possessed by unwritten words

i swear i haven’t abandoned this blog -- summer session for grad school is kicking my ass, as usual. if you’re into discord rp, i am probably much easier to pin down for regular replies & chat responses there! i’ll drop my discord info in the tags :) 

i’m going to be doing a bit of an overhaul on this blog & dropping most of my secondary characters, to be honest, & a couple of primary ones, & adding at least one new one. i’ll post an updated list when it’s done so you can decide if you want to continue following or not based on that. 

the  words  are  meant  to  soothe ,   to  break  his  tumultuous  fall                     into  despair .   but  Wei  Wuxian  knows  that  for  all  the  comfort  that  his  husband  brings  him ,   this   …   may  be   beyond   even  Hanguang - Jun’s  power  to  forgive .   the  blood  on  his  hands  never  felt  as  damning  as  it  does  now ,   burning  through  his  skin   &&   branding  him  a  murderer .   the  guilt  for  such  an  act  would  never  fade   ——–   yet  another  terror  to  add  to  his  nightmares  if  he  allows  himself  to  live  through  this .    

yet  there  is  still  something  that  he   can   do   ——-   something  he  believes  is  possible  in  theory  though  his  previous  attempts  have  yielded  somewhat  inconclusive  results .   though ,   he  knows ,   for  this  he  must  be  absolutely  certain .   despite  the  manic  euphoria  that  propels  him  into  action  once  more ,   Wei  Ying  is  careful  to  think  through  the  repercussions .   to  trap  Sizhui’s  soul  would  be  the  easiest  part .   to  heal  the  deadly  wound   &&   preserve  the  body  would  take  considerable  effort ,   though ,   by  all  means ,   manageable .   to  maintain  Sizhui’s  soul   &&   then  guide  it  back  into  his  body  without  damaging  one  or  the  other  in  the  process  was  a  risk  that  could  prove  disastrous   &&   cause  even  more  heartbreak .    

but  he  had  to  try ,   he  owed  A - Yuan  that ,   at  least .   &&   with  Lan  Zhan’s  help  perhaps  they  could  even  make  it  work .   they  always  were  a  good  team  …      

he’s  startled  out  of  his  rapidly  unveiling  thoughts  by  the  grip  on  his  wrist ,   grey  hues  darting  towards  his  husband  with  dawning  understanding .   Lan  Wangji  was  scared ,   terrified   of  what  he  could  do  to  their  son  in  the  throes  of  despair .   but  Wei  Wuxian’s  mind  has  never  been  clearer ,   alight  with  a  new  purpose  that  he  had  to  see  through  to  the  end  with  no  room  for  error .   otherwise ,   what  was  he  even  good  for  ?

❛  no ,   not  a  corpse .   Lan  Zhan ,   I  can  bring  him  back   alive  .   I  know  …   I  know  you’re  scared  and  of  course ,   there  are  risks  but  …   if  you  help  me ,   if  you  do  this  one  more  thing  for  me ,   I   promise   I  won’t  let  you  down .   ❜   he  shuts  his  eyes ,   free  hand  reaching  out  to  rest  on  their  son’s  chest   &&   he  can  sense  the  still  intact  soul  that  seems  as  though  it  was  merely  in  slumber .   ❛   I  don’t  even  think  he’s  realised  that  he’s  …   died .   Lan  Zhan ,   we  can  bring  him  back  whole .   let  me  do  this ,   please .   let  me  bring  him  back .   ❜   

       Lan Wangji knows Wei Ying intimately, can usually read the most minute of micro-expressions on his face and detect the despair beneath the most convincing of smiles, but this situation is different. Wei Ying died immediately after Jiang Yanli’s death; Lan Wangji had never been near Wei Ying for long while he was lost in this sort of grief, and he has no idea where his mind might go. His answer to Wen Ning’s death had been reanimation -- and even that had never been done before they managed it. Lan Wangji did not have the sort of imagination that allowed him to conjure other options, not like Wei Ying had always done. 

       No matter how they do it, no matter the end result, anything they do will be considered following a crooked path. Dark. Evil. Good Cultivators did not touch death; they accepted it and moved on. It’s in the Lan precepts to this day -- do not associate with the devil. Any effort to bring Lan Sizhui back to life, even with his spirit fully intact, would break that rule. And many, many others. But as Lan Wangji has proven, again and again in this life of his, when it came to the people he loved, rules meant nothing. Punishment, pain, isolation -- the worst of it paled in comparison to the agony of a lost loved one, to watching Wei Ying fall, or viewing Lan Sizhui lying, deathly still, on the ground. 

      “I trust Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji manages, his breath shaky. He gives into the desire to pull the other man close, numb fingers closing around his shoulders to yank him in against his chest and hold him there until his lungs stopped aching, until he felt less like he was drowning on dry land. “We need to get him somewhere safe. We can’t do anything out here in the open.” Lan Wangji doesn’t want to risk anyone who could stop them noticing and interfering, or attempting to punish Wei Wuxian for what he’s about to do. There would be punishment, eventually, and Lan Wangji already has a plan in place to ascertain he is the one who takes it. And moving A-Yuan somewhere else would also give Wei Ying a few moments to calm down, which Lan Wangji knows won’t really help -- but maybe he could at least focus his thoughts and remember that he is not alone, any longer. Never alone. 

@memorystxrs

      Nie Mingjue hadn’t been sure about taking back the mantle of Sect Leader after his resentful spirit had somehow been shoved back into his body. Months later, and he still hadn’t asked how that had been done; doubtlessly, it involved Wei Wuxian and his demonic powers, and there was only so much evil Nie Mingjue could handle in his own psyche. Baxia’s bloodlust had been more than enough, but now he must contend with the resentment from his own spirit and whatever Wei Wuxian had done on top of it. It’s a miracle that he’s not a jibbering mess on the floor, that he’s managed to maintain any sanity at all for any length of time -- surely, that’s not the sort of man who should be leading the Nie Sect?

     But Huisang had stepped down, quite forcefully, as soon as it was clear Nie Mingjue was back, and there hadn’t been much choice. And in reality, Nie Mingue has been given a miracle, aside from his own life: the presence of Lan Xichen in it. The man himself has always been enough to ease the worst of Nie Mingjue’s inner battles, and the music he plays is enough to keep him from losing control entirely again -- at least, so they hope. It’s barely been long enough to get his feet back underneath him, let alone prove that the music would keep him stable indefinitely.

    Directly after listening to Clarity is when Mingjue feels most like himself. He knows that he should accredit it all directly to the music, but he can’t help but wonder if part of it isn’t because these sessions are the only time he gets to spend a long period of uninterrupted time with Lan Xichen -- and the only times that Lan Xichen doesn’t let whatever misplaced feelings of guilt and shame he’s feeling color their interactions. 

   At least, so Nie Mingjue had thought. Until Lan Xichen had come out with this nonsense!. “Better than you? Where is this absurdity coming from?” Mingue shakes his head and stands from the bed where he’d listened to the music, cross-legged, and moves across the room to pour himself a glass of dark wine. He knows better than to offer it to Xichen, so he chooses water for his glass, instead. 

the  demon  rages   ,                 hungry  for  blood .   it  becomes  an  unstoppable  force ,   sweeping  everything  off  it’s  path  without  so  much  as  a  blink .   grey  hues  appear  tinged  with  red ,   a  bloodlust  that  cannot  be  curbed  until  Sizhui’s  death  is  avenged  tenfold .   &&   even  then ,   it  would  take  a  miracle  to  subdue  the  killing  intent  that  rages  with  no  end .    

a  miracle ,   or  the  sure  grip  of  his  husband’s  hands ,   pulling  him  back  to  himself   &&   forcing  his  gaze  to  fall  upon  dear  features .   the  demon  retreats  under  Lan  Zhan’s  persistent  gaze ,   Chenqing   falling  from  his  hands  the  moment  his  wrists  are  released  in  favour  of  grasping  at  the  other  man’s  robes  in  a  desperate  bid  to  keep  himself  upright .   Wei  Ying   sobs  ,   his  mind  coming  back  to  the  reality  of  what  he  was  just  about  to  do   &&   it  terrifies  him ,   leaves  him  gasping  at  his  own  cruelty  in  the  throes  of  despair .   what  kind  of  man  did  his  son   DIE   to  protect  ?  

❛   I  killed  him  …   ❜   comes  the  hoarse  voice ,   ❛   I  killed  our  son .   ❜   he  can’t  bear  to  look  back  at  Sizhui’s  still  form ,   can’t  bear  to  face  the  consequences  of  his  own   pride  .   he  made  a  promise  to  his  husband  that  no  harm  will  come  to  their  group ,   that  he  was  perfectly  capable  of  leading  a  night  hunt  with  no  supervision .   he  made  a  promise  to   PROTECT   their  son .   how  many  more  promises  was  he  bound  to  break  ?    

bone - white  fingers  still  clutch  at  blood - speckled  robes  as  pitiful  sobs  wrack  his  body ,   almost  pleading  the  man  in  front  to  tell  him  that  this  wasn’t  real ,   that  it  was  just  another  one  of  his  nightmares .   but  no  such  comfort  follows   &&   Wei  Ying  is  once  again  forced  to  face  reality .   but  with  that  comes  a  new  sense  of  determination ,   almost   MANIC   as  he  jolts  away  from  Lan  Zhan   &&   kneels  once  more  beside  their  boy .   ❛   his  soul  …   it’s  still  intact .   I  can  bring  him  back .   I  just  need -   ❜   he  pats  at  his  belt  until  he  finds  what  he’s  looking  for ,   producing  a  spirit - trapping  bag  with  wild  intent  in  his  eyes .

❛  Lan  Zhan ,   I  can  bring  him  back .   there’s  still  a  chance  that  he’s  not  lost  to  us .   I -  we  can  heal  his  body  and  then  guide  his  soul  back .   will  you  help  me  ?   ❜ 

      Wei Ying comes back to him all at once, grief-stricken and laden with guilt, but no longer the vengeful spirit he’d been only a few moments prior. Lan Wangji swallows back a sob of relief as he realizes he isn’t going to have to drag the other man kicking and screaming from another ledge, and allows his chin to drop to his chest, breathing ragged. His comfortably blank mask is long gone, fled in the maelstrom of grief and desperation, and he needs a moment to find it again. 

      He doesn’t get the moment he needs before Wei Ying speaks, and Lan Wangji nearly buckles with the weight of the self-hatred in the other man’s voice. Forcing his chin upward, he looks down at Wei Ying, one hand moving up to cup the back of his neck in a physical reminder that he is here, that he is going nowhere. 

     “No, you did not,” he says, pushing the words from a numb tongue and a jaw that aches from the force with which he’s clenching it. Lan Wangji has no idea what happened here, no knowledge of how his son died, but he knows Wei Ying -- knows that he’s no more capable of such harm than Lan Wangji himself. Lan Sizhui, their A-Yuan, is beloved by Wei Ying. Doted on, trusted, cared for. Wei Ying is not capable of killing him, and never was, even when he’d walked the crooked path, balancing on a blade’s edge of control. There is not one instant, not even as he glances toward Lan Sizhui’s horribly still form, that Lan Wangji believes a word of it. “You did not do this to him.” 

      It’s difficult to keep up with Wei Ying’s jumps in thoughts and topics; Lan Wangji’s mind is still moving sluggishly, stuck on the sight of the boy he’d raised as his own dead in front of him. He doesn’t fully register Wei Ying’s intentions until he sees the spirit-trapping bag -- and he knows that, were he truly the pure, dedicated Lan disciple the world saw him as, he’d stop him. The act of caging a soul, of keeping it and thwarting death isn’t what Cultivators are meant to do. It’s a crooked, some would say demonic act, and one that Lan Wangji does not believe has precedent, unless Wei Ying intends on bringing Lan Sizhui back as a matching fierce corpse to his uncle, Wen Ning. 

wickedcultivations·:

Wei  Ying  doesn’t  realise  how  tense  he’s  been                these  past  few  days  until  relief  washes  over  his  body  the  moment  A - Yuan’s  smile  lights  up  the  room  around  him .   he  knows  then ,   that  they’ve   succeeded   ——–   achieved  the  impossible .   &&   what  a  tumultuous  path  it  had  been ,   driving  them  both  to  the  brink  of  exhaustion  and  grief .   he  wouldn’t  wish  it  on  any  parent  no  matter  how  deep  their  transgressions ,   no  matter  how  dark  their  thoughts .   to  witness  the  death  of  one’s  child  is  to  die  twice   &&   Wei  Ying  doesn’t  think  he’ll  ever  be  whole  again  after  that .    

his  flute ,   that  had  moments  before  interwoven  with  the  sounds  of  the  guqin ,   is  lowered  from  a  bruised  chin .   the  instruments  had  long  become  a  substitute  for  words  failed  between  him   &&   his  husband   ———   each  strain  in  the  melody ,   each  tension  filled  note  evoked  by  Lan  Zhan’s  fingers  deepened  the  guilt  within  him .   he  cannot  look  at  him  even  now ,   to  share  the   RELIEF   of  their  son’s  return  from  death’s  door .   

instead ,   red - rimmed  eyes  focus  on  Sizhui ,   diligent  in  their  analysis  of  every  movement ,   every  micro - expression  that  could  alert  him  to  what  he  feared  the  most .   Wei  Wuxian  had  mastered  the  art  of  animating  corpses ,   dabbling  in  cultivation  previously  unheard  of .   but  to  perfectly  preserve  a  soul   &&   guide  it  back  to  it’s  body ,   reanimating  that  which  should  have  stopped  functioning  the  moment  the  blade  pierced  his  son’s  heart ,   went  against  every   NATURAL   order .   but  he  was  a  man  willing  to  implicate  himself  further  in  such  dark  deeds ,   testing  the  universe  itself   &&   breaking  every  rule  that  dares  contain  him .

his  own  smile  is   clumsy   from  lack  of  practice  as  trembling  hands  carefully  hold  the  slight  form  of  his  son ,   overwhelmed  to  finally  feel  the  sturdy  beating  of  his  heart  through  where  their  bodies  are  connected .   he  laughs  then   ————   relieved ,    unrestricted   laughter  that  bubbles  up  from  inside  as  he  pulls  away  at  the  ridiculous  question .   he’s  at  a  loss  for  words ,   not  for  the  first  time  this  week   &&   perhaps  not  for  the  last  time ,   either .   ❛   A - Yuan  …   ❜   is  all  he  can  croak  out  in  disbelief  before  he  finally  looks  at  his  husband .

it  seems  Lan  Zhan  has  picked  up  the  speech  that  Wei  Ying  was  missing   &&   his  eyes   soften   momentarily  before  gaze  is  once  again  focused  on  Sizhui  as  he  waits  for  his  answer .   there  were  still  so  many  things  that  could  go  wrong   &&   he  doesn’t  know  what  would  be  kinder   ———-   to  have  let  him  go   &&   cope  with  the  grief ,   or  to  have  him  back  only  to  lose  him  all  over  again  should  they  have  miscalculated  even  the  smallest  detail .

@memorystxrs·   ❃   @word-wounded··   .

A mild frown forms at the instruction not to touch the bandaging around his chest. Lan Sizhui gave a firm nod to let Hanguang-Jun know he understood and wouldn’t do so. It had been rather instinctive, it makes sense he’d have to be more careful. Blinking, Lan Sizhui wanted to focus on Senior Wei’s laugh, on the way he spoke his name in such a manner– on having been succesful from keeping him from harm. But he also noticed Senior Wei’s red eyes, and even if Hanguang-Jun’s hoarse voice didn’t betray him, his eyes did as well. It was different from usual. Differently then Senior Wei, but on the same note. 

Lan Sizhui’s eyes blink once more as they avert, focusing on his body to provide what was asked of him. To focus on his own state for now, so he could make sure they are truly alright afterwards. The cold. Tingling. Stinging. There doesn’t seem to be more to it then that, it just depends on how that changes if he tries to walk — but overall he’s certain he’ll be fine. He always is when his two father’s are around. 

After Hanguang-Jun releases his grip on Sizhui’s wrist his hand lowers to his lap. The slightest movement feels strained in his chest, but as long as he minimizes his movements it will be alright. ’ The tingling feeling is getting less.. I do feel a bit colder then usual. But.. but I’m sure my body tempature will improve when I move or eat something. ’ just to get the flow going if nothing else. The moving around might take a bit longer, he realizes that since even the littlest movement could be felt within his chest. 

Naturally Lan Sizhui didn’t joke around when it comes to things like this, but he found himself wanting to comfort them. Just like they’d always done for him, in their own ways. So, a tiny smile curves on his face. ’ I moved too abrubtly just now.. I’ll be more careful. But I– I’m not in pain ! ’  Lan Sizhui had the feeling he’s missing something about this whole situation. At first he thought he merely lost consciousness due to his wound and the instant impact, so waking to find his two father’s beside him wasn’t so strange. Hanguang-Jun would’ve given him spiritual energy, done whatever they could to help. But all of this felt different. 

’Did something happen after I lost consciousness? No o— no one else got hurt did they?’ concerns grows within him and it shows on his facial features.  ’ —and what about the villagers? they are no longer possessed? ’ he questions as his gaze shifts between one father to the other in an almost impatient manner due to the risen concern. 

@word-wounded & @wickedcultivations​

       Lan Wangji listens silently as Lan Sizhui lists off his symptoms, his frown growing enough that it would be discernible to even those who did not know him well. Wordlessly, he turns away and moves to withdraw several blankets from the shelving unit at one side of the room. Carefully, he drapes one of the blankets around Lan Sizhui’s shoulders, and another over his lap. He left a hand on his son’s shoulder with the blanket for a long moment, channeling another warming burst of spiritual energy into his chilled skin. The act makes his knees feel a bit weak, as he hasn’t slept recently, but Lan Wangji simply waits it out and moves away when he’s sure the small hitch won’t be noticeable.  

      Despite his directions not to, and Lan Sizhui’s inherent honesty, Lan Wangji is uncertain as to whether he can trust the assurance that Lan Sizhui is not in pain. He watches closely for a moment, looking for signs, and decides that pain while moving is still not acceptable. 

      “You will stay in bed,” he directs firmly, and wonders, briefly, whether he could keep their son in this bed, in this room, for the rest of his natural life. Lan Wangji glances toward Wei Ying, looking for support in the declaration; he’s used to making decisions for Lan Sizhui on his own. For sixteen years, he’d been entirely responsible for the child’s life, for the way he was raised and the person he grew to be. For sixteen years, his word was law -- but Wei Ying has been back long enough, involved for long enough, that Lan Wangji can’t help but seek reassurance that he’s doing the right thing. Wei Ying never struggles to show affection, never hesitates to throw his arms around Lan Sizhui and hug him tightly, whereas Lan Wangji always feels wrong-footed. Lacking in the necessary displays of affection. 

       When the boy starts asking questions, however Lan Wangji knows that he is going to need to explain. Wei Ying still blames himself, still falls into darkness when the subject comes up, and Lan Wangji knows that the right thing to do is tell the tale himself. That doesn’t mean he wants to do it. His entire stomach sinks and begins to churn, leaving him nauseous and horrified -- but Lan Wangji is nothing if not accomplished at hiding emotion. 

     “No one else was harmed,” he promises Lan Sizhui, letting one his hands fall to Wei Ying’s shoulder. Ostensibly as comfort, but more to stabilize himself, in all honesty. “And the villagers have all been released from their possessions. Everything is fine.” It’s a lie, of course. Wei Ying is certainly not fine. Lan Sizhui has been dead. Nothing is fine.

     But for the first time in over a week, Lan Wangji has hope that it will be. Eventually. 

     “A-Yuan,” he says softly, gathering every bit of courage he can find as Lan Wangji perches carefully at the edge of the mattress. His hand is still on Wei Ying’s arm, an anchor for them both. “You . . . were not simply unconscious.” Lan Wangji swallows around a lump in his throat, ignoring the way his voice falters. “Wei Ying -- we -- he was able to preserve your soul. And we used an experimental array to --” Lan Wanji pauses, well aware that his explanation is halting and missing key points, at best. Useless, at worst. “-- to bring you back.”    

@memorystxrs

      Lan Wangji plucks another string on his guqin and adjusts it carefully, the pitch wavering higher and higher until it blends flawlessly with the rest of the chord. He hasn’t had the chance to sit and tune his instrument in too long, so he intends to take his time and do it well now. And, considering Lan Sizhui’s appearance and pleas, it helps to have something to occupy his thoughts and hands. The task gives him time to swallow the instinctive reaction of a firm, “absolutely not,” and likely saves his relationship with his son. 

    “Almost is not the same as recovered,” he points out pragmatically, eyes focused on the strings of his guqin. “The Lan sect does not send injured Cultivators on night hunts.” The excuse would last a few more weeks, until the last of Sizhui’s symptoms disappeared, at which point Lan Wangji would happily find another reason to keep his son safe within the bounds of the Cloud Recesses. It’s easiest to use Sect rules as the logic behind his illogical panic at the idea of Lan Sizhui going near another night hunt, and Lan Wangji has no intention of doing otherwise. “Lan Jingyi needs to focus on perfecting his sword forms and defensive talismans. He cannot do so while watching you.”

     Lan Wangji sucks in a long, slow breath at Wei Ying’s questions, fighting the instinctive emotional reaction by allowing his hands to form fists at his sides. His expression, after years of practice, somehow remains as bland and unemotional as ever, but Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying will be able to read the tumult behind his eyes. There are good points to loving someone so much that they know and understand him, but in this moment, Lan Wangji regrets it.

     “I will never let you go again,” Lan Wangji says, keeping his voice low so that it does not crack. “And I cannot believe you would ask me to live without both you and our son. That is a cruelty I did not know you were capable of.” He swallows, his fingers knotting and unknotting in his robes in an uncharacteristic nervous tick. Arguing with Wei Ying while he’s in this state of mind is fruitless at best and infuriating at worst. There’s nothing he can say or do that will fix the guilt and depression in Wei Ying’s mind, nothing that will change it. And Lan Wangji chafes at the feeling of helplessness such knowledge evokes. 

    “You did not kill A-Yuan,” he says finally, and there is no concealing the shake in the words, nor the tremor in his knees as he stumbles forward, aching to reach out and drag Wei Ying’s tormented visage toward him and kiss the expression away. Lan Wangji has done it before, after nightmares, after difficult night hunts and run-ins with the Jiang Sect Leader, but this isn’t something he can fix, no matter how much he wishes he could. “He chose to save your life, because he loved you.” Lan Wangji reaches out this time, despite every instinct screaming that Wei Ying would not appreciate it, and brushes Wei Ying’s wild hair back from his face. “And so do I. So please, no more of this. Let us focus on figuring out what we can do to save him, now, rather than blame.”

@word-wounded​ & @wickedcultivations​ based on x

Lan Sizhui had noticed it, the absent look in his father’s eyes. Recognized it even. Because while Sizhui hadn’t been able to place it at the time, any sight of fire on night hunts had unsettled him. Froze him even. It may not be a memory flashing before his eyes, but feelings taking a hold of him that he couldn’t shake for whatever reason. It’s only ever happened with fire. He understands now, due to the Burial Mounds having been burned and the way Hanguang-Jun found him there. It was only natural that it traumatized him, as young as he’d been. Even if he didn’t remember it, the loss of memory is also an effect of the fire and the fever it caused.  

At the movement of the possessed villager Sizhui moved on instinct to protect his father, just in time before the blade would pierce into his chest, in a straight line for his heart—– and everything was lost on him after that.

Light.

Blinding him, causing him to blink as his eyes adjust to the light of day. He didn’t realize what happened right away, it took a second for the memory to set in. He’d felt the blade, but… it had been quick though. There’s no way to know how much time passed, or what exactly happened. Maybe loss of blood caused him to lose consciousness. But even as his eyes shift to his surroundings, the moment they found them, both of his fathers, he manages a weak smile. Something felt slightly off. He felt strangely cold— as in, covered in the cold pond water kind of cold. 

’ Father,  ’ he didn’t need to specify, it was meant for both of them. He pushes himself into a sitting position. Brows furrowing together in confusion, his body was tingling at the slightest move. His fingers, arms– everything. His eyes shift to father Ying. ’ You’re alright–!’ his tone rises in excitement, before concern takes a hold in his eyes as he can’t help but wonder what kind of memory distracted him in that moment. Sizhui had been on plenty of Night Hunts with him after all, this was the first time he’d seen it happen. He doesn’t understand why he feels so strange, but he throws his arms around both of them — they were so close next to each other, so Sizhui could reach them both. 

That’s when Sizhui feels the stinging in his chest for the first time, it was different from the tingling feeling. This– he winches slightly, releasing his father’s as his hand moves to his chest. He can feel the bandage, covering the wound of the blade no doubt.

      The ritual to bring A-Yuan back to them doesn’t work immediately, and Lan Wangji spends an agonizing twelve hours kneeling in front of his guqin at his son’s bedside. He plays until his fingers ache, sending as much of his spiritual energy to the boy resting on the bed as he can without making his head spin. Wei Ying is in the room too, of course, but Lan Wangji cannot look at him right now. He’s still angry at Wei Ying’s loss of control after Lan Sizhui’s death, too guilty for his own reaction and for being angry at Wei Ying at all. It’s a vicious cycle he can’t seem to escape.

     The moment Lan Sizhui opens his eyes, the constriction in Lan Wangji’s chest eases, and he takes the first full breath he’s managed in over a week. He stands from his kneel and moves swiftly around the table, careful to keep his expression as calm as ever as he stands over the bed. He is silent as Lan Sizhui greets Wei Ying, grateful for the extra time to wrangle his own emotions under control. Lan Wangji’s eyes burn, and if he were to relax his muscles, he knows he’d tremble. He has had no time to panic, to grieve, to process -- from the moment he arrived at the scene of the attack, Lan Wangji had been forced to remain steadfast for Wei Ying, then for research to figure out how to save their son without bringing him back as a corpse, rather than the human being they loved. He’d relied on his golden core rather than sleeping, throwing his time and energy into bringing Lan Sizhui back to them and supporting Wei Ying, when he was permitted. 

    An emotional release is looming, he knows, but Lan Wangji refuses to allow it to happen in front of his son. 

    Lan Wangji catches the motion of Lan Sizhui’s hand and reaches out to snatch it before he touches the bandaging around his chest. The wounds aren’t healed completely yet, despite their best efforts, and he won’t risk them being reopened by a careless movement. “Do not,” he directs Lan Sizhui, frowning infinitesimally at the hoarse quality to his voice. It’s been some time since he’s spoken, he realizes belatedly. “How do you feel?” The array they’d used, the talismans and spellwork -- none of it has been done before, at least, not that Lan Wangji knows of. He has no idea if Lan Sizhui is in pain, or will suffer any ill side effects. That concern takes precedence over anything else, including his own feelings. “Pain? Discomfort? Do not try to downplay anything.”

his  body  is  a  shell   ,                 vacant ,   unmoving   ———–   except  for  the  uncontrollable  shivers  that  give  any  indication  that  the  man  was  still  alive .   unlike  the  boy  crumpled  in  his  arms ,   pale  face   angelic   even  in  death .   Wei  Ying  was  a  fool  to  allow  himself  to  believe  in  second  chances ,   that  he  could  redeem  the  actions  of  the   Yiling  Patriarch    &&   erase  the  blood  from  his  hands .   death  followed  him  from  the  first  life  to  the  next   ——-   inescapable   &&   cruel .   his  path  had  a  price ,   one  he  continues  to  pay  to  this  day .    

death  was  an  insatiable  beast   ——–   it  takes   &&   it  takes   &&   it  takes .   how  much  more  could  he  stand  ?   how  much  more  could  he  afford  to  lose  ?   blood - stained  hands  clutch  at  snowy - white  robes   ——–   his  son  a   MARTYR   for  his  wicked  deeds .  

Wei  Ying  barely  notices  the  shift  beside  him ,   doesn’t  even  glance  up  at  the  sound  of  his  name .   he  simply  cannot  bear  to  see  the  look  on  his  husband’s  face  at  the  realisation  that  he’s  failed  them  both ,   failed  to  protect  the  one  most   precious   to  them .   instead ,   another  shiver  wracks  his  body ,   mind  tumbling  into  that  same  bottomless  pit  that  distracted  him  in  the  first  place .   he  grits  his  teeth ,   hand  reaching  out  to  grip  Lan  Zhan’s  wrist  as  he  forces  himself  back  into  the  present ,   his  husband’s  presence  enough  to  steady  the  downward  spiral  despite  knowing  that  he  wasn’t   worthy   of  it  anymore .   but  Wei  Wuxian  was  a   SELFISH   man .

where  there  was  emptiness ,   now  comes  a  tide  of   anger  ,   filling  each  bereaved  cavity  with  newfound  purpose .   Chenqing   that  lay  abandoned  at  his  feet  is  grasped  with  wicked  resolve ,   hues  of  grey  previously  dull  with  shock  now  glint  as  hardened  stone   ———-   enough  to   CUT   with  a  single  glance  if  anyone  dare  divert  his  attention .   his  melody  isn’t  that  of  grief   &&   sorrow ,   instead  it  is  a  sharp  weapon  of  it’s  own ,   all  wicked  edges   &&   deathly  precision .   the  group  of  possessed  villagers  previously  subdued   &&   held  tightly  by  rope  begin  to  jerk  wildly  in  their  bindings ,   a  dark  mist  forming  around  the  group  with  malicious  intent .

Wei  Ying   refuses   to  close  his  eyes ,   wants  to  see  the  suffering  firsthand  as  if  it  could  match  the  despair  eating  away  at  his  own  heart .   there  will  be  no  end  to  this ,   no  mercy  until  every  one  of  them  burns  up  from  the  inside ,   feels  what   he   feels .   the  striking  tune  presses  forward ,   scorching   the  air   ———-   the  effort  causing  a  trickle  of  blood  to  escape  pale  lips .   but  it  doesn’t  stop  him ,   only  incites  the   DEMON   inside  him  to  roar  back  to  life  with  unnerving  maliciousness .   he ,   too ,   was  a  man  possessed .

     The world blurs around Lan Wangji; in his next coherent moment, he finds himself pressed against Wei Ying, grasping desperately for something steady in the rapidly shifting scenery. But Wei Ying doesn’t look at him, only shudders and grips tightly at Lan Wangji’s wrist, nails scoring the flesh with a muted sting. It’s enough to fuel the grief-induced fog in his mind, enough to halt the spiraling fall to horror and fury -- for now, at least. Lan Wangji has lived through the loss of the most important people in his life twice. He’s functioned, if not truly lived. And for now, he needs to call on those skills again. Needs to stand, needs to do his duty to his son and take him back to the Cloud Recesses for the honor he deserves. And Lan Wangji will do what he must. 

     But the hand at his wrist releases, and Lan Wangji looks toward Wei Ying in time to see the other man raise the Ghost Flute to his lips and begin to play with a dark purpose. The look on his face, the sheer devastation and vengeful fury mixed with the resentful energy he masters -- Lan Wangji nearly falls to his knees as soon as he makes it to his feet. The image in front of him is straight out of his nightmares, pulled directly from the battle of Nightless City when he lost Wei Ying -- 

     and this time, Lan Wangji doubts he will ever get him back. 

     Again, darkness presses in, fogging his thoughts and leaving Lan Wangji paralyzed and helpless before his stubborn will pushes it away. He glances to Lan Sizhui’s pallid features, swallowing convulsively, and forces himself away. Sizhui is beyond harm, now. Wei Ying, most assuredly, is not. And Lan Wangji has to be steady enough for both of them. Or instead of one grave, they will need three -- and enough for whoever Wei Ying brings down with them. 

    “Wei Ying.” Long, calloused fingers wrap around both slim wrists in front of him, and Lan Wangji puts his body squarely in the past of Wei Ying’s murderous gaze, blocking the attackers behind them from sight. “This does not --” he swallows again, exerting force of will to keep his voice audible and steady. “This does not help A-Yuan.” Lan Wangji’s lower lip trembles; he presses both together to still it. He has no time to weep like a child, not yet. He cannot fall apart while Wei Ying spirals. “Please. Do not do this to me again.”