Three Sentence Ficathon

Nie Mingjue was nothing if not patient, at least these days, but his patience had limits.

"Are you coming?" he bellowed.

Bellowing at the various people in his Sect was normal after all, and had been for years. The fact that he now had - custody? protective guardianship? - for this group of the same Wens he had hated for years didn't change that much.

He didn't bellow at Granny Wen, naturally. Or Uncles Six and Four (he liked Uncle Four's fruit wine too much to upset the man). Or tiny, adorable a-Yuan whose unabashed begging for hugs Nie Mingjue had resisted for a whole twelve minutes when they first met. Or Wen Ning whose gentle nature endeared him to even the stubbornest Nie.

Bellowing at Wen Qing was fine. She simply shouted back. He might not admit it to anyone but himself, but he liked that.

She now turned from scolding his - her - their brothers and glared at him. "As soon as these two are ready... yes, we are coming."

He huffed. Normally, a trip to another Sect would take no more time than the flight on their swords. The Nie disciples could fly with no trouble of course, he could with even less than none, and Wen Qing had proven more than once that she could keep up with him in this as in most things. They were cultivators, after all.

But they also both had brothers. Wen Ning was too sickly and frail and couldn't fly; his Huisang was... well, Huaisang, and simply wouldn't fly if he could shamelessly wriggle out of it. So Mingjue agreed to go by horse and carriage, and tried not to think about how much having these people, especially this small and fiery woman, in his life had changed him.

And how life might have been without them.