#and xie lian likes being the sundere

[bluberryblurays]

Hua Cheng hates Feng Xin and Mu Qing, because when he was younger, and for the 800 years after, he thought they were in love with Xie Lian (both def had a crush on him at least on him in the XianLe Era) so he saw them as competition. Now that he has Xie Lian as a hubby, he still hates them because he sees them as Xie Lians clingy exes trying to take Xie Lian away from him!

[admirableadmiranda]

Hi...thank you for answering my ask....if you don't mind me asking (again), can I ask, who are your top 5 favorite characters from TGCF? And why? And what are your top 5 (or top 3) fav moments from the novel? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks.....

I don’t mind, but this one will be very different from the MDZS answer because TGCF and MDZS were very different experiences for me.

Top five

1.) Hua Cheng. My ghostie sweetie boy! Even before I loved Xie Lian, Hua Cheng had already stolen my heart. Through the whole novel I just felt like everything would be all right as long as San Lang was there. Any future fics I write will likely be from his perspective, he easily hooked me the most of all of the characters.

2.) Shi Qingxuan. Of all of mxtx’s shattered innocents characters that aren’t the leads, they were the one to make me feel for them the most. I love their bubbly personality, their unwavering support of Xie Lian and their completely relaxed understanding of themself. Leaf made me smile every time they showed up.

3.) Xie Lian. When I rank him at third please do understand it is by the thinnest slivers. I adore him. I adore his inner peace, his quiet strength, his sudden fuck around and find out attitude that comes out when everyone else least expects it. I also love that once you’re paying attention to him you realize that he really has picked up on far more than others have given him credit for. He’s a clever sweet quiet force of nature and I love that.

4.) sadly it is a rather large drop from the top three. Four is He Xuan and I wish he was in the story more because I liked his foil traits to both Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, and he’s one of the few characters in story whose agenda is wholly his own and not tied to the overall villain of the story. But he’s not in it enough and he feels a bit underused once his arc ends. He’s the other potent Calamity who can go toe to toe with huge gods. Why is he hear for so little time?

5.) bringing up the rear is Jian Lan. Another minor character although she feels like she got the right amount of time to me. I loved her ferocity, her fervor and her bond with her little demon son. At the end of the story I loved that she chose to move forwards because she was happier on her own with how things had ended rather than try and patch up something sundered. Sometimes it’s better to move forwards on your own and accept that.

As for my favorite parts…

I love the entirety of the Black Water arc. I was so hooked, I spent a whole afternoon binging it at once because I couldn’t put it down. From the sibling betrayals and the twists, to the best line in the whole story, to riding in a too small coffin with awkward problems happening, it was an utter delight.

Number two would be the brocade immortal chase (yes I really loved book three the most) and especially Xie Lian having fun with his San Lang having tried and failed to hide himself and teasing him into admitting it and being so happy that he’s there. It made me feel very warm.

Number three is a tie between the ascent and descent of Mount Tong’lu (yeah I really liked book three) between all the gods getting on the hualian ship train and then the statues and the reveal, and then after that the power of the statue being flown by love and kisses while a volcano is erupting in the background, it was a rolicking fun time and I enjoyed every page of it.

Thank you so much for the ask! Unfortunately I do have to rank TGCF as my third of three on the novels, it just didn’t hook me in the same way as svsss and especially MDZS. I loved it, I’ll definitely reread it, it just didn’t give me the same thing I wanted from her works. It’s still fantastic and I highly recommend reading it!

[curiosity-killed]

Kiss meme- 17 for hualian 💜

17: Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin

cw: past major character death, references to past violence, self-harm

(on ao3)

Even in dreams, he knows Wuming is dead. It’s a kindness, perhaps, that the darkness tells the truth in this at least. That smiling mask tilts to the side, his hands held neatly behind his back, and—

“You’re dead,” Xie Lian says.

He can’t see the ghost’s face, but he still feels the sensation that he’s smiling behind the painted-on curve. Horror doesn’t rise up within him at the recognition of the feeling, only a tired kind of resignation. It hangs in the center of his chest, an anchor grounding him from its tether around his heart.

“I killed you,” he says.

“It is an honor to die for Dianxia,” Wuming says earnestly.

He takes a single step forward, swaying with the same graceful weight of a heavy-headed peony. Xie Lian swallows and doesn’t step back. He wants to apologize, wants to scream, wants to demand Wuming tell him why—why he did it, why he was so quick to obey Xie Lian’s every command until that very last one. He wants to go back and do it over, choose a different path and run away from all his mistakes.

For a moment, he just wants to pretend.

He swallows, chest tight.

“Won’t you take your mask off now?” he asks.

He doesn’t know what he’ll see underneath, what face his imagination will paint below the mask. Wuming ducks his head and shifts his weight on his narrow waist like a child hiding a secret behind their back. Tipping his head up, he hums thoughtfully.

“If Dianxia closes his eyes,” he says.

Something in his tone makes Xie Lian draw in a sharp breath—the teasing edge barely masking something deeper and more sincere. He scours Wuming’s false face as if he’ll find a hint or answer there before swallowing and giving a tight nod. He closes his eyes.

For a moment, nothing happens. The darkness curls close and wraps around him, the stillness so absolute that he can’t even hear his own breathing. He holds himself perfectly still and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t peek.

Then— a soft breath brushes over his lips and chin, just barely warm. His stomach clenches tight and he clenches his eyes shut more firmly. Nerves flutter low in his belly, squirming and dancing under the edges of his ribs. Nerves and—something else. He doesn’t let himself name it but only holds himself still as he feels the gravity of another body leaning into his space. It’s a tingling against his skin, a pull  against the rope strung through his chest like a fingertip curling around a guqin string. He inhales carefully, and then there are lips pressing gentle against his own.

He’s never been kissed before, doesn’t know what to do—but Wuming doesn’t seem to mind. He draws back slightly, and Xie Lian catches himself swaying forward to follow. A soft huff of laughter escapes Wuming, and he returns, more sure this time as he angles his head and deepens the kiss. Fingers lift to cradle Xie Lian’s neck, eight points of ice resting against his overheated skin the same way they could to snap his neck or strangle him. He jumps, gasping at the sudden contrast, but Wuming’s grip is firm enough he doesn’t pull away.

Somehow, Xie Lian knows he isn’t allowed to touch in return, that clinging to Wuming will only shatter the illusion, make him dissipate and vanish into black smoke and screams. Instead, he sinks into the touch and tries to imbue all his wanting and his grief into the way their lips shift against each other. Wuming’s icy hand slides up Xie Lian’s cheek to scrape into his hair. His fingers close, tugging a little at the roots.

“Hnn,” Xie Lian groans as a shudder runs through him.

It vibrates down his scalp to trace electric through his limbs, and he digs his fingernails into his palms to keep from reaching out for Wuming. He must not take more than he’s been given. He must not want too much.

“Taizi dianxia,” Wuming murmurs against his lips, and Xie Lian shivers at the weight of the title, the sundering heft of devotion in each syllable.

He wants to protest, to insist that he doesn’t deserve to be called such and least of all by Wuming—but it seems a cruelty, a cheapening of Wuming’s belief. He would be anything Wuming asked of him if only he was here to ask, if only he would ask. In this dreamworld, Xie Lian would give himself over if he could be the person deserving of Wuming’s unwavering worship.

Wuming pulls away slightly, and Xie Lian whines in protest before he can catch himself. Before he can verbalize his complaint, there are lips pressed against the tender skin below his jaw where Wuming’s fingers first touched, and Wuming drags his head back with a firmer grip in his air. A startled breath jolts out of Xie Lian, and he only barely keeps his eyes closed as Wuming marks a ring of flushed blooms down the line of his throat. He seems intent on marking a collar around Xie Lian’s neck. He manipulates Xie Lian’s head with a confident hand in his hair, and Xie Lian sinks into helplessness as goose flesh pebbles his skin at each new touch. Even if he didn’t need to keep his eyes shut, he thinks it would be impossible to keep them open like this. His body feels strangely weightless, as if the last centuries have slid away from him as easily as rain running down his skin. A shudder runs through him as Wuming’s other hand slides between the collars of his robes and slips down to curl against his chest. His hand is still cold as death, and the contrast has Xie Lian arching into the touch.

He’s never wanted anyone before, never had any interest in those romantic entanglements that so enthralled others. When he’s thought of being held, being touched and kissed, sour unease has risen up his throat. He thinks of hands on him and they always come with swords. He thinks of arms around him, and he hears off-key laughter and sees white sleeves.

But now—Wuming skates his hand down Xie Lian’s side and he wants it, wants more. He wants to be wrapped in it, pressed down and held steady. He wants to reach out and drag Wuming closer until nothing can separate them.

He wants and he wants and he wants—

He shakes with it, strung taut between all the lessons drilled into his mind over the years and the sudden surge of desire, the unfamiliar want that coils tight in his belly.  Wuming’s hands hold him so steadily, curled gentle around his waist and tight in his hair, and Xie Lian’s body bows as if drawn by an expert archer. He feels the tear slip from his eye and curve hot down his cheek and feels Wuming’s lips press against it, leaving only the drying trail down Xie Lian’s cheek.

“You’ll be gone,” Xie Lian says, and his voice cracks under it, “when I open my eyes.”

“Dianxia,” Wuming murmurs against his skin, “I was never here.”

Xie Lian opens his eyes slowly, to the melancholy light before dawn. The little camp he’s made under the boughs of an aging willow is painted in blues and smudges of black like a child wiped ink across the paper with their fingertips. Curled on his side, he forces himself to breathe in the cold bite of night air and focus on the looming shadows of the trees across the river. This early in the morning, they’re still formless and unified, but for a moment, he imagines he sees a slender silhouette among them, a flash of white. He swallows hard and forces his eyes to focus until he can clearly see it’s only a younger tree amidst the great cedars here.

His hand slips up to his neck and presses gently. There’s no answering pang, no protest of tender bruises; only the cursed shackle remains, smooth and heavy under the bandages. He closes his eyes and tightens his hand, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his neck. For a moment, two, he allows himself to pretend. Already, the sensation of Wuming’s hands has started to fade from his skin, disappearing along with the heady want of the dream.

Selfish, he thinks and digs in harder. Shameful.

Ruoye wriggles off his wrist and starts patting at his face before shifting to tugging at his hand impatiently. He relents, ashamed at himself anew for such a weak and selfish response. Reaching for Ruoye, he strokes the bandage soothingly in apology and it squeezes his wrist once before unwinding to curl around his neck instead. It hangs there, a soft weight crumpling against his chest.

He tells himself he doesn’t remember what it felt like to have loving hands pressed there instead. He tells himself to forget.