deercountry | january catch-all for some guys!

Entry tags:

january catch-all for some guys!

Who: Fitz and Nighteyes, Jin Guangyao + various closed starters
What: Nie Lianfang makes his debut! Fitz and Nighteyes events TBD.
When: The tail end of December and throughout the rest of January.
Where: Various places throughout Trench.
Notes: Original flavour Jin Guangyao has disappeared for the month and has been replaced by an alternate universe version of himself, who will introduce himself as Nie Lianfang, his courtesy name in this AU. To his close CR, he will respond to Meng Yao, his birth name. I'll be using both names in his tags this month depending on the circumstances.

hmu @

ragweed if you'd like a starter!

Content Warnings: Nothing yet, will update as needed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"...A-Yao," he breathes in a rush of relief. If Meng Yao is here, then things cannot be so dire. They have been through so much already and come through triumphant.

Xichen leans into the touch and wonders why his heart aches like those days when he and Meng Yao had gazed at each other with such endless yearning, until Mingjue had thrown up his hands in frustration and formalized their engagement with approval from Lan Qiren.

Jin Guangyao, not Meng Yao, his mind helpfully supplies, and something clicks into place from the letter from his other self.

"He's probably slighter than you. The other Xichen is a bit broader than I am as well."

Largely because that other Xichen had a good seventeen years on this younger counterpart and had filled out a great deal in that time. Their height and build were roughly similar, but only roughly. Still, robes that were too big were infinitely preferable to robes that were too small, and he couldn't bear for Meng Yao to have to suffer.

"Would A-Yao prefer to borrow some of my clothes until we can get him something that fits properly...?" he asks innocently, only a slight lift of the brow suggesting some ulterior motivation.

That remark about Lan Xichen's counterpart being a bit broader in the shoulders has Meng Yao lightly pursing his lips to moderate the smile that still manages to dimple his cheeks, because that's a very nice mental image. Something to look forward to, one day.

It is almost enough to distract him from the dearth of useful information his own counterpart has left behind to guide him. ("Nie Huaisang is here." "Lan Xichen is here." "Wei Wuxian is here." Are the accompanying screeds of poetry beside each name intended to reveal something useful? If there is a pattern there, he will need more time to puzzle through what it means.) His mind, busy as ever, begins to circle back to it, to make some comment about this Jin Guangyao into whose shoes he has stepped, when Xichen suggests, ever so innocently, "Would A-Yao prefer to borrow some of my clothes until we can get him something that fits properly?" And Meng Yao's eyes grow quite wide, because he knows that look, Lan Xichen. He knows it very well.

"Xi-ge..!" He steals a quick glance around them, but of course, there's no one else in this courtyard. There's no one else here at all; it appears that he and Lan Xichen have this siheyuan all to themselves. And yet, if anyone might appear in this city each month, well, knowing their luck, Sect Leader Nie could be the one to catch them. (Again. He colours recalling it.) He gives Xichen a mildly reproachful look, still pressing his lips together to stifle a smile. "A-Yao would graciously welcome a change of clothes," he says, then raises his eyebrows and adds in a whisper, "and only a change of clothes. What if Chifeng-zun is nearby?"

Xichen too recalls with fondness and only some embarrassment of Nie Mingjue finding the two of them entangled in the gardens after slipping their poor, distraught chaperone. The fifteen or so minutes he and Meng Yao had spent locked in ferocious mouth-to-mouth combat (saber training indeed!) had been more than worth hour long lecture from Mingjue, and his own uncle's further admonishments about preserving their virtue and that they weren't teenagers anymore, for goodness sake, Xichen what would your older brother think?

"What if Chifeng-zun isn't nearby?" he counters, lips curled in a playful grin. "We can search the grounds if it will put A-Yao at ease to be alone in his betrothed's quarters with only this most humble gege."

It seems the alternate versions of themselves were far better at sticking to propriety, but Lan Xichen got the feeling they were a bit older if the clothes were aught to go by. Perhaps married life left Meng Yao a touch more svelt, or he had sought out less physically demanding means of cultivation?

With their situation, dual cultivation was always a sound option after all, and Xichen could be an excellent cauldron. He's a veritable well-spring of spiritual energy, though his other self had made no mention of such things.

Probably something to look forward to then.

Edited 2023-01-03 03:00 (UTC)

Meng Yao smiles patiently, and indulgently, at Lan Xichen's flirtation. It's a decidedly oh, you, sort of expression, one he's utilized many times in the past in response to such overtures. He rests a hand on Lan Xichen's chest above his heart and allows himself the delightful pleasure of imagining how handsome his Jade of Lan will look in Nie Sect steel, silver and green (and how best to work in every homage to the Cloud Recesses that they can manage into his new clothes). Contemplating such domestic logistics softens his cheeky smirk, because they won't have to dance around the matter like this for much longer.

...it's a fun little dance though, he can't deny it. He lets his hand linger on the silk after smoothing out some non-existent wrinkle, peering back up at Lan Xichen through a frankly alarming quantity of long eyelashes. Time to deploy The Eyes (Coy). "A-Yao is always at ease in Huan-er's company." Boy this silk is so nice, that is surely the only reason he continues to run his fingers across it. ~~he'd be twirling his hair around his index finger if he were that kind of babygirl and this was a 90s high school romcom for straight people~~

Then he refolds his hands neatly behind himself and takes a sidling step backward. (These seams are tugging across his shoulders, though.) "We can search the house together, if Huan-er would not mind fetching this one a change of clothes first." Which, it is implied, he will be changing into in his own rooms. In private. (For now.)

Xichen does not watch the way Meng Yao's fingers trail along the seams of his robes under the pretense of smoothing them. He can feel them just fine, thank you, and A-Yao's eyes are far more arresting, the way the lashes occasionally flutter over his betrothed's warm, brown gaze.

We can search the house together, if Huan-er would not mind fetching this one a change of clothes first.

Xichen beams, and rounds his arms and gives a short bow.

"This one will be back shortly."

They have their dance, and they know the steps well. This part of it is delicate and, well, not subtle (they are well past the point of subtlety) but it is careful; a slow and proper waltz to avoid long, long lectures about the importance of preserving one's virtue for their wedding night. Xichen is fairly certain that neither his, nor Meng Yao's greatest virtues are stored in in their chrysanthemums, and their marriage won't be an abject failure just because they proceed with some matters a little sooner than is typically expected. Instead, it has become a game between them simply of who can hold out longer.

And so, Xichen is to be the perfect gentleman and heads off to collect the aforementioned robes with, perhaps, a little more bounce in his step than is strictly proper.

Once Meng Yao is changed into something that won't rip if he has the audacity to move his arms, they can, at last, get their bearings.

~~honestly the less time either of them spend contemplating the elaborate floral metaphors that Lan-xiansheng had neatly constructed around all of their premarital education, the better~~

Pleased with Lan Xichen's cooperation, Meng Yao waits patiently in the courtyard for him to return with a change of clothes, and in the meantime he examines the wards placed at strategic intervals around the courtyard interior. He parses their meanings neatly--evil repelling, warming, and a few others, most written in calligraphy that resembles his own... or, perhaps what his own calligraphy should aspire to, given how little time he has available to devote to such pursuits now (much to Meng Shi's eternal chagrin). He takes a few idling steps towards the parlour door and nudges the door open just enough to peek inside: strange, he decides, but--ah, it looks like his counterpart also makes judicious use of labels and note-taking, so perhaps it won't be too difficult for him to make sense of the machinery.

He slides the door closed again and looks back towards Lan Xichen's door (he's not impatient, not a bit), bounces on his heels a little, and then spots the door to the little building behind this Jin Guangyao's bedroom. He has to lean a little bit to the side to get a decent look at it, but from the shape of it, it resembles a family shrine; he can vaguely make out the shapes of memorial tablets positioned on an altar.

The grief that sinks its teeth into him, that forces tears to his eyes, is as confusing as it is upsetting. For the space between two breaths, there's a yawning chasm of pain in his heart--and then it's gone again, leaving behind only the vague afterimage of someone else's suffering. Meng Yao blinks someone else's tears out of his eyes and quickly composes himself, then walks over to the shrine and slides the doors open.

The two memorial tablets are elegant in their simplicity, rendered with obvious care. Meng Yao stares at the names and the dedications below them, and tries to make sense of what he's feeling. He's still trying when Lan Xichen tracks him down. "Xichen," he murmurs, "look."

The names Jin Rusong and Meng Shi stare back at Lan Xichen from the tablets when he finally finds Meng Yao. One name is familiar, someone he knows to be both alive and well. He'd passed several pleasant hours in her and her son's company, drinking tea, eating sweets, and discussing music and poetry.

The other name is... not familiar. But he can fathom a guess.

Jin Guangyao had likely had a son or a beloved nephew who had passed on. Both deaths must have been devastating.

One month, the letter had said. They would return to their world in one month. But here was a glimpse into the lives of other versions of themselves, and while Xichen was no stranger to bouts of melancholy, he had been feeling such much more intently upon awakening here and wondered if it was due to some connection or another to this... other version of him.

He pulls Meng Yao into the safety of his embrace.

Like books on a shelf, the letter had explained, Each one with only a few small changes made, until you got to the end of the row, and last was a very different story from the first.

"A-Yao's mother is at home, and safe, and alive," he assures softly, pressing a kiss into his hair. "When we return, we'll all have tea together again. That is our reality."

These were only echoes of another life, a different life, a glimpse at what could have been if some factors had been changed. For all Xichen knew, Jin Guangyao was a completely different man to his betrothed - nothing more than a stranger with a familiar face.

(He knows, too, that's not true. He cannot fathom any version of himself that would not look at A-Yao with love and warmth.)

"This is not your pain to carry. But we can light incense and say prayers in the absence of our other selves, if that is A-Yao's wish."

Meng Yao leans into the comforting and familiar warmth of Lan Xichen's arms and rests his cheek against the place where his throat and shoulder meet, but his eyes remain on the shrines--on Jin Rusong's shrine, specifically. He stares at the characters written there: Jin Rusong, son of Jin Guangyao and Qin Su. It is startlingly easy for him to accept what Lan Xichen assures him about his mother--that Meng Shi is waiting for him in her Qinghe pavilion, prepared to fondly scold him for locking horns with Nie-xiong again over some trivial matter--because either she is, or this entire experience is a bizarre dream, in which case he will awaken in his own bed soon and all will be as it was.

Perhaps a different sort of person would feel more pain over the thought of having a child who has already died. But in this, too, it is easy enough for Meng Yao to separate himself from, because whoever Jin Rusong's father was, whoever Qin Su's husband was, it was not Nie Lianfang.

It's the 'Jin' name that won't let him go. And it has been twisting itself in and around his mind since he first reviewed the notes left behind for him in his private rooms.

"Why is he a Jin?" Quietly, almost like he's speaking to himself, though he does eventually pull away just enough to look up at Lan Xichen. He frowns. "Nie Zhengqing is my father. Why would this Meng Yao ever abandon his sect?"

"I don't know," he says softly, rubbing slow, soothing circles between Meng Yao's shoulders. He tilts his head, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"So much about their lives is different. The other me mentioned a younger brother and a nephew that do not exist for me, and not a single mention of Wangji. Perhaps Jin Guangyao has different blood ties as well...?"

Lan Xichen racked his thoughts for an explanation. If (and given how much was already so different, it is big if) all other things were the same or similar, one scenario did come to mind.

Given Meng Shi's former profession, Meng Yao's paternal parent could have been in question. Clearly it was another cultivator and likely a toss up between Jin Guangshan and Nie Zhengqing...? Perhaps that Meng Shi had been a concubine of Jin Guangshan rather than Nie Zhengqing. It would explain the memorial tablet -- Jin Furen was notoriously jealous and cruel, and Jin Guangshan was far more ruthless than the affable face he showed the world. The Meng Shi he knows is a clever and resilient person, but even she would not survive that den of vipers. It would also explain why Jin Guangyao was a Jin, but did not share a generational title with Jin Guangshan's son and nephew. He was notoriously cruel to any bastards that came to validate their name, he doubts he'd be much kinder to one that he legitimized.

"Your father is a fair and just man," he says. "If there is any question of your parentage, then I am sure he is already aware and I doubt he cares. He claimed you as his son, raised you as his son and he has never had anything but pride in you. The people who live here... they are only reflections of lives that might have been. You have parents and brothers who love you. A betrothed who loves you. Do not chase this other man's shadow."

His eyes fall to the tablet of a lost son and he shakes his head and he feels that echo of melancholy and grief that is his and yet not. Something has transpired between these other versions of them, something that leaves an ever growing feeling of dread in him.

"I do not think we would like to be in either of their shoes."

"No," Meng Yao agrees quietly, eyes lingering on the memorial tablets for a moment longer, before he sighs and turns his face into Lan Xichen's neck. "No, I do not think we would."

He bridles a little at his betrothed's words as much as he draws comfort from them; how like his Lan Xichen to always see the best of intentions in everyone, including Nie Zhengqing. His father treats him kindly, it's true, though their relationship has always been one that is more cordial than affectionate. Which is fine by Meng Yao; he lived the first ten years of his life with only his mother's wisdom to guide him, and that has served him very well indeed. A father's acknowledgement and protection is, in his estimation, far more valuable than his love, and Nie Zhengqing has provided that to his son and concubine in spades. Meng Yao feels no bitterness on that account.

It's the not knowing the truth that runs counter to his nature. Meng Yao's thoughts have turned not towards whatever quagmire of misery his counterpart is labouring within in his own version of their world, but towards his own parents, and what they may have kept hidden from him.

But he is also a very effective multitasker.

He slides his hands down Lan Xichen's arms to lace their fingers together and walk backwards away from the shrine, back into the courtyard and rather tellingly towards his bedroom. "How considerate of Huan-er to bring this A-Yao a change of clothes." He stops in front of the door and leans back into Lan Xichen's space, noses the skin at the angle of his jaw once before laying a chaste kiss there. The suggestion that follows, however, certainly isn't: "The cold makes unfastening these gold clasps so difficult. Could this humble Meng Yao impose upon Huan-er for his assistance?" There's not a trace of coy flirtation in his eyes when he leans back to peer up at Lan Xichen's face ~~which means he is absolutely propositioning you, xichen, it's happening~~.

Xichen knows his fiancé well enough to tell that his answer is unsatisfactory. He knows why, of course. He has, on more than one occasion, been accused of too much optimism and often it is not unfounded. But he does believe Nie Zhengqing and Meng Shi had the best intentions if there even was uncertainty surrounding the identity of Meng Yao's father.

There were too many factors about the lives of these other versions of themselves that were wildly different to presume nefarious intent.

They would likely talk more about this later. For now, Xichen would take the time to think more on these shocking revelations and temper a more thorough response. These were, of course, only his initial impressions. They were far from having all the answers.

He lets himself be led away, gently closing the door to the shrine behind him, his cool fingers tangled in the warmth of Meng Yao's, and then they are leaning into one another and Xichen's head turns so Meng Yao's is tucked neatly under his chin as his free hand encircles his betrothed's waist and he hums a quiet acknowledgment at Meng Yao's mention of the clothes.

This has always been the part of their dance he most loved. The casual intimacy, the way they could simply seek the other for calm and comfort. Xichen could let himself get utterly lost in it without a single regret. While he certainly loves his older brother and his uncle dearly, they have always been distant in ways that left his soft heart aching for some unnamed thing. A warmth and tenderness that Meng Yao met and so warmly reciprocated.

Xichen's eyes flutter close, letting the chaos of his thoughts settle in the warmth of their embrace. They have time to put these pieces together, if Meng Yao wanted, if the fascination with these strangers with their faces was too much to ignore, he'd have his Xichen there to support him in the endeavor.

The cold makes unfastening these gold clasps so difficult. Could this humble Meng Yao impose upon Huan-er for his assistance?

Xichen's eyes snap open, and he pulls back, searching Meng Yao's face for any sign this is just one of their usual games. When left to their own devices, they are certainly prone to ever-escalating improper flirtation that may or may not have further led to some even more improper heavy petting. But they'd never quite reached the point where either of them were ready to take things a little further (and Xichen might remark that it was because they hadn't had the opportunity, but that wasn't true. They'd had many. And it wasn't as though they were waiting for their wedding night, however much others might insist they should; they just weren't there yet and they hadn't felt hurried. As wonderful as that destination might be, their journey there was equally pleasing.)

He cups Meng Yao's cheek, and leans in to touch their foreheads together, the clasp of his white ribbon cool against his beloved's skin.

"...Is A-Yao certain...?" he asks gently, thumbing his cheek. After what you saw...? goes unspoken but it's there in the worried furrow of his brow.

Meng Yao lets his eyes slide closed and purses his lips to contain his smile, but doesn't stop it from dimpling his cheeks. Lan Xichen possesses many, many (many) fine assets, but his tender heart may be the one Meng Yao cherishes most.

"Huan-er," he says softly into the space between them and slips his fingers through the hair at the nape of Lan Xichen's neck, "should trust that A-Yao knows his own desires." He brushes the tips of their noses together," then draws back enough to meet his eyes again.

Then he raises his eyebrows, and suggests innocently, "Unless Huan-er would rather wait outside?" A slow step backwards towards the door, and Meng Yao tugs very lightly on Lan Xichen's sleeve to draw him closer. He's trying very hard not to smile.

Xichen may as well be made of air for all the resistance he gives to that light tug of his sleeve. He follows Meng Yao into the privacy of his room, toeing the door closed behind him as he moves into his betrothed's space.

"A-Yao," he murmurs, bringing their noses back together, hands alighting on his shoulders and skimming along the too-tight silks to trace the straining seams. He wonders about this other - Jin Guangyao. Meng Yao was never big and broad like Xichen, Wangji, or Mingjue, but Xichen would never call him petite either. Had this Jin Guangyao made himself small? If he was among the Jin, that was probably what was expected of him, and the thought of his betrothed ever having to do that, to have to beg permission just to take up space and as little as possible at that, sends a rush of fury through him.

He cradles Meng Yao's face between his hands, and surges forward into a kiss, desperate for assurance that his betrothed wasn't diminished, was allowed not just to survive but also thrive the way the other, apparently, was not.

When he pulls back, he smiles, warm and fond and a touch mischievous.

"...Now about those clasps A-Yao mentioned...?"

(Let us hope for the sake of everyone else who possesses a pass token into the siheyuan that nobody feels like paying either Nie Lianfang or Lan Xichen an impromptu visit this morning. It's still quite early; he suspects not.)

Meng Yao returns the kiss gladly when he receives it, though he tries to gentle and soothe some of the intense feeling that Lan Xichen pours into it. Not because he couldn't be, you know, into that a bit later, but not now, not just yet. When Lan Xichen parts from him to smile, Meng Yao allows a smile of his own to quirk up the corners of his lips, then cuts his eyes past Lan Xichen's shoulder to the chaise lounge beside the bed. He juts his chin towards it before peering back at his betrothed's face, his eyes quite dark. "Sit."

Then he takes a few careful steps backwards towards the bedroom window shutters and neatly draws them closed, which is a very useful narrative mechanic for indicating that this scene has now faded to black. 🎀

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

january catch-all for some guys!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject