Import

“Mo Xuanyu’s body was older than when Wei Wuxian did this the first time around, and it was said that cultivators who formed a golden core later in life would never achieve a high level of cultivation. Luckily, Wei Wuxian had spent both his lives attempting, and achieving, the impossible. He was not averse to doing it again.” Or-- In which Wei Wuxian repairs more than his golden core.

Wei Wuxian falls into the Burial Mounds and unknowingly lands two thousand years in the future. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi find an unconscious man in strange historical costume at a restricted area of the Burial Mounds Memorial Park. Five years later, they all reunite by accident at Mo Village, and the man who claims to be Mo Xuanyu accepts a ride to the train station, trying to get away from his family home. When an artist named WIFI posts a painting on Oasis containing pointed references to Lan Wangji's original life, Lan Wangji restarts his millennia-long search for Wei Wuxian. Lan Sizhui worries over his father's strange behavior, wondering if it's connected to Lan Wangji's long-lost childhood friend. A fateful trip to Dafan Mountain brings unexpected reunions, confessions, and realizations, culminating in a happy ending at the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Wuxian reunites with Lan Wangji after a year of travelling, pleased to be a part of Lan Wangji's life again, but he refuses to examine and test the borders of their relationship. When Lan Wangji invites him to investigate a mysterious string of suicides together, Wei Wuxian happily accepts, but the case is not what it seems, and Wei Wuxian will be forced to face the feelings he's been denying for a very long time.

Lan Wangji has been betrothed to Jiang Yanli since childhood. Lan Wangji likes Jiang Yanli, but he finds himself drawn to her brilliant, trouble-making sect brother Wei Wuxian. With war looming on the horizon, Lan Wangji is torn between maintaining sect alliances and following his heart's desire. - Hands fumble on Lan Wangji, hands that make his heart beat like a war drum. But it's not a call to war at all. Lan Wangji has to swat away Wei Ying's hands when they try to touch his forehead ribbon, however. There are rules. "Only my parents, my children, or my wife can touch this," he mumbles. "Not even Jiang-guniang until we are married." "Ah." Something flashes across Wei Ying's expression, too quickly for Lan Wangji's dulled senses to catch. "Yes, I… I would never take something that belonged to Shijie."

Lan Wangji has one final summer intensive before he becomes a full fledged member of the Cloud Recesses ballet company--he expects it to be fairly uneventful, but that's before Wei Wuxian makes his dance world debut.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says carefully, "do you truly not know you have been speaking?" Lan Wangji claps a hand to his mouth and, to his horror, feels his mouth opening to answer despite having no intention to do so. Clamping it shut again takes a great effort. OR The one where Lan Wangji can't stop talking, and a mild amount of chaos ensues.

Translation into English of a Hebrew translation of King Arthur

When Wangji was eighteen he’d walked into the first class of his fall semester painting module and there’d been a boy in a hilariously ugly floppy knit hat sitting cross-legged on the floor at the front of the room. He’d had a sheet of canvas paper taped to his board and his board clamped between his legs and a tackle box of brushes and tubes—a real fishing tackle box, with a fish-shaped logo on it that said BASS, not one of the nice art supply storage boxes they sold in the campus bookstore, like the one Wangji was carrying—open beside him. Everyone else had settled into the rows of stools and easels, but that boy had stayed on the floor for the whole two hour and thirty minute studio. Wangji had looked at him and thought, that idiot’s back is going to hurt. [Former best friends Lan Wangji, paintings conservator, and Wei Wuxian, art handler, meet again and realize... neither of them were actually in unrequited love.]

“Oh, and that time I ran away? From the family that had me before the Jiangs took me in? I got hypothermia.” Wei Ying says all of this with the same easy demeanor that he uses when he tells playground stories about Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, like he’s not discussing trauma. “When you get hypothermia once you’re more susceptible to it in the future, which is a fun side effect.” He shrugs and kisses Lan Zhan’s neck with lips that are still cold but not horribly so. “I just get cold easy now. I’m used to it.” “Mn,” Lan Zhan says, and means, “We’ll fucking see about that.” Or: Wei Ying is not allowed to be cold, therefore Lan Zhan must learn to knit.

“Maybe you don’t see me as your First Officer at all.” He cut his eyes up to look into Lan Zhan’s. “Maybe you don’t want to. Maybe you want me to throw over all of these command responsibilities and it can just be me and you inside of my mind, just how you like...Imzadi.” Stranded seventy thousand light-years from home, a Starfleet and a rebel crew must come together if they're going to make the journey.

“Zhao Yunlan,” Shen Wei breathed, and it was Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan’s Shen Wei, even if he looked like his younger self. There were tears in his eyes. “Please,” he said, “promise me.” “Anything,” gasped Zhao Yunlan. His chest hurt. He struggled to rise, but he couldn’t move. “Care for him. Protect him,” whispered Shen Wei. The tears spilled over. “Please.” Something heavy collapsed on top of Zhao Yunlan. He gasped and looked into Ye Zun’s wide, shocked eyes.

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When Wei Wuxian fell at Nightless City he was, unknowingly to him, brought back in time to when Wen Chao pushed him into the Burial Mounds. Believing himself to be dead, and this afterlife to be some sort of punishment, he resigns himself to a painful existence. Until Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng rescue him, and he realises he has a chance to change things for the better - if he hasn't messed everything up already.

He sits bolt upright. The pain is agonizing. He is in his thirties, give or take a few years being dead. No. He is 15. He is married. He is not. He is a teacher. He is a student. He feels like two different people and the conflicting memories collide. The pain is unbearable. He thinks he hears his husband calling him… calling… Or... That awkward moment when Wei Wuxian activates the ‘incense burner’ and proceeds to botch the timeline, because he screws around believing he's in a dream. Only, he's not. Everything is real. He's f*ed up and transmigrated into his teenage body, creating a tangent universe. Now- all he wants is his husband, but that Hanguang Jun seems to be gone forever, a forgotten fixture of some other world. *Rating upped to explicit for one scene in the final chapter. The rest of the fic bounces between teen and mature. *Now with a Spanish Translation

The child is starting to disappear into the distance now, the smog suddenly having risen up without him noticing. Even so, Lan Zhan recognizes the child’s smile, his head turned over his shoulder. The shiny black of the tiny bicycle, red tassels flying from the handlebars. “I win!” Tinkling laughter bursts through the hypnotic background rumble of morning traffic. The smog twists, suddenly thick. From the other end of the driveway, a high voice echoes. “A-Zhaaan!” -- Sixteen years after leaving China and the insular cultivation world behind, Lan Zhan returns to Beijing. As he struggles to reconcile his place in this city where he used to belong, he finds himself haunted by a familiar ghost.

2020 is almost over and all I gotta say is what the fuck was that It was the culmination of 70 years of calcified post-war conservative politics (and yes I count neoliberalism in that), unchecked capitalist greed, and near complete civic disengagement by the largest generation in recent history (cough boomers cough cough). As this year comes to a close, as a COVID vaccine looms, as Biden prepares for inauguration, it’ll be tempting to just put all of this behind us and move on. Please don’t. Because that’s exactly how we fucking got here. 2020 has been written on the pages of history for decades. All the signs and the evidence that all of this would happen—and all at once—has been there. Shouting at us. For decades. Nobody wanted to hear it, few were even willing to consider things were as bad as people warned, and everyone was too busy with life to take the time out to do anything about it—because “work”, because “finances”, because “school”. We put off dealing with things until they exploded in our faces with such force they nearly blinded us. And now we are faced with escalating problems alongside more “work” and worse “finances” and harder “school”—all which are more stressful and trying than they’ve ever been. And the problems still need addressing—more pressing now than they were yesterday or the day before. And It didn’t have to be that way. We could have dealt with income inequality and corporate malfeasance and voter suppression and poverty/social welfare and all these related issues back in 2011, during Occupy Wall Street—that big reaction to the subprime mortgage crisis, when activists were screaming from rooftops about how all that shit was going to get worse if we didn’t deal with the root of the problem properly now. Remember how instead of bailing out families so they could pay off their mortgages (which would have cost a shit ton less) we bailed out the auto industry and Wall Street? Remember how people lost their homes? How banks went after people who didn’t even have mortgages with them?? Look at how corporations have behaved during the pandemic (Amazon engaging in price fixing on essentials), look how the stock market has become emboldened by receiving absolutely no punishment for the “Great Recession” (betting on fucking water futures as resources dwindle and Flint continues to suffer), look at how corrupt police departments across the country have consolidated power over their communities after decades of hero worship and blank checks. Look at how they protect corporate property while killing innocent black people. We could have dealt with these issues back in 1999 during the WTO protests, which were concerned with one of the very problems we’re dealing with now—economic globalization and the suppression of labor. But like Occupy those protests were suppressed and destroyed, and ultimately forgotten—and by the time 9/11 rolled around no one wanted to hear a word of sentiment which questioned American politics or could be construed as anti-American because 2,996 deaths and Never Forget. Today, COVID-19 killed 3,054 Americans. Just today. So when 2021 rolls around and we talk about what a shitfest 2020 was and “what even was that??”, the answer is plain on the pages of history. How and why we ended up here—it’s all there waiting for you to connect the dots. And every time you reduce 2020 to just some awful, wild, miserable year you are supporting the false and self-serving narrative of the people who dragged us here in the first place. So I’ll repeat: 2020 was the culmination of 70 years of calcified post-war conservative politics, unchecked capitalist greed, and near complete civic disengagement by the largest generation in recent history. It didn’t come from nowhere, and there are clear cut roots to these problems and ways to fix them (and a long legacy of activist thought and discourse on these issues). But that means you can’t “go back to brunch” or “check out of politics” or “focus on X” to the exclusion of other things. Take that with you into 2021.

me, going back to climbing after a year away: what if i wrote wangxian competitive indoor climbing au

The only difference between an engineer and a necromancer is a belief in the arcane. Threadfic where Wei Ying accidentally summons a demon to his drafting table and takes him to Denny's.

see, dragons are a thing of myth, of legend. so wei ying doesn't really expect it one afternoon when he's taking a detour walking back from school to avoid wen chao & his crew, ends up in a forest, and accidentally stumbles upon a dragon. an injured dragon, at that.

Ascensions are occasions to celebrate, unique moments of joy and excitement for old and incredibly bored Heaven Officials. Usually. However, when Prince Hua Cheng inexplicably crashes back in heaven for the third time, there is a lot of excitement indeed, but very little joy. “I’m back, bitches,” Hua Cheng grins dangerously as he steps out of the palace he just wrecked during his spectacular ascension. “Missed me?” Or: Role Reversal!AU, in which Hua Cheng is the twice forsaken God of Revenge and Misfortune and former prince of a country he destroyed himself 800 years ago. He genuinely has no clue why the infamous demon king White Sword Whispering Death would be interested in a humble wandering priest like himself and would like to be left alone to carve his Xie Lian statues in peace, thank you very much.

AU where LWJ and WWX are actors who keep co-starring in films. They know their fans ship them and their characters (LWJ has a very active ao3 life.) But they’ve never played love interests. Then one day, WWX’s agent, WQ, presents him w a new script. “Co-lead.”

Lan Zhan is a little witch in the house on the hill, whispering out a love curse. Wei Ying is a witch undead, undone. (Or, a Practical Magic AU)

A modern cultivators AU in which Wei Ying, local talisman nerd and tired post-doc, finds himself drawn into the circle of professional cultivators Lan Huan and Lan Zhan as they attempt to track down the person responsible for a series of horrific magical ‘experiments’ in Yiling.

Wei Ying thinks he’s going to meet a younger version of Professor Lan, since they’re brothers- gently smiling, a little sad way back somewhere, smart as a whip and just a touch gullible, but instead he meets a drop dead gorgeous sonovabitch who refuses to make more than cursory eye contact and has about as much empathy in him as a brick fucking wall. In which Wei Ying is forced to take AAS100: Intro to Asian American Studies to graduate. He has a cruelly strict grader, and his only hope of passing the class is attending extra credit movie nights in a ridiculous dorm with 3,000 rules.

Lan Wangji woke shuddering. There was a hand on his shoulder, a face bent over his. It took him several moments to understand where he was, to know that the face was Mo Xuanyu’s. “Hey,” said Mo Xuanyu. “You — I think you were having a bad dream.” Lan Wangji closed his eyes, shuddering again. His cheeks were wet. His chest ached. It had been years since he’d had one of these dreams, and he’d always been alone. To be seen like this was unbearable.

Lan Wangji has drawn Wei Ying's name for the officially non-official non-denominational winter gift exchange.

It’s nearing two in the morning when Wei Ying steps out of the club. In the middle of December, the air is chilly at this hour of the night even this far south, and the flimsy jacket thrown over a crop top does very little to keep the sting of the cold out. The hunger is so loud tonight. It’s been a while since Wei Ying properly made out with someone until the guy started to all but hump his leg and Wei Ying could feed off more than just wisps of the yang energy that flowed between them. In more ways than one, he’s been feeding off scraps for so long that he doesn’t even remember what it’s like to feel full. Sex demon Wei Ying meets cultivator Lan Zhan in front of a night club on a cold winter night. Things escalate from there.

A young man walked out of the Burial Mounds. He seemed to be alone, but of course he wasn’t: the dead accompanied him. The dead always accompanied him. (In which the spirits of the Burial Mounds demanded a higher price for their aid.)

“I date!” Wei Ying protests, “I could be dating. You don’t know my life A-Yuan. I could be going on plenty of dates.” He’s not. He occasionally finds a booty call on tinder or grindr or whatever miscellaneous dating app he has on his phone at the time, but he hasn’t even done that in a while. “When? You’re pretty much always with me when you’re not at work.” “Maybe I’m a secret agent, living a double life, raising you nights and weekends and solving crimes with a partner during the day. I could pull it off, you know?” “Dad,” A-Yuan says seriously. Wei Ying blinks at him and says “Wei Yuan,” in his best imitation of seriousness. In which Wei Ying is a young single father whose son is possibly scheming to set him up with his history teacher.

Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are adopted siblings who drifted apart after a devastating accident in their past. Nie Huaisang, third member of their trio of high school best friends and DM extraordinaire, decides to invite Jiang Cheng to one of his D&D games in the hopes of reconciling the two. Meanwhile, Lan Zhan tries to deal with his burgeoning feelings for Wei Ying, exacerbated by the fact that Wei Ying seems to keep ending up in his arms after things go badly with Jiang Cheng. As they progress through the D&D campaign, a story set in a magical world of cultivators and golden cores, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng start slowly bridging the divide between them, while Lan Zhan realizes his feelings for Wei Ying might not be as unrequited as he originally thought….