Thread by @CATACLYSMICEVIE

TGCF AU where cultivation has been outlawed, and no god has answered a prayer in centuries. Only the Heavenly Emperor remains, mourning his lost love.

Rumors say he keeps his greatest treasure hidden away in the mortal realm.

Now, a mortal—Wu Ming—has come to take it.

Because he gets to spend the rest of his life feeding the people he loves. Listening to them laugh, argue, cry, and learn.

Fractured and imperfect as they may be—

He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!"

"It's /not a big deal!/"

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?!"

"Honey...try to calm down..."

"/WHO HELPED YOU DO THIS?!/"

"Nobody!"

"WAS IT YOUR UNCLE?!"

"I CAN'T REBEL WITHOUT HIS HELP?!" Jin Ling snarls. "I'M NOT MY OWN PERSON NOW?!"

"SO YOU ADMIT THAT YOU'RE /REBELLING!/" Jin Zixuan is a mild mannered man. Poised. Elegant. A little too in love with his own image.

But when his son comes home with a /nose piercing?/ On the day of a /family event/, no less?

"I WOULDN'T HAVE TO REBEL IF YOU WEREN'T A TYRANT!"

"You could have just gotten ANOTHER EAR PIERCING!" His gather groans, wiping a hand down his face. "Why would you get one on your face?! Do you WANT to get a job someday?!"

"YOU SAY THAT LIKE I'M NOT JUST GONNA WORK FOR YOU!"

"NOT AT THIS RATE, YOUNG MAN--!"

"/Boys!/"

Jiang Yanli steps between them, trying to soothe her husband /and/ get her son to just--just /stop/--

"We're at a birthday party, remember? So, let's just try to enjoy the time with everyone else--"

"How are we going to do that?!" Her husband groans, clutching his head.

"When our son has decided he'd rather show up looking like--not a delinquent--"

"What do you mean?!" Jin Ling squawks, sounding almost like the peacock his uncle used to snidely compare his father to /constantly./ "I /so/ look like a--"

"A'Ling," Yanli pinches the bridge of her nose. "Whas that what you were...hoping to achieve?"

"I, uh," he pauses, staring up at her like a deer in the headlights. His dad? He doesn't mind tormenting. That's kind of part of what he lives for. But his /mom?/

“….I thought it would look cool, okay?”

“Well, you /don’t/ look like a delinquent!”

“What do you mean I don’t?!”

“Delinquents don’t get /dainty little diamond studs in their nostrils!/“

“So I should have gotten a septum—?”

“/OBVIOUSLY NOT!/“

“Hey, senior wanted me to check—“ A familiar face pokes through the door, taking in the sight of the family spat—only to /cackle./ “OH MY GOD—!”

Jin Ling’s face turns scarlet as he charges past his father, chasing his classmate outside. “SHUT /UP/, LAN JINGYI!”

“DON’T BE MAD, YOU LOOK LIKE A PRETTY LITTLE PRINCESS—“

“I’M GONNA BREAK YOUR LEGS—THIS IS /YOUR/ FAULT!”

“How was I supposed to know you’d actually keep your word if you lost a bet?! You’re a prissy little brat about everything else!”

“I HAVE /NEVER/ BROKEN MY WORD!”

“And I didn’t tell you to get a heart shaped stud,” his classmate squints, trying to get a closer look as they tussle in the grass. “Seriously man, what the—“

“IT WAS THE ONLY JEWELRY THEY HAD!” Jin Ling shrieks.

That was not, in fact, true. They had plenty of options in silver, but Jin Ling refused to have it clash with his earrings.

(Even if the Mount would have been barely visible under the diamond, anyway.)

None of it matters, he’s still gonna break their—

“Oh my god, you’re gonna have to wear that thing for MONTHS—“ Lan Jingyi grins, not even caring that he’s on the verge of being throttled. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER—“

“WHAT, YOU MEAN YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH—?”

“Whatcha doin?”

Both men look up, screaming from the sudden shock.

“U-/UNCLE/—“

“Senior Wei—!”

“WHY do you always sneak up on me?!” Jin Ling snaps, glaring up at his uncle, who happens to be floating a few feet above them, hanging upside down from his sword.

“Constant vigilance,” Wei Wuxian teases, dropping down; flipping before landing lightly on his feet as suibian returns to his waist. “But really,” he smiles, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I wanted to see who was brave enough to make a ruckus on my A-Yuan’s special day.”

“…Dad,” his son tugs at his sleeve softly, sounding as sheepish as he usually does from his antics. “It’s really okay…”

“We haven’t even cut the cake!” Wei Wuxian cries, hands on his hips, “you could have started a brawl after!”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Shut up, Jiang Cheng! I’m trying to scold our nephew!”

“Remember my 11th birthday?”

“…That’s not the—“

“You punched Jin Zixuan INTO my birthday cake!”

“…You punched baba into a cake?”

“…He DESERVED it—“

"/Did he?/" Jiang Yanli asks pointedly, trying to remind her brothers that she and her husband /are/ standing right there.

"Yes," Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian reply in perfect unison.

"But the /cake/--"

"I said I was sorry, alright?"

"Dad," Lan Sizhui tugs at his sleeve again.

"Not now, A'Yuan, daddy's busy defending his honor--"

"Cake?" His son reminds him gently, and Wei Wuxian's eyes widen, spinning around to clap his hands on his shoulders.

"/Right!/ Cake!"

Most people probably couldn't have imagined him like this when he was in high school.

Boisterously leading his son about, hands on his shoulders, proudly telling everyone how well he was doing in class. How he tested into one of the most prestigious senior high schools in the country.

But Wei Wuxian could have.

He could have seen himself taking a seat next to him, teasing him until he blushed from all the attention.

He takes after Wei Wuxian’s husband that way. He’s always been on the shy side—but that’s alright.

Wei Wuxian is plenty loud enough for both of them.

He claps as Lan Zhan and his brother carry out an /obnoxiously/ big cake, which seems to mortify A’Yuan—

But these parties always get /bigger/ than you’d expect, so they didn’t really have much of a choice.

Sure, Lan Sizhui’s school friends are there—but then the Lans are there, and the Jiangs, and that means the Nie are bound to come, and if /Yanli/ is there, the Jin’s come with her.

That way, even a child’s birthday party becomes an impromptu sect conference.

That would have been a tense, secretive affair eighteen years ago.

Now, they simply drink and laugh, singing as Wei Wuxian’s son blows out the candles.

Wei Wuxian sits in his husband’s lap, laughing as they recall when they were young.

(You’re only young twice, after all.)

Children run around the perimeter of things. The younger ones play, while the older ones huddle together playing video games, or exchanging trading cards.

A sight that only became common recently.

At some point, they begin the long treasured tradition that began fourteen years before—

Trying to determine just how many of them are, in fact, Jin Ling’s uncle.

(The answer, bafflingly, is usually most of them.)

“…Are they here yet?” Lan Zhan says quietly, speaking next to his ear.

Wei Ying leans back against him, feeling that feeling of safety he always finds in his arms.

“Mmm, soon,” he leans his head back against his shoulder, closing his eyes. “They had a date today.”

He can practically /feel/ his husband rolling his eyes, because he hates when people are late—especially for something like a birthday party, but—

Wei Ying doesn’t really mind. Early, late—showing up is what counts.

And those two always do, one way or another.

It’s quiet on the balcony, far from the party goers below.

“We’re being unsociable,” his husband comments with a sigh, but he doesn’t look up.

You would think so many years of marriage would sate one’s hunger eventually—but in his case, it only ever seems to deepen.

“And?”

Shi Wudu always has a mark of some kind on his neck. In varying shades and sizes, sometimes forming a necklace more precious than any of the family jewels.

He Xuan is working on a new one now, sucking at the hollow beneath his jaw, one hand twisted in his hair.

“It’s not like your sister’s here to force us to be polite,” he murmurs.

It’s true—she’s filming abroad at the moment and isn’t due back until the end of the month.

“The other two aren’t even here yet, either.”

He didn’t shave that morning. They were too busy, and now every word he says leaves stubble scraping against Shi Wudu’s skin.

The fact that he even shaves at all is because Shi Wudu insists that he hates facial hair, but it would be a lie to say that he isn’t shivering now.

“Mmm,” Shi Wudu hums in acknowledgement, arms loosely clasped around his husband’s neck. “Do we not have to be polite if they’re not here?”

When they were younger, he likely would have begrudgingly tried to behave, eager to earn his approval.

Now, he holds him tightly—just the way he likes—and he bites down until Shi Wudu arches his neck with a satisfied sigh.

“Why would I be polite when I have something better to do?”

The corners of Shi Wudu’s mouth tighten from the effort not to smile. “How barbaric.”

He doesn’t shrug away from the indictment, canines glinting as he smiles against his skin. “Brutish, even.”

“At least you’re self aware.”

A hand ventures down to fiddle with his belt, but Shi Wudu swats it away.

There’s only so much he’ll indulge him at a family birthday party, after all.

He Xuan knew that, but he’s never met a boundary he didn’t like to push.

“Shi Wudu—“

“Such a baby,” his husband scolds him softly, a smile cracking through when He Xuan’s face twitches.

“Do you ever have to wait that long?”

No, and they both know it.

They /also/ know that he’s going to get what he wants as soon as they’re back to bed. Or the entry way of their house. Or the /car./

“Really, I can’t take you anywhere—“

“You could take me home.”

That one’s so cheesy, he throws his head back to laugh softly.

“You sound like my dad when you make jokes like that, you know.”

The former sect leader never met a pun that he didn’t like—and He Xuan rarely does, but it always makes his husband laugh when he tries.

Still, it’s obvious that he’s not getting his way, so he pulls back—arm still hugged around his waist, but he’s leaning against the balcony beside him rather than pressing him against it with the intent to devour.

“Maybe it just comes with the territory,” he muses. “Fatherhood and all that.”

Shi Wudu snorts, lifting his drink to his lips now that his arms are free again. “I don’t make puns.”

Yes, but while he’s certainly nurturing, he’s not exactly /paternal./

“Yeah, well,” he rolls his eyes, a sarcastic bite entering his tone. “Aren’t you just perfect?”

Shi Wudu’s eyes really can sparkle with happiness—but it only ever seems to happen when they’re alone.

“You certainly seem to think so.”

Tragically, he /does/, so there’s nothing to be done for it.

Instead, he looks to the gathering in the courtyard below with a sigh. “Did you hear about the civil god that ascended last week?”

“Mmm, I think so.”

A strange scenario. A couple of particularly accomplished scientists and academics have ascended in the years since Jun Wu was dealt with—

But in this case, the lucky individual was the author of a particularly long, raunchy web novel series.

“…Do you think any of them will?”

Shi Wudu considers that, looking down at the crowd below.

“…I suppose Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have always had the potential,” he admits. “But it’s not all about skill, is it?”

No; it certainly is not.

Ascension is far more about fate and chance than anything else.

(Interfering forces not withstanding.)

“Why do you ask?”

He Xuan is quiet for a moment, watching the crowd with a complicated expression.

“Do you think you will?”

That was Shi Wudu’s fate, after all.

He thinks about it, leaning against him, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.

They’ve forgiven each other a thousand times over by now—but he’s never quite forgiven himself.

Stealing ascension from He Xuan so long ago.

“…You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this.” He finally says, winding one lock of dark hair around his index finger, watching as straights kick on all around as the sun begins to set.

“But when I was mortal, I never really cared much about ascending.”

He Xuan sends him a disbelieving look—because Shi Wudu trained so hard back then, ascending nearly as young as the prince of Xianle. The feat was well known.

“…That was about survival,” he clarifies. “It was the only way Shi Qingxuan could have survived.”

A god could protect him, but a mortal couldn’t.

Then, he /was/ a god—and he still couldn’t keep Shi Qingxuan safe.

And he had already gone so far, he felt trapped between a choice between spending immortality grieving him, or—

Or permanently dirtying his hands.

Of course he did. It didn’t feel like a choice at the time.

Oh, but it was.

Then, the next four centuries of his life became consumed with hiding it.

Being the ‘Water Tyrant’ was part of that.

He /had/ to be superior in every single way. Remote and unapproachable.

If he wasn’t incredible, then how could one ever explain two brothers from the same family ascending?

If he wasn’t better than everyone else, how could they have ever been so miraculous?

“…But in a world where Shi Qingxuan hadn’t needed that…” he shrugs. “I don’t really think being a god was any better than being a mortal.”

“No?”

“More paperwork, less independence. Of course,” he amends. “I /am/ wealthy, so my view on the mortal world is a bit more charmed.”

“…” He Xuan shakes his head with a snort, repeating his words back to him: “At least you’re self aware.”

He’s always been nothing if not that.

“So, to answer your question—even if I ascended in this life, I don’t think I’d accept it.”

He Xuan is quiet after that, and Shi Wudu tilts his head, bumping it against his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

He’s assuming it would be what was taken from him.

And if Shi Wudu could, he would offer to switch his own fate with his in a heartbeat.

Then again, there's not much that he wouldn't give He Xuan. Not if he asked.

"...When we die," His husband admits, his eyes so dark and unreadable as he stares down at the crowd. "What will happen to me."

Shi Wudu grows quiet, thinking.

There's a very strong possibility that his full abilities will return, and he'll become a Ghost King once more.

The same possibility exists for Wei Wuxian--but he was only a calamity for months. For He Xuan, it was /centuries./

He's far more likely to meet such a fate.

Shi Wudu knows what he's thinking. What he's most afraid of.

Going through the same crushing loneliness that he experienced before. Slowly waiting at the end of the world for his resentment to run out .

He Xuan is dragged out of his thoughts when Shi Wudu grasps his wrist, lifting his hand so he can press it against his cheek.

It's unfair.

That's all he can think about as his husband looks up at him.

Unfair, that one person can twist his every thought and emotion so easily.

Just with the smallest gestures, even after spending nearly every single day of their lives together.

And that's /before/ his husband says:

"Then I'll stay."

Like it's the simplest thing in the world. With this unshakeable sense of confidence.

As though he has no doubt, what-so-ever, that he'd have enough of a reason to remain in this world.

Shi Wudu watched He Xuan's gaze go from unreadable, to painfully filled with emotion.

Rarely has he ever been told that he was enough.

Even more rarely does he ever realize that he's the only thing that his husband /actually/ needs.

Still, Shi Wudu doesn't think it should come as much of a surprise:

That's what he's been doing all along.

Since he was dying of a fever what felt like a lifetime ago--and his shidi wept by his bedside, demanding one thing from him:

Stay.

And Shi Wudu promised that he would.

Everything he's done since then has been an extension of that.

“…And what if I wanted to move on?” He murmurs, fingers curving around Shi Wudu’s cheek, and the answer is just as simple, yet just as shattering as the first:

“Then I would go.”

Such a simple, but almost unfathomable thought.

“…Even if it meant we would never see each other again?”

Shi Wudu turns his head ever so slightly, pressing a kiss into He Xuan’s palm.

Then, he raises his own hand, spiritual power sparking from his fingertips—

As he pulls a gleaming red thread, seemingly out of nowhere—connecting them together.

“I’ll always see you again,” he points out softly.

He Xuan made sure of that.

“As long as there’s me, then there’s you.”

And Shi Wudu likes that thought.

Likes to think that maybe, if they had the chance to do it all again—they would get it right the first time.

“…I love you.” He Xuan never looks him in the eye while he says that. Like he’s admitting to something that shouldn’t be said aloud.

Shi Wudu never minds. Especially not now.

Not when he sets his glass aside, wrapping his arms around him as they lean into each other.

The way he’s embracing him says more than words ever could, and then:

“I want cake,” he murmurs, kissing He Xuan’s jaw.

He really /doesn’t/—but it’s another way of getting the message across:

It’s time to stop being rude. They’re setting a bad example. Their own family is here too, and—

/And/, the final guests are just about to arrive.

“Wu Ming,” Xie Lian’s voice is soft and good natured as ever, chin resting against his shoulder. “I can walk.”

His husband’s hands tighten under his knees, pulling him up a little higher on his back.

“Yeah,” he agrees, talking in that familiar, lazy drawl. “I’m aware.”

Xie Lian’s husband is unique in countless ways. He could spend hours explaining that to anyone—

But maybe the most unique thing about him came to their attention after they defeated the emperor.

Hua Cheng is whole now—hut fault lines remain.

Most of the time, you can never tell. He seems entirely like himself. But sometimes, when he /chooses/ to—

He’ll wear the same appearance he had when he snuck into a temple years ago, intent upon stealing what was hidden within.

One eye pitch dark, the other red as blood—neither hidden, with his hair pulled up into a high ponytail.

He’ll look and speak like any other twenty something—

And Xie Lian will too.

He’s gotten fairly good at it, after nearly two decades back in the mortal realm.

And they’ll go on dates to the theater, hardly watching it after the lights go down. To the aquarium, and—

Today, the amusement park.

And on days like that, Xie Lian doesn’t think about the world. He doesn’t think about his victories or failures.

Maybe if he had, he would have heard one prayer in particular.

From certain man, very active on the online forum boards of a certain stallion novel.

Slamming his hands against his keyboard in frustration, seeing the news that a certain /dumbfuck author/ of a certain /dumbfuck/ novel had /ascended/—

How did that even make sense?! Aren’t you supposed to be /good/ at what you do to be a god?!

How did that make any sense?! Is it just about volume and not quality?! If that’s true, then HE should have ascended as the god of Internet forum boards in MIDDLE SCHOOL—

(And if Xie Lian had been listening, he might have heard increasingly frantic prayers as he began to choke on his food.)

But sometimes, things happen for a reason. Even if it hurts far more than you ever could have imagined in the beginning.

You have to lose things sometimes, to understand how much they matter.

Sometimes, it takes someone hurting you for you to realize that you didn’t deserve the pain.

You might need to hate yourself before you can learn to see the things you love.

And maybe none of that’s true, and it’s just a narrative that you’re telling yourself to try to find some sort of meaning in suffering.

Even if that is what he’s doing—Xie Lian thinks that’s fine.

All you can do when the pain ends is try to find pieces in the wreckage.

It doesn’t have to be perfect, doesn’t have to be what’s right for somebody else—

It just has to be right for him.

And for him, having days when he isn’t a god, a prince, or anything in between, feels right.

When he’s just young, laughing as he holds Wu Ming’s hand. Crowding into photo booths. Carrying game prizes nearly as tall as he is.

Being silly, and never sparing a second thought.

And when he does, it feels like he’s taking something back. Something that was stolen long ago.

“You’ve been in a good mood all day,” his husband comments, his thumb rubbing soft circles against the crook of his knee, and Xie Lian just smiles, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I got to spend all of it with you.”

His husband smiles ever so slightly, tilting his head to lean his cheek against his.

“And,” Xie Lian continues, his voice a little softer. “You haven’t been so comfortable being Wu Ming in a long time.”

That makes him hesitate.

“…I thought you wouldn’t like it,” he admits.

“Wouldn’t like it?” Xie Lian frowns, perplexed.

As if there’s any part of him that the prince wouldn’t like.

“…I tonight it might…be an unpleasant reminder,” Wu Ming admits with a frown, averting his eyes. “That I’m not exactly the same as I was before.”

Even if so much of him is the same—he has new scars. New cracks and divots on his soul.

“…I’m not the same either,” Xie Lian reminds him softly, arms tightening around his neck. “Have you ever loved me less for it?”

“Of course not—“

“Then why would this be any different?”

Of course, before--he would have answered that it was different because Xie Lian was different. Better.

He /deserved/ better.

But now, he can't so flippantly say that he doesn't deserve the same.

"And it wouldn't matter how different you were," Xie Lian concludes, craning his head up until he can press a kiss against his cheek. "You would still be my San Lang. Wu Ming. Anybody you wanted to be."

"That's not--"

"Would you stop loving me if I was different?"

Of course he wouldn't. He wouldn't even know how to begin to love him less.

"You," Xie Lian reminds him. "Not the state of you."

Wu Ming stops walking, only a halfway down the block from their destination--and sets his prince down so gently.

As he does, his appearance changes ever so slightly.

He shifts into someone slightly taller, a little broader--with one eye obscured by dark leather.

Arms hug around Xie Lian's waist, hugging him close as two fingers tilt his chin up.

"How did I ever get so lucky," he asks quietly. "To be loved by somebody like you?"

Xie Lian's expression softens as his arms slide around his neck. Uncaring of the fact that they're on the sidewalk, where anyone could see.

"Your luck has always been good," he quotes with a small smile. "But I was the one who got lucky first."

The day of the parade. The day when his guoshi would try to convince him everything went /wrong./

Xie Lian was the luckiest person who ever lived.

Luckier than someone who caught a falling star in the palm of their hand.

Because from that moment, and every moment after--there was someone on this earth who loved him not for beauty, fame, or power. Not his title or his wealth.

And when he lost everything, the boy he had caught all those years ago loved him still.

Even when Xie Lian didn't know how to accept it. When he didn't deserve it.

Even when he couldn't remember who Xie Lian was, that love never faded.

Because if you're lucky enough to have someone who loves you for /you/, no matter what you do, or how much you change--

It's your soul that they love. Not extraneous details or circumstances.

And when you lost everything else, that's what remains.

Hua Cheng steals a kiss from him--just as soft as any other, lingering as he dips him back slightly, but Xie Lian's arms don't tighten around his neck.

They don't need to.

He'll never let him fall.

"...Our nephew's waiting," he points out with a small smile.

Hua Cheng sighs softly, resting their foreheads together for just a moment.

"We can't have that," he murmurs, leaning back--his arm firm around Xie Lian's waist as they walk towards the front door, their clothes changing to something slightly more formal.

They'll have this conversation again, and again--as many times as it takes for Hua Cheng to accept it, and that's just fine.

They have as many years as they need to figure it out--and that invisible golden thread between them, even if they they aren't aware of it's presence--

That will be what remains.

Xie Lian leans against him as they walk through the door, greeted by the sound of family and friends--

And for the first time in so long, he doesn't feel the need to look back.

// END