking at him. It was almost as if his eyes would give everything away. “Why is this your want?”

༺🌕༻ Those words felt invasive in a way he had not been expecting, piecing him apart in search of something that Wangji could not quantify in that moment, feeling parts of him starting to close off, to hide away; to shield himself. And yet he did not know why blatant honesty was so difficult for him to put forth. 

  The truth was he had no easy answer for the man — by all accounts no person in their right mind would want this life, not even the people who currently lived it. They had been distrustful of him at first, confused as to why a cultivator so well-known and well-off would give up a life of relative luxury to live with them in squalor. He had thought of no satisfactory answer for them either, and had instead purposed himself fully to earning his stay and proving his dedication to bettering their way of life. 

  Perhaps that was it. . . perhaps he could not rest easy until he did everything in his power to give these people, to give Wei Ying, a more comfortable life when such a thing had been wrongfully taken from them. These people were refugees, not animals, and it was a stain on the cultivation world how they’d been treated by those with enough money and power to change things — including his own sect. If this was what he believed it would be more than hypocritical of him to sit atop the mountains of Gusu sipping tea and passing judgment on his peers from the comfort of his Jingshi.

  “True cultivation stems from great adversity,” he reasoned after a moment, clasping his wrist behind his back in the opposing hand. “We sit on our cushions in our buildings with our adornments and meditate in peaceful silence. We swing our swords at air and at targets on grounds of polished stone, clashing with like-minded students. But this is not indicative of life.” He took a step in, and then another, casting his gaze around the cave. “A gem shines brightest when cut. A blade strongest when folded and hammered.” I sound like uncle, he thought to himself even as he spoke, uncharacteristically long-winded, but there were words unspoken that he knew Quiren would never utter, and he himself was in no rush to speak:

༺🌕༻ Lan Wangji had been walking back along the stone streets toward the docks of Lotus Pier when he heard the trill of a voice call after him, pausing to glance back over a white-robed shoulder to the owner of those melodious tones. He had heard them spoken off and on over the time they’d known each other, but rarely to him — women were not permitted to study or live among men at Cloud Recesses for practical reasons, and the times following the months of guest study had been difficult ones, permitting no opportunities to get to know one another as more than acquaintances. Still, he recognized the sound before he saw her face, and wondered if perhaps he’d forgotten something.

   Her offer merited a slight fluttering of dark lashes, unexpected but not uncharacteristic of her he’d learned, often hearing about how she cooked for her brothers and extended small kindnesses to others when able. That those kindnesses found him now was an eventuality that he imagined he could not escape, but he felt somehow he had not earned them; he’d done what any good person should have done in aiding her brother, and expected no repayment for it. 

  Still, refusing her efforts would be rather rude, wouldn’t it?

  ༺🌕༻ Cloud Recesses had received an urgent message earlier that day pleading for aid as Wen troops had been spotted marching along the road toward the small village some miles off from the city of Gusu. It was not difficult to spot Wen troops, for they always traveled as if they wished to be seen, baring bright colors and demanding fanfare from all who beheld them — either through fear or adoration, they did not seem to care which. This was not Lan territory, per say, but it was close enough to make the Twin Jades and their uncle rather uncomfortable. Lan Wangji had taken it upon himself to answer the call, arriving at the small village not a moment too soon, for it seemed as soon as he’d stepped off his blade into the dusty streets flashes of red banners were flapping in the wind. He would meet them head on.

  The aggressive posturing came across more ridiculous than intimidating as Lan Wangji stood just inside the archway entrance over the main road, one hand on his sword, the other tucked behind his back in that passive but ready stance. Qingheng-Jun did not bow to anyone for none had seen the man for years. In what world was his secluded father kneeling before Wen Ruohan begging to speak? A world that existed apart from this one in the young Wen’s mind alone, no doubt. A dubious place he never fancied visiting.

     he’s almost surprised lan wangji allows the touch. he’s well aware of the man’s feelings about being touched by other people – all except one, of course, he amends sourly. (absolutely no shame, hanging all over lan wangji like – whatever.) at least lan wangji isn’t too stupid to know when he needs help. it’d be annoying to have to knock him out just to drag him out of here. 

     it’s not like it’s any picnic for him, either, anyway, hobbling along with lan wangji hanging off him. he nods his acknowledgment of lan wangji’s suggestion. not like he needed it – he was going to find somewhere in the forest to stop anyway, there’s no way he’s carrying lan wangji all the way back to the town like this, both for the sake of his wounds and jiang cheng’s sanity. but it does make it easier to have a set destination to head for, as he guides their laborious, unpleasant way out of the xianglu’s swamp. he’ll have to tell jin ling to send some people out to cleanse this place before it totally ruins the ecosystem out here.

     he manages a couple minutes of silence, focusing on the task at hand, but by the time they reach firmer ground, his teeth are buzzing. it’s not silence in general that’s the problem; it’s lan wangji’s silence, which manages to feel judgmental even when he’s hobbling and bloody. it’s obstinate is what it is, how he refuses to make a sound, to let the pain jiang cheng knows he’s feeling show on his face. like he’s saying even when i’m relying on you i’m still better than you. asshole.

     so to expel the tension that’s built up a thrumming residence in his nerves, he mutters, with a sharp flick of his sleeves as he adjusts his grip, “don’t know what the fuck you thought you were doing, going up against that thing alone. did you want to get yourself killed?”

  ༺🌕༻ Wangji did his best to bear it, to stuff what little ego he had deep down inside and hang on the other’s shoulder in the way only wounded comrades in battle clung to one another, but there were no soft utterings of ‘just a little further,’ and ‘come on now, you can make it’ from his savior. No. This was not that kind of heart-felt opera. They spared each other words — or at least the Jade of Lan did — for as soon as they opened their mouths it was an assured thing that they would only add to the taint of the land that would linger a thousand years or more.  

  All that would come from him was a quiet grunt as Jiang Cheng adjusted his grip a little too roughly, causing Lan Wangji to set his jaw and fix cold amber eyes on the horizon as they trudged through the thick mist and boot-sucking sludge toward more stable land and the cover the forest would hopefully provide. 

  The tactlessness of the question caused the hairs on the back of Wangji’s neck to prickle, finding his approach deplorable from tone to choice of vernacular, wanting very much to ignore it simply to prove a point: this was no way to pull words from a man renowned for his stone-faced silence. But it would not do to have his husbands brother thinking him careless with his life; to have him return to his sibling and implore him to reconsider a connection with a man content to throw his life away so haphazardly so soon after promising him an eternity.