Aki5



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    Lan Wangji knows the legend like he knows every other legend of every god, but he's not thinking about it the day he catches a youth in black robes sneaking into a discussion conference in the unclean realm.

    No, in that moment all he's really thinking about is a crimson ribbon and a flow of long black hair, soft fabric caressing the delicate lines of a collar bone, a pair of gray eyes, and a smile and a laugh that seem to break his world forever.

    'Beautiful' he thinks.

    And 'infuriating' he thinks.

    'What are you doing here?" He asks

    "Who me?" The boy grins, laughing and causal, seeming to care nothing for the sword tip pressing against his throat. "I'm here for the discussion conference of course."

    "You were spying in the rafters."

     

    OR Mortal Cultivator Lan Wangji meets lonely God of Death Wei Wuxian

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    26 Jan 2026

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    25 Jan 2026

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    For Wei Ying's 17th birthday, his best friend Lan Zhan gives him a jar full of origami stars to decorate his room. Lan Zhan buys the colorful paper himself, cuts them in little stripes, and folds each tiny star carefully.

    What Wei Ying doesn't know, is that Lan Zhan wrote a confession inside each of the stars.

     

    -
    (This is a Twitter threadfic that was slightly adapted to AO3 since I wanted to archive it)

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    22 Jan 2026

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    Tempo Rubato: Italian; Stolen Time; The musical practice of diverging from the unrelenting and gradual rhythm for a short period of time in a piece, allowing for solo freedom.

    Lan Wangji starts high school in perfect step with the rhythm of his uncle's expectations and his duty to his family.

    He doesn't quite stay that way.

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    10 Jan 2026

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    “It’s okay that you miss him,” said Lan Wangji, a familiar litany to them both by now. “Do you feel sad?”

    “I feel sad,” A-Yuan repeated, shoulders hitching with tiny hiccuping sniffs. “When is he coming back?”

    “I don’t know. I am not sure where he is.”

    But this seemed to frustrate A-Yuan. “Xian-gege! I miss him! Please, baba?” He looked up at him with wet cheeks and a wide, quivering frown. “Please baba can you ask him? I really miss him!” He sobbed again, heartbreakingly.

    It stabbed straight through him, cracking open the reservoir of loss and helplessness that was all his own. His child’s grief did that, sometimes. It always took him by surprise. He caught his breath sharply and gathered A-Yuan into his arms, holding him tight until the pain ebbed.

    “I will try,” he said softly into A-Yuan’s hair, when he could speak again. He never made uncertain promises and tried not even to raise uncertain hopes, but his son was hurting. His son believed he could make it better. He couldn’t not try.

    Wen Qing might at least know who this “Xian-gege” was. He would text her in the morning. It would be a start.

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    03 Jan 2026