#mdzs one shots

[zelkam]

— the untamed (2019), episode 31

[lotuslate]

is this yours?

[sanduchengjiu]

The thing about jc and wwx is that i do not take any other characters interpretations on their relationship seriously, tbh only jyl would have a chance to understand those two and she’s dead by the end of the story so we don’t get her side (regretfully). But no other character in the story (not even chengxian themselves rlly) can understand their relationship without putting some of their own biases in it. Like lwj from his perspective sees jc as a selfish abusive brother but he’s not privy to all the experiences jc and wwx have had, he met them when they were 15ish and was in and out of wwxs life (without jc) until his death. Wn (no offense to him) is clearly only aware of what wwx did for jc, not the other way around. The thing that irks me about the story is that jc doesn’t have riders and shooters like wwx does for many reasons (he’s a bitch) and any person that can vouch for jc is literally gone (see: dead family) or a child (see: Jin ling) so we as the readers are the only ones who get to see their relationship fully since we are not being deceived by anyone and can see the way outside influences as well as internal ones culminate in the relationship between them.

What I’m trying to say is that it’s obv jc’s story ceases to be important in the eyes of the narrative bc mdzs is a romance novel at the end of the day, so for people who enjoyed the back and forth between chengxian (romantic or platonic) were left with an unfulfilling ending where jc also sacrificed something before wwx did so technically there’s nothing left to say. I do enjoy the fact that they ping pong sacrifice back and forth for each other but I can also see that ending their story there just plays into the narrative that their relationship is transactional, that is if you don’t read much into it, which is what most people who read mdzs do. Cuz most people only show up for wangxian which is perfectly fine and what youre supposed to do, I mean that’s what the story is about. But I can definitely see how the opinions that other characters have on chengxian and their whole mess (affectionately) of a story can lead to readers misunderstanding jc or wwx and woobifying one to make the other the innocent party. It’s also very frustrating and we’re allowed to complain about it lol.

[antebunny]

find me in the future

After so many reincarnations and reunions, Wei Wuxian’s soul is so attuned to Lan Zhan’s soul that all it takes for Wei Wuxian to remember his past lives is making eye contact with Lan Zhan. He never remembers a life before the first one where he met Lan Zhan, which is probably for the best. You have to start somewhere. 

Of course, as the centuries fly by and Wei Wuxian collects reincarnations like Pokemon cards (fantastic new invention, he’s finally born in the right century!), it takes longer and longer for him to recalibrate to centuries of memories getting dumped into his previously innocent nine-year-old brain. (Always nine years old. Can’t ever get away). 

This is Wei Wuxian’s excuse for why he doesn’t immediately run to Lan Zhan after making eye contact with him on a crowded street. Well, one of many excuses. There’s also the part where he’s a tiny little nine-year-old orphan (again?!) tossed between the bodies of many, many stampeding adults, all attempting to reach for Lan Zhan. He’s above them, of course; Lan Zhan cultivated to immortality so long ago that now he doesn’t walk, he glides, or floats, or flies. The result is the same: the god-like light-bearing lord appearing before his people, who fall over themselves (and Wei Wuxian) in their eagerness to be blessed by his presence. 

By the time Wei Wuxian struggles to the front of the crowd, Lan Zhan is long gone. 

Okay, so here’s his problem: Wei Wuxian is not immortal. Mo Xuanyu’s body, if it ever possessed the potential to cultivate to immortality (doubtful), had that potential beaten out long before Wei Wuxian came to own it. Unfortunately, back then, he and Lan Zhan, still young and naive (ha, funny what perspective time gives you), truly believed that with enough effort he could succeed where so many had failed. 

Instead, Lan Zhan was forced to watch as his beloved withered, wrinkled and finally grew still while he remained as pristinely young adult as ever. To make matters worse, Jiang Cheng also cultivated to immortality, proving that Wei Wuxian’s original golden core had that capability. The ensuing guilt from both of them–Jiang Cheng for having Wei Wuxian’s core, Lan Zhan for encouraging Wei Wuxian to cultivate to immortality with him–and loneliness as the only two immortals of their generation brought the two of them together, which Wei Wuxian still thinks is kind of cute. They’re like frenemies now, who know how to work with each other instinctively and will defend each other to the death (or a death–no, bad Wei Wuxian, not funny) but still hate each other’s guts. 

Over the centuries Wei Wuxian has been reborn as just about every type of person. Some lived entire lives without ever even hearing of Lan Zhan. Some never learned to write, much less cultivated a golden core, some were widely beloved, some were scorned, and some found their way back to Lan Zhan.

If Wei Wuxian is being completely honest–and he’d never share this brutal honesty with any of his loved ones–those lives are the worst. Inevitably, Wei Wuxian’s new body lacks the capability to cultivate to immortality, and his loved ones who have are all forced to watch for the thousandth time as Wei Wuxian sputters and stalls until his body inevitably gives out and he dies. Old age, Wei Wuxian has come to learn through vast unwanted experience, is an unlucky way to go. No, better to go out in a blaze of glory, for a cause or for a people. The death is temporary and he will be remembered by people who love him. Making his loved ones watch his slow demise when he knows that he will never reach immortality in this lifetime is nothing short of torture.  

Perhaps that’s why it is such a surprise when little nine-year-old Wei Wuxian (Zhang Xinyin, or William Zhang, in this lifetime, he’s Chinese again but he speaks Cantonese now for a total of twelve languages, nice) hunkers down in a quiet little corner of the orphanage and discovers that this body has the highest potential to cultivate to immortality of any body he’s ever had, including his original. 

The practice of cultivation fell out of use many, many centuries ago. Wei Wuxian is on his own for this one. The good news is that he’s an expert at forming a golden core at this point, perhaps more than anyone else in the world. So all Wei Wuxian has to do is find a stable way of life for the next decade or so, which supports a child practicing an esoteric art like his life depends on it, and then he can worry about finding his family.

That is, of course, easier said than done. 

“Will! Hey, Will!” 

Wei Wuxian startles out of meditation (if only Lan Zhan could see him now) when he hears one of his new friends calling his name (well, one of many). He had spread a blue rubber yoga mat out on the green concrete rooftop, hoping to find some peace and quiet wherein he could meditate and nurse that slowly-budding golden core in his chest. 

Freckles, or Ruddy, or Rush, or Chen, pokes his little cherub-like face over the roof edge. (Everyone Wei Wuxian’s age–biological age–looks like a little baby child to him, and everyone in the world seems impossibly young. It helps that he likes kids, and they tend to like him). 

“What troubles you?” Wei Wuxian calls as he stands up.

So the last time he learned English it was quite different, okay? Sue him. He’s relearning it. 

“You’re so weird,” Chen informs him as he picks his way between cracks and loose sand and dust. “Were you meditating again?”

“Yes.” Wei Wuxian pounds a fist to his chest twice. “I will be stronger than anyone. You will see.”

Chen only rolls his eyes. “Okay, Bruce Lee. Anyways. Lynch is asking for you.”

A very nice white lady who is unfortunately named Ms. Lynch came to volunteer at their school to teach. Wei Wuxian likes her, and to his surprise he likes the woman who runs the orphanage too. He’s had a bad run with orphanages in the past but this one is okay. No funding, of course, and understaffed, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t need adult supervision. (Somewhere on a different continent, Jiang Cheng sneezes loudly). 

“Yeah? Whatever for?” Wei Wuxian follows Chen down the ladder and misses Chen rolling his eyes again.

“Dunno, go find out.” 

Wei Wuxian takes a few shortcuts on his way through the school building. He goes to public school, of course, as do all the kids from the orphanage, but Wei Wuxian is their star. A shining example of what orphans can be if they apply themselves. The kids all think he’s weird, which is fair, because he is, but the (other) adults think that Wei Wuxian is a studious little goody-two shoes. The truth is that Wei Wuxian has learned how to solve problems discreetly and how to cause trouble without getting caught. And that he’s only well-adjusted in the sense that he’s had dozens of childhoods; one more isn’t going to mess him up too terribly. 

Ms. Lynch is poking around her computer (absolutely amazing new invention, Wei Wuxian was definitely reborn in the right century) when Wei Wuxian skids to a stop by her desk. 

“Hello, Ms. Lynch.” Wei Wuxian beams in a way that he knows she loves. “Chen said you were asking for me?”

Ms. Lynch closes out of a few tabs and turns in her swivel chair (another great new invention), brushing straw brown hair behind thick plastic glasses. “Yes, I heard that you have been trying to learn cultivation all by yourself, can I ask what sparked your interest?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It seemed interesting.” He really wants to become immortal this lifetime in order to save people who he cares about deeply a lot of grief. “It’s fun.” 

“I see.” Ms. Lynch clearly isn’t satisfied with this answer, but she nods and smiles all the same. “You know, I wrote about the ancient practices of cultivation for my senior thesis, and it’s quite dangerous to do without supervision. Have you considered joining a class?”

“Uh.” Well, actually, Wei Wuxian could teach that class better than probably anyone else in the world, except maybe for Jiang Yanli, but it’s irrelevant because he certainly doesn’t have the money to afford it. “Noooo?”

“Hm.” Ms. Lynch smiles again, in a gently disapproving kind of way. “Well, I know that they can be expensive and quite a hassle, but I just wanted to make sure that you aren’t taking anything you learn from the internet about it too seriously. A lot of it is misleading and you can really harm yourself.”

Wei Wuxian is fighting for his life on the Wikipedia pages for cultivation. First, because he’d hoped that leaving some kind of coded message there could catch the attention of someone in his family and lead to them finding him. When that didn’t work, Wei Wuxian started combating misinformation (a losing battle) while having the reputation of that Wikipedia editor who put random gibberish in for fun. 

“Oh, I’m not,” Wei Wuxian chirps. “It’s all for fun, Ms. Lynch. I promise I’m not doing anything dangerous.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Ms. Lynch says, mostly sincerely. “I don’t mean to discourage you. It’s wonderful to see you taking an interest. Most kids your age have no interest in stuff like that.”

What she means is that cultivation is the ancestral practice and cultural heritage of his people. Because Wei Wuxian was born into the right social group: there are maybe a couple hundred thousand of his people spread across the globe, in little diaspora communities with varying levels of wider acceptance. Wei Wuxian’s family–the ones who have cultivated to immortality–are their leaders. Mysterious, reclusive figures who almost never interact with outsiders yet are beloved within their communities for how steadfastly they’ve protected them over the centuries. A lot of people outside the community think they’re a cult, which is probably fair, all things considered. 

It’s funny. Wei Wuxian has never been closer and yet never felt further from his family than this lifetime. A real chance of cultivating to immortality, a place in the only group of people with access to the famed (or rumored) immortals, and his reputation has never been better; his people celebrate his birthday every year (or they celebrate the excuse to party, same difference) and pray for his reincarnation. Yet if he–William Zhang–claimed to be the legendary Wei Wuxian’s reincarnation, no one would believe him. They’d ignore him as a loud-mouthed kid, at best. At worst, well, Wei Wuxian isn’t going to test that. In no situation would they–the community leaders–reach out to the immortals on his word. 

Instead, Wei Wuxian slinks back to the bedroom he shares with Chen and two other boys (he doesn’t miss being a girl, but damn could they keep a room clean) and wonders if Sizhui has gotten Lan Zhan an iPhone yet.

Maybe it’s for the best, Wei Wuxian tells himself. Reuniting with his family while in the body of a child will be awkward. Especially with Lan Zhan, who has been attracted to Wei Wuxian in whatever body they reunited in but is obviously not attracted to children. Wei Wuxian is not looking forward to spending years lusting after his own damn husband while Lan Zhan can only see a child. Yes, it’s definitely for the best.

Even if Wei Wuxian is terribly lonely. 

So the years pass. Wei Wuxian cultivates a golden core, gobbles up modern slang like he was born for it, learns how to code in Python, and enters high school with an end goal: immortality by age twenty-four. The current record-holder is Wen Qing, who cultivated to immortality at the ripe old age of twenty-five, the lucky bastard. She reincarnated in the 1500s into the perfect set of circumstances: a second-eldest son of a wealthy family who practiced cultivation. Her family patriarch was one of the community elders who semi-regularly communicated with the immortal cultivators. The year when Wen Qing was brought along for the first time, Wen Ning took one look at her and said “jiejie” and that was that.

Obviously, Wei Wuxian has to beat her record. 

Some of them choose to forget.

Over the centuries Wei Wuxian and the others have encountered countless reincarnations of people they knew from their original lives. (And important people from future lives too, but those were never quite the same. There’s something about their original lives that always sang like an unfinished symphony, an epic story not yet fully written, even though Wei Wuxian lived a full life). Sometimes the choice is made for them not to help them remember. Such was the case for a reincarnation of Jin Guangyao, found in 556 B.C. by Wen Ning and Sizhui. Sometimes they choose to move on, like the reincarnation of Jiang Fengmian found by Jiang Yanli. They leave him alone nowadays, whenever they find him. His soul is not so attuned to anyone else’s as to have the strike of realization that hit Wei Wuxian on that crowded street. 

The worst is when they reunite, live happily, and still choose to say goodbye. Nie Huaisang reincarnated in Italy, dragged Wei Wuxian off to France to learn Impressionist painting, and still chose to reenter the reincarnation cycle. Wei Wuxian, whose body that decade could not even form a golden core, simply could not understand Nie Huaisang’s unwillingness to cultivate to immortality. He still doesn’t. 

Humans have orbited the moon. For that alone, it is worth it. He only wishes all humans could feel how far they’ve come.   

Even those that chose to become immortal have retreated from the world. So many lifetimes, so many childhoods, so many parents and lovers and children–it’s impossible to care equally forever. The world feels so much larger when you have been an Egyptian farmer during the reign of Cleopatra, to whom the pyramids were ancient history, and one of the slaves who built them, and a Finnish soldier who fought on skis against invading Russians in 1939. In the face of such grandness, how can one tiny community, one family, one person matter?

It’s a blessing and a curse. Wei Wuxian has had good parents and bad parents and everything in between until he finally figured out how it works. He’s grown up in enough families with pet dogs that he’s lost his fear of them. On the other hand, he has had so many friends in so very many forms that he struggles to convince himself they truly matter. They’ll all be dead within the century, anyways. 

Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng have the opposite problem. They only have one life, the original, to remember, even as that life’s length stretches far past the boundaries of a normal human lifespan. Their main link to the world, Wei Wuxian knows, is him. Sizhui and Jin Ling drag them out for enrichment exercises, and Jiang Yanli can usually get her way if she sets her mind to it, but it’s still guilt over Wei Wuxian’s second life as Mo Xuanyu that keeps them here. 

The 21st century slams in, a rush of technicolor and lightspeed and skyscrapers (and like all centuries, war, disease and death). The tale of the Yiling Patriarch vastly outstrips the size and weight of Yiling. The Burial Mounds are a nice forest now. Hundreds of thousands of people hope for his return. And still Wei Wuxian cannot manage a single immortality-sized golden core. 

The opportunity sneaks up on Wei Wuxian. Shamefully, he needs the obvious spelled out before he can see it. 

“You going to the cultivation tournament?” 

Wei Wuxian was actually studying calculus. Seriously, it’s crazy how much people have proven about math since the last time he–wait, cultivation?

When Wei Wuxian digs his nose out of his textbook, Ian is smirking at him, and Chen is blinking innocently. Ian slouches over the library table so he can push the textbook shut.

“Eh, probably not worth it,” Wei Wuxian dismisses. He’s not learning cultivation so he can dunk on some kids who only learning cultivating without the cultivation. 

“You sure?” Chen butts in, now smirking too. “I hear winner gets to meet the immortals.”

Ian grins when Wei Wuxian’s mouth falls open. The kid has no idea what’s going on with “the immortals” or cultivation–he’s pretty sure that Ian thinks he and Chen are deep in a religious cult with weird beliefs but normal holidays–but Ian  gleefully abuses the effect it has on Wei Wuxian.

“Sounds made up,” Wei Wuxian says suspiciously.

“No, no, it’s true!” Chen insists. “They hold it every twenty-five years. Or they say they will. They haven’t done this before.” 

It’s very hard to get very old immortals to do something new. What changed? 

The answer smacks Wei Wuxian in the face as Chen pulls out his phone and shows an official-looking announcement, shared around their community, to Wei Wuxian. It’s the internet. Previously, Wei Wuxian lived entire lives without ever hearing of cultivation. Now, anyone with an internet connection will probably run into the term at least once. Now, Wei Wuxian’s family can reach out, through screens and cables and the casual interest of millions, to him.

They’re doing this for him.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t read Wikipedia articles. Lan Zhan regresses into a fugue state whenever Wei Wuxian’s not around. Maybe Wen Qing had the idea, maybe Sizhui put it together. Because they’re still reaching out, still waiting for Wei Wuxian to come home. 

This is his chance. 

[waitineedaname]

I love that the best emotional acting when it comes to facial expressions comes from Lan Wangji (microexpressions) and Jiang Cheng (macroexpressions). Lan Wangji doesn't emote much but when you're keyed in, the tiny little changes in his facial expression are Devastating. Meanwhile Jiang Cheng is feeling Every Emotion, All The Time, and you are going to see it on every inch of his face. He'll go through twenty different expressions in the same amount of seconds and that face journey will be but a brief glimpse into the awful emotional rollercoaster that is Jiang Cheng's life

[touchlikethesun]

i feel like, years from now maybe even decades, i will still be waking up in a cold sweat thinking about the last line of mdzs.

"and forever after, his eyes could never move away from him again."

[rayan12sworld]

💠💙Wei Wuxian’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good First Meeting With His Future

By:Enigmatree

Summary:

Wei Wuxian is expecting to have a nice day learning from Lan Qiren and bugging Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng in the Cloud Recesses.

He's not expecting to see a portal open and drop out a fake Lan Wangji carrying a madman demonic cultivator that the fake Lan Wangji calls Wei Ying.

Too bad that's what he gets.

........

 An entirely self-indulgent mini story I wrote because I love young characters coming across their older, eviler, and very incomprehensible selves. There's absolutely no plot.

Chapter1/1

Words:3,095

Status:Completed

In this fandom if anyone ask what is my top 1 for one shots ,I would choose this one, I have reread it so many take that I can't even count 😅

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💠💙Brotherly Desperation

By:MarvelWeirdo

Summary:

The room watched on in shock as the bodies of the Second Jade and First disciple of Yunmeng Jiang shook violently.

Their bodies almost seemed like projections, both flickering between teen and young adult bodies,

Their future selves.

“Lan Zhan… you really should have let your elders take me.” A bitter smile followed.

“Wei Ying,” the room’s temperature dropped, as the cold Jade let a tear roll down his cheek, “ They will never take you, not from me….”

Or Wangxian get transported back to the Gusu lectures and everyone is a witness to their trauma.

Why? I hear u ask,

Because.

Chapter:1/1

Words:1,498

Status:Completed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lan xichen is very concerned (and confused)

By:theninjacat

Summary:

Lan Xichen isn’t sure what to make of this new version of his brother.

or

wangxian time travel from a universe where the sunshot campaign went on for years. confusing many people. the sects spy on them after one of the war meetings.

Chapters:1/1

Words:3,026

Status:completed

I have read so many one shot fic ,but I like these three the most 😚😚

[soapy-soartp]

*in awe* Oh fem Lan Wangji <33

Inspired by this absolutely stunning dress- hey maybe I have a fem hua cheng drawing coming soon :))

[gravitywonagain]

House Party

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

.

The house is very easy to spot. The building itself doesn’t stand out in any way on this street full of giant, expensive interpretations of log-cabin-chic. Upper Biling is full of this style of architecture. No, it’s the cars in front of it, in both sheer number and apparent condition. Almost none of them were made in the last decade. Almost all of them are plastered with bumper stickers (Wei Ying’s favorite is the white silhouette of a snowboarder on a chairlift that says “Do you even lift?”). 

The music is loud enough that the beat can be heard from the driveway, but not loud enough for lyrics. The combined smell of weed and beer filters through the pine trees from, presumably, the back patio, along with wood smoke and happy voices. 

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan walk up the stairs to the front door and scrape their feet off on the snow grate to the right of the welcome mat before entering. 

It had been surprisingly easy to convince Lan Zhan to come to the Peruvians’ house party once they’d invited him. He hadn’t previously understood that the invitation was open to pretty much all of the employees at Cloud Recesses, including all levels of management. Once Wei Ying told Diego to ask Lan Zhan in person if he was coming (“make it casual as fuck,” he’d said and Diego had nodded along and delivered spectacularly with a “hey, Boss, you like any particular flavor of fizzy waters? I’m stocking up for the party on Tuesday”), Lan Zhan had a very hard time saying no. 

Stepping inside, Wei Ying immediately realizes it’s too loud in here for Lan Zhan. Realistically, it’s too loud for Wei Ying, too, but he’s used to it so he’d live with it for the warmth and the friends. Lan Zhan has no problems with the cold so they decide to keep their shoes on, wipe them off on the ratty, pink towel that’s been laid out like a mat for this purpose, and stay off the carpet on their way to the patio -- via the kitchen, of course. 

Wei Ying makes a point of saying hi to almost everybody they pass. Quick little greetings, nothing that will drag him into a conversation, but just enough to make his and Lan Zhan’s arrival known. 

He finds Ben and David in the kitchen. David points Lan Zhan to the fridge where he pulls out a can of carbonated water, just as Diego had mentioned (loquat flavored, because the man fucking follows through). Ben offers to make Wei Ying a mixed drink, but Wei Ying begs off.

“Nah. Nothing hard for me tonight,” he says. 

“Cool, man,” says Ben, entirely unbothered. “Beers are out back!”

The thing about winter parties in a ski town is you never run out of ice. 

As they walk out the sliding-glass door to the back patio, they see there is a berm built around one side of the fire pit area with many varied cans of beer sticking out of the snow. It’s super easy to build your own backyard refrigerator as you shovel over the course of the season. And it’s always fun to see what melts out of it when spring rolls around. 

It’s quieter out here, but still very much part of the party. There’s an Alexa speaker playing the same music as is playing inside and a handful of other people out here either to smoke or to escape the noise. They snag a couple of chairs by the beer wall and sit down next to Remy and Elizabeth. They’re both instructors in Juniors’ Club so Wei Ying pulls them into conversation easily, placing Lan Zhan between them and himself so he feels included. And he is included. The women ask him his opinions, they prompt stories from him. They don’t make him feel weird either for being there or for not being there before. It’s good. It’s easy. 

The fire is close enough that Wei Ying doesn’t even need to keep his hands in his pockets. He gestures when he talks and it only gets worse the more he drinks. The vanilla porter he’d grabbed when they first sat down is almost gone already and he contemplates his next drink. He’s just decided to see what the fuck Luponic Distortion tastes like when he hears his name. 

“Hey, Wei Ying,” it might be Nick from Rentals, “is that an 805 by your head?”

Wei Ying turns his head to survey the cans in the snow, finds the black and silver label he’s looking for, and tosses it easily into maybe-Nick’s waiting hands.

“Thanks, man!”

“You got it!”

Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan and grins. “Usually I get tipped for that kind of service,” he says with a wink.

“Do you work at a bar?” asks Lan Zhan, head tilting slightly to one side. It’s an absurdly cute look on him. 

“Only sometimes. Yanli-jie lets me pick up a shift or two when I ask.”

“Why would you need to ask?”

“She’s not a mind-reader, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows are unimpressed.

Wei Ying cracks up at just how bitchy he looks. “Okay, sorry, sorry,” he says and then continues, “The resort pays me enough to cover food and rent and to pitch in for the car, but sometimes I want a little extra. So I pick up a shift at the Lotus Tavern and whatever I make in tips, plus some under-the-table hourly, I can spend on whatever I’d like.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, you know what I like, Lan Zhan.”

He’s not sure if he’s matching the heat in Lan Zhan’s eyes or the other way around, but they lock eyes either way. It’s intense. 

Wei Ying is so into it. 

“Snowboards,” he says finally, still not looking away. 

“Mn.”

“Mhm.”

Remy clears her throat subtly. Wei Ying hears it but doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until she says something about her dogs and Wei Ying jolts out of whatever trance Lan Zhan had trapped him in. 

“Okay,” he says, “I need another beer.” He stands because suddenly he has all of this energy with nowhere to put it, but realizes that he does not, in fact, need another beer as he’s barely started in on this one, the can still heavy and full in his hand. He doesn’t let that stop his momentum. “Do you want another water or anything, Lan Zhan?”

“I’ll try a beer.”

“You --? You don’t have to. If you don’t want to drink, it’s fine.”

“Can you drive us back?”

“Uh... yeah. I’ll stop after this one,” he says, gesturing with the mostly-full can. 

“Then I would like to try a beer.”

“O-okay. Sure. Yeah. What do you want?”

“You’re the bartender. What do you think I’ll like?”

Wei Ying laughs off the flirtation in Lan Zhan’s voice because he is trying, okay? Lan Zhan is stepping outside his comfort zone, even more now, and Wei Ying needs to respect the boundaries that have been set. No matter how hard Lan Zhan wants to make him. It. It, not him. Obviously. Pull yourself together.

Lan Zhan’s lips curl in a tiny, almost-smug smile and Wei Ying knows he’s doing this on purpose. He hates it. He loves it. 

“Let’s start you with something a bit mellow. You’ve never had beer before, right?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan confirms, “I tried baiju once, on my twenty-first. I don’t remember it.”

Wei Ying laughs and says, “Okay. Beer will be easier on you, I think.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying selects a Fat Tire from the wall and wipes off the top of the can before he hands it to Lan Zhan. 

“Alright,” he says after the crack-hiss of the tab being opened, “this is an amber ale. It’s not too hoppy, but it’s not sweet either. It’s a pretty average beer. A good quality, average beer.”

Lan Zhan waits until Wei Ying is finished explaining before he lifts it to his mouth. 

He takes a sip -- a tiny sip -- and immediately scrunches up his nose at it. 

But he goes again. Another sip, slightly bigger this time. His nose wrinkles only slightly less. 

Wei Ying laughs, his smile stretching his cheeks. “You don’t have to like it, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I’ll finish it for you if you don’t want it.”

Something not unlike a pout begins to form between Lan Zhan’s lips and he holds out a finger, “Give me a moment.”

The faces don’t stop over the course of the next few sips, but they don’t seem to impede Lan Zhan’s determination so Wei Ying leaves him to it and drinks his own beer. 

He’s adorable, Wei Ying thinks as he watches Lan Zhan, so fucking cute. 

The alcohol works fast in him, it seems, as it’s not very long before Lan Zhan begins to slump in his chair. His eyelashes flutter as if trying to stay open. They fail. Wei Ying catches the beer can as it slips from Lan Zhan’s long, loose fingers. 

It’s a little bit insane, but Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan might be asleep. 

He lifts the can of Fat Tire and shakes it gently in his hand: half of the beer is still left. Did Lan Zhan really just pass out after half a can of beer? Half a can of pretty tame beer? 

Lan Zhan’s lips are slightly parted and, as soon as they are free of the beer, his hands settle clasped together in his lap. The firelight dances across his sleep-slack face and Wei Ying can’t help but stare a little bit in wonder. 

He’s aware he should probably wake him. This cannot be what Lan Zhan expected from this night. Not that anybody has even really noticed, but it could be awkward, Wei Ying supposes, to have fallen asleep at a party surrounded by coworkers -- if Lan Zhan is still Lan Zhan and hasn’t realized that he’s One of Us yet. 

But just as Wei Ying makes the decision to stop staring and Do Something, Lan Zhan’s eyes blink open. 

He looks a little glassy. Wei Ying thinks that maybe he’s just groggy from the surprise nap he just took. But then Lan Zhan looks up at him and Wei Ying knows -- despite the composure he maintains as he rights himself in the chair, despite the perfectly stoic set to his face -- Wei Ying knows immediately that Lan Zhan is -- actually, really, in real life, somehow -- drunk. 

It’s in the subtle tilt of his body, leaning toward Wei Ying like he’s leaning into a turn. And then… and then he starts becoming… a little bit… clingy. 

It wouldn’t even be noticeable were it anyone but Lan Zhan. Just a few small touches: knees bumping together, elbows, shoulders. Lan Zhan’s full attention focused on Wei Ying. But it’s not obvious to anyone else, it seems, and it’s nice. Wei Ying is enjoying it, possibly a little more than he should. So he’s prepared to just let it ride for the time being. Let Lan Zhan be comfortable with himself for a moment. 

That is, until Shawn shows up. 

When Shawn walks out onto the patio, it’s clear to Wei Ying that he’s there with a purpose. Wei Ying can even hazard a guess to what that purpose is. He’s not surprised when Shawn spots him and nods before making a bee line for where he’s sitting with Lan Zhan. He is surprised, however, to see Lan Zhan not quite glaring at Shawn as he approaches. 

Shawn notices it too and makes a small, uncertain wave of his hand, like he’s trying to convince Lan Zhan that he comes in peace. When nothing changes, Shawn shrugs it off and squats on the other side of Wei Ying’s chair. 

Wei Ying knows what he’s going to ask, he knows why he’s getting so close to ask it. The hot chocolate machine in question is still a secret, after all. 

“It broke again?” he asks and Shawn nods. 

Shawn leans in closer, presumably to give details, and Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan’s hands close around his forearm and bicep. His head whips around so fast, he almost smacks his chin into Shawn’s cheek. Lan Zhan never initiates this kind of touch. It’s jarring and wonderful and so not the time. 

Wei Ying turns back to Shawn, schooling his face into a cool nonchalance and trying to block Lan Zhan from his view. He missed whatever details Shawn had given him, but he doubts that it really matters. 

“Yeah, man,” he says with an easy smile, “I can take a look on Monday.”

Shawn takes his cue and stands to leave. He says his thanks and grips Wei Ying’s shoulder before he goes. When he does, Wei Ying looks back to Lan Zhan and sees… well… 

Since their conversation on the chairlift, Wei Ying has noticed certain changes in Lan Zhan’s behavior. There’s been a playful undercurrent of flirtation. It’s subtle, a look from across the room or a murmured comment by the lockers. This is… not that. This is possessive. Pouty and jealous in a way that seems specifically designed to break Wei Ying into pieces. Hot and suggestive in a way that has Wei Ying’s pulse racing. 

Lan Zhan looks like he wants to crawl into Wei Ying’s lap, right now, in front of all these people. And, while Wei Ying would absolutely love that, Lan Zhan has very specifically said that he would not, so Wei Ying needs to… do something. As soon as he can get his brain back online. 

“Let’s,” says Wei Ying, giving himself a moment to think, “let’s go for a walk.”

He stands and Lan Zhan looks up at him with eyes like honey. He holds out his hand to help Lan Zhan to his feet and, though Lan Zhan takes it, the man stands with a fluidity and grace that can really only be called seductive. Wei Ying just hopes that he’s the only one to notice. Somehow he doubts that he is. 

He pulls Lan Zhan back inside and through the house back to the front door. He makes excuses as he goes but whether anyone actually buys them, he has no idea. He stops by the fridge to grab another fizzy water for Lan Zhan, waves his thanks to Diego, and gets himself and Lan Zhan back out onto the street. He’s fairly certain he manages to play off Lan Zhan’s drunken clinginess as drunken instability, but he’ll probably never know. He just hopes Nie Huaisang will help him out with that one. 

-

Wei Ying takes a deep breath as they step off the driveway. The night is cold away from the fire, but Lan Zhan is warm against his side. Their breath condenses into small clouds that waft away in the light breeze. 

They walk together down the twisting streets of Upper Biling, past houses that Wei Ying couldn’t even guess the price of, and through neighborhoods that lay almost empty for three-quarters of the year. Summer homes and winter homes to people who can afford five houses and put snow tires on their sportscars. 

While they walk, Wei Ying rambles. 

It’s easy to talk to Lan Zhan. He’s a good listener, a good friend. When he does choose to interject it’s always with something relevant and often with some new perspective that pushes Wei Ying out of his own spiral. 

Or, at least, he is when he’s sober. 

Drunk Lan Zhan still listens -- actively even, nodding and humming at appropriate intervals. But he also wanders off mid-sentence to try to climb his way to the top of a very icy snow berm. 

When Wei Ying directs him away from the potential death trap, Lan Zhan pouts again, harder. 

“Boring,” he says, and Wei Ying can’t help but laugh. 

“Oh, ‘boring,’ is it?”

Lan Zhan nods. 

Wei Ying laughs. “Is this what you secretly want to be like all the time?” he asks. “Clingy and flirty and cute?”

“I am not cute,” says Lan Zhan, sounding almost offended at the implication. 

“You are adorable.”

“No. No, I’m cold and ‘hostile.’” He says it like a quote. Like something he’s heard before. Wei Ying wants to find out who it was who said that and throw them off a mountain. 

Since that is not an option available to him, he jokes instead. “Ah, yes. So hostile, Lan Zhan.”

“People are afraid of me.” 

Which, annoyingly, is true, but, “People are idiots.”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

Wei Ying scoffs so hard he thinks he might hurt something. “I was a little afraid you were going to jump into my lap and claim me when Shawn was just trying to ask me for a favor.”

Lan Zhan looks at him and hums. It’s not dismissive or in any way negative. A smirk even starts curling in the corner of his lips. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” says Wei Ying. “You’re secretly possessive, too.”

“That’s not much of a secret.”

The intersection is one Wei Ying recognizes. If he’s honest, he’s maybe a little lost. But he is pretty sure that up this road is a park that he has walked to with Jiang Yanli, his sister, and Jin Ling, her son. Like eighty percent. Sixty-five. It’s fine. Lan Zhan follows him easily as he steers them toward it. 

“Oh no?”

“I’m rich. Doesn’t that automatically mean I’m possessive?”

“I think the only thing that automatically means is that you have money.”

“I don’t want it.”

“The money?”

“It’s my parents’ money. It’s still supposed to be theirs.” 

Dead parents are not a super fun topic of conversation at the best of times. At the drunk of times, the tone can get very sad very quickly, and that very much is not where Wei Ying wants this to go. Lan Zhan doesn’t need to get maudlin drunk, preferably ever. So Wei Ying deliberately brushes past that. 

“You’re twenty-six. Wouldn’t your trust fund have kicked in by now, anyway?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Ah?”

There are swings in the park. The black rubber of them is dusted with snow, easy enough to brush off. They sit, turned toward each other still in a way that, once they start swaying a little, causes that awkward torsion in the swing. 

“It was my birthday last Sunday.”

Wei Ying’s mouth drops open. “Lan Zhan! Happy birthday! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?”

“Whatever you wanted me to.”

“Hm… Whatever I wanted?”

Suggestive. But it’s not Wei Ying’s rules they’re following tonight. “Anything.”

Lan Zhan cocks his head to the side. “You wouldn’t have told everyone?” he asks. “Thrown a big party?”

“No,” Wei Ying laughs, “you’d hate that.”

“But I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh. Oh no. 

Does Lan Zhan think that this is what Wei Ying wants from him? Did Lan Zhan agree to come just because he thought it would make Wei Ying happy? 

Oh fuck. 

Wei Ying stops swinging and grabs hold of the chain of Lan Zhan’s swing too, turning him, forcing their eyes to meet. 

“Lan Zhan,” he starts, “I’m not trying to change you. I just want you to see that you’re welcome here. That people like you. Not that you have to want this all the time. Just… that you can have it… when you want it.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow with something that’s probably skepticism but might be genuine curiosity. He repeats Wei Ying’s words, “When I want it.”

Wei Ying nods hard and fast. And then, “Which you don’t have to! I just--” he takes his hand back and wraps it around his own swing chain. “You seemed so lonely.”

Silence settles between them. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable, either. It just is. The kind of silence in which words are processed. Feelings are processed. Wei Ying doesn’t want to rush it, but there’s an emptiness to it that crawls under his skin. 

He pushes against the ground with one foot, swing creaking back into motion. 

“But I would never force this on you for your birthday!” He gestures vaguely in the direction he thinks the party might be. “That would be absurd.”

“Absurd?” Lan Zhan’s voice is warmer around this repetition. A genuine question, this time. 

“Yeah! Your birthday should be about you. Not anybody else. If all you wanted was to drink tea and read, then you should have that.” Wei Ying shakes his head, “I would just like to have bought you the tea.”

“What if I wanted you there?”

“Then I would be there.”

“What if I want you now?”

Wei Ying tenses. It’s not so much that Lan Zhan’s tone has shifted or his voice has changed. He still speaks with the same smooth baritone, the same stoic serenity, that he’s had all night. But it’s like the air around them charges with electricity. A chill shoots up Wei Ying’s neck. He drags his toe to slow his swing again. 

“Ah… haha. Now is a different story. You’re drunk now. After,” Wei Ying raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, still in disbelief, “half a beer...” Like that’s a thing that happens in real life. 

There’s a sound like a pine bough cracking under too much snow and then Lan Zhan is standing in front of him. His long fingers wrap around the chains on either side of Wei Ying’s head, arresting his momentum as he looms, beautiful and radiant in the soft light. His eyes are bright with intention. He’s so close, Wei Ying can feel the heat of him. 

“Ah… And because you’re drunk,” Wei Ying says very carefully, “I have to stick to guidelines as previously discussed.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t look convinced. He drops to his knees slowly, fingers dragging down the chains. The sight and sound send shivers down Wei Ying’s spine. Without asking, his thighs spread wide as Lan Zhan settles between them. The snow beneath Lan Zhan’s shins crunches and then starts to melt. 

He smiles and it’s devastating. “So you don’t want me to…”

Lan Zhan’s palms are hot on Wei Ying’s thighs, searing even through the thick denim of his jeans. Wei Ying bites his lip to keep from whining at the touch. They slide higher and higher until Wei Ying draws on all of his meager self-control and stills them. He takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut against the stunning vision of Lan Zhan, wanton and willing, looking up at him from his knees. 

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” he groans. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me the responsible one. I’m not good at it.”

He opens his eyes and that small, infuriating pout has returned to Lan Zhan’s face. Wei Ying has to take another breath before he can move. 

He grips Lan Zhan’s hands and brings them both to their feet. His arousal is obvious in his jeans and Lan Zhan definitely notices, but Wei Ying ignores it, ignores Lan Zhan’s raised eyebrow, ignores the way he licks his fucking lips. (The man is a menace, truly.) 

Wei Ying clears his throat against the lust threatening to choke him. He walks Lan Zhan back over to the other swing and gets him sitting down on the cold rubber again. He moves behind him so he doesn’t have to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, wraps Lan Zhan’s hands around the chains, fingers lingering longer than strictly necessary, then starts pushing him. 

The motion is good, distracting. Something to do that doesn’t involve actively ignoring the heat in Lan Zhan’s gaze, the pout on his lips. If he holds Lan Zhan’s waist a little too tight, nobody else needs to know. 

When Wei Ying regains control of his body, he lets himself chuckle a little. “You’re probably not even going to remember this in the morning, are you?” he says, watching his breath condense. 

Lan Zhan just shrugs and hums a non-committal sound. 

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and says, “I bet you only had one shot at your twenty-first.”

The night is quiet except for the metallic scrape of the swing as Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan in an easy rhythm. He tries not to think about other rhythmic activities and to focus, instead, on the cold air biting his cheeks and on keeping Lan Zhan upright on the little plastic seat. 

The cold is good. Sobering. Wei Ying breathes it into his lungs and lets it soothe him. There’s woodsmoke in the air, too, from somebody’s fireplace or backyard pit. 

He looks down at Lan Zhan who is listing to the side like he’s falling asleep. His jeans are wet-dark around the knees and down his shins and Wei Ying realizes that he needs to get Lan Zhan inside somewhere before he freezes or becomes too tired to walk. Wei Ying is strong, but he’s not sure he can carry a passed out Lan Zhan up Northwoods Blvd. Or down Northwoods, to be honest. 

Wei Ying still doesn’t remember how to get back to the Peruvians’ house from here, but he does recognize this park as the one he’s visited with his sister and nephew. Jiang Yanli���s house is actually fairly close and Wei Ying is pretty sure he knows the way. 

Lan Zhan is pliant and amenable when Wei Ying asks him to stand. He’s still listing to the side so Wei Ying gets an arm around his waist and tries to think about anything but the press of Lan Zhan’s body against his own. It turns out to be easier than he thought because the worry takes over. Lan Zhan is cold. He’s leaning hard into Wei Ying’s side and even if he is playing it up a little -- as Wei Ying suspects he might be -- he still needs to get to a bed soon. 

It’s only about four blocks to Jiang Yanli’s house from the little park. Wei Ying sees her mailbox sooner than he expects and points it out to Lan Zhan. Wei Ying and Jin Ling painted the little silver and gold stars on it together. 

Lan Zhan smiles at them and Wei Ying’s knees buckle, which is sweet, but they’re about to climb the driveway and Lan Zhan still requires support so Wei Ying really has to pull himself together. 

Jiang Yanli’s house is huge. Wei Ying always kind of forgets until he’s standing in front of it, but it’s an obscenely large house. The driveway climbs almost fifty vertical feet from the street and the house rises two stories from there. Hidden from street view, the back of the house drops another two stories down the side of the mountain with a wooden deck that gets near-panoramic views of the valley. Floor to ceiling windows in the living room. High, vaulted ceilings. All pine and granite. A fucking elevator. 

It’s way too big for a single family but Jiang Yanli married Jin Zixuan, scion of the Gold Peony Resort Jins. A family that owns hotels and golf courses in three countries. Jin Zixuan, himself, owns the Lanling Golf Course in Caiyi Town. 

Bad enough he’s a golfer, but Jin Zixuan was a real jerk to Jiang Yanli when they were teenagers and Wei Ying has never forgiven him for it. He can admit, however, that he’s treated her well since he managed to get his shit together and ask her out properly. They’ve been married for more than five years now. It’s fine. 

He texts Jiang Yanli instead of ringing the doorbell because children have bedtimes, Wei Ying, and it’s like 11pm and that seems awfully late for a four-year-old to be awake. Lan Zhan curls closer into Wei Ying’s arms as they stand in front of the door and wait. 

Jiang Yanli doesn’t text back but Wei Ying can hear movement inside the house and sees a light turn on inside before the porch light attempts to blind him, and she opens the door in her slippers, a pair of sweats, and what Wei Ying assumes is Jin Zixuan’s high school mascot t-shirt. (A wolverine, he thinks.) 

“A’Ying?”

Her voice is thick with sleep and guilt churns his stomach until he remembers that he’s not really here for himself. 

“I’m so sorry, Yanli-jie,” says Wei Ying, “I know it’s late, I just didn’t know where else to go and hypothermia was becoming a concern.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyes go wide and she takes in the man who may or may not be asleep on his feet in Wei Ying’s arms. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine!” Wei Ying says, quick to reassure her but still trying to keep his voice down. “He’s fine. Just drunk. And a massive lightweight. Seriously, I’m never going to let him live this down.”

It’s then that Jin Zixuan pokes his head around his wife’s shoulder, eyes squinting against the (really, incredibly bright) porch light.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks, recognition and concern screwing up his face. 

“Okay…” says Wei Ying, looking to his sister. “Why does your husband know my boss?”

Jin Zixuan, not as useless as one might be tempted to think, steps out and gets his arm around the other side of Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wakes up at the new contact but seems to recognize him and allows this so, together, the three of them start moving toward the guest bedroom, following Jiang Yanli down the stairs. 

“We were rich kids on the high school downhill team together,” says Jin Zixuan, and Wei Ying struggles not to laugh.

“See,” he says, “that’s the kind of thing I would have guessed, but I would have done it in a mocking way. You just said that with so much aplomb that I can’t even make fun of you for it now.”

“Oh great, he’s using words like ‘aplomb.’”

Wei Ying can’t actually see Jin Zixuan in their current configuration, but he knows an eye roll when he hears one. 

“Shut up, I’m more literate than you are, Business Degree.”

“A’Ying,” Jiang Yanli chides from below them. 

“Sorry, Jie.”

They settle Lan Zhan on the guest bed which, because Jiang Yanli is a real adult, is a real bed with a real comforter and far too many useless pillows. Wei Ying kneels to take off Lan Zhan’s shoes which, along with his own, have tracked road dirt and snow all through Jiang Yanli’s beautiful house. Lan Zhan is no help in this, but he does, to Wei Ying’s great relief, agree to take off his own pants. 

Wei Ying gets him tucked under the covers and Lan Zhan falls asleep almost immediately. 

Wei Ying sets a glass of water on the nightstand. He fishes Lan Zhan’s phone out of his jeans and sets it next to the glass along with a pair of ibuprofen tablets. He has no idea if Lan Zhan gets hangovers or not -- if someone can even get a hangover from half a beer -- but better to be prepared. 

Wei Ying takes off his own shoes and carries them with him as he goes to meet his sister and her husband out in the kitchen. He sets them by the door, next to Lan Zhan’s. He tries not to think about his and Lan Zhan’s shoes together in his sister’s shoe rack, like they’re dinner guests or visiting on purpose rather than too drunk and too lost to find their way back to the car. 

In the kitchen, Jiang Yanli has a kettle on the stove already and is plating what looks like rice cooker bread, because she is a literal angel. Jin Zixuan is sitting at the counter helping her sort through their many teas. Wei Ying does have to admit that he is a very good husband. Golf course or not. 

“Oh no,” says Wei Ying, eyes widening with a startling realization as he sits on the counter next to his sister and looks imploringly at Jin Zixuan, “please don’t tell me he golfs. I like him too much to stop now.” 

It’s a joke (mostly) that Wei Ying hates golf. And golfers. Environmental concerns aside (which they really shouldn’t be), it’s a mind-numbingly boring sport. Wei Ying loves to poke at Jin Zixuan with this particular stick whenever it comes up.

Jin Zixuan huffs. “Why would--? Nevermind. He does not golf. You’re safe.”

“Oh, thank god,” says Wei Ying with an exaggerated sigh. He turns to cover up the even more startling realization that he would probably still like Lan Zhan even if he did… occasionally golf. Wei Ying elects to keep that to himself.

The bread melts in his mouth. It’s so delicious that his eyes actually close on their own. She’s a goddess, his sister. 

Even though it’s clear that Wei Ying pulled them out of bed, both Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan stay up with him for a little while as he finishes the bread that keeps appearing on his plate and the water that keeps refilling itself in his glass. 

“I’m fine, Yanli-jie. I only had two beers. It’s Lan Zhan I’m worried about.” 

Which, unfortunately, prompts a conversation about why he and his boss were wandering around Upper Biling together while drunk -- “Not drunk!” -- and courting hypothermia. 

Wei Ying is not subtle in his diversion as he directs the line of questioning away from how he feels about Lan Zhan. How Lan Zhan feels about him. It’s not-- It’s not the time for that talk. Not now. Not when Jiang Yanli is stifling yawns behind her hand and Jin Zixuan is still right there for some reason. 

If they were friends, though, Wei Ying does have a question for him. 

“Were you at his twenty-first?”

Jin Zixuan nods, looking uncomfortable at where this might be going, but still answers, “I was.”

“It was only one shot, wasn’t it?”

There’s a pause, and then Jin Zixuan sighs and nods again, “It was.”

[zelkam]

— the untamed (2019), episode 32

[mdzsfan]

A cruel symphony of love and suffering

Thank you so much for requesting @Aelsher_- !  (from wattpad)

(This ended up being more angst, then how I originally planned. But there's a happy ending  and this was very fun to create hehe).

The Hanahaki is a fictional disease, in East Asian cultures where the victim coughs up flower petals, after they suffer a fate of unrequited love.

Petals drifted from her lips like confessions never spoken, delicate and heartrending. Hanahaki, they named it, a cruel symphony of love and suffering. The room held a sense of solemnity as the petals tumbled from her mouth, each one a testament to a love she had kept locked away.

In the sanctuary of her room, moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a ghostly glow on the scattered petals that adorned the floor. The scent of plum blossoms hung heavy, mingling with the memories she held close to her heart.

From a distance, she had watched him, Lan Wangji. A figure of ethereal grace and unwavering discipline. His mere presence radiated tranquility, like a moonlit night on a calm lake. Yet beneath that stoic exterior, emotions stirred, evident in the blossoms that fell from her lips.

Lan Wangji, a name that evoked reverence and longing. His dedication to the ways of the Gusu Lan sect was unyielding, but his eyes held secret emotions hidden behind the façade. The petals, a manifestation of her feelings, seemed to bridge the gap between their unspoken connection.

The moon cast its silvery light upon the courtyard, revealing his silhouette as he moved gracefully among the shadows. Lan Wangji, a master of the guqin, moved with an elegance that matched the melodies he played. Their eyes met through the window, a shared moment of unspoken understanding in the moon's gentle embrace.

Y/n found herself yearning for a deeper connection. Her heart craved his affection, his companionship. Why did fate play such a cruel hand? She had meticulously followed the thousands of rules of the sect, and treated everyone with unwavering politeness. Yet, amidst all her efforts, the one thing that remained elusive was him. 

As they locked eyes in the midst of reality, y/n moved to dispel the tension, drawing the curtains closed. A weight settled in her chest, her breath quickening in unmanageable spirals. Her heart raced, an unsettling nausea consuming her. And then, as if an unrelenting echo, she vomited those enchanting yet poisonous plum blossoms. Coughs followed in rapid succession, until blood stained her cloth, a grim testament to her condition.

Y/n sought out the healers, desperation evident in her eyes, but even their wisdom couldn't unearth a solution to her affliction. Hanahaki was a rarity of a rarity—an ancient ailment with a mere 0.1% chance of occurrence. Her determination, however, remained unshaken, her resolve stronger than ever. To face this silent adversary, she chose a path of avoidance, steering clear of Lan Wangji with every ounce of her being.

"Xiao Mei!" Wei Wuxian's cheer rang out as y/n crossed paths with him.

"Wei er-gongzi!" Y/n's greeting was accompanied by a warm smile as they drew closer to each other.

"Don't be so formal!" Wei Wuxian playfully scolded, his tone light. "Remember, we're friends."

"Of course," y/n replied, chuckling softly. She covered her mouth suddenly, a fit of rapid, harsh coughs overtaking her.

"Are you all right?" Wei Wuxian's concern was evident as he reached out to touch her face, checking for any signs of distress.

Y/n managed a reassuring smile, though her coughing had left her a bit breathless. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice still carrying a touch of hoarseness.

Wei Wuxian's hand lingered on her face, his brow furrowed with worry. He gently assessed her temperature, finding it oddly normal despite her recent coughing fit.

"I know what would make you feel better!" He exclaimed, gripping her arm gently.

"Where are you taking me?" she responded, amusement tugging on her lips. 

"To a-zhans!" he declared, his voice feeling with cheer and excitement. 

Her face lit in horror, and quickly stopped. 

"Why are you so scared?" Wei Wuxian asked as his brows furrowed in confusion "I know he can be grumpy sometimes, but he's always nice to you, and you guys are best friends!"

"It's not that," Y/n hesitated, as her voice trailed off. But as her gaze met Law Wangji who was now facing them. She quickly turned and dashed into her room, pushing the door. 

Y/n could discern the shadow of sadness that crossed Lan Wangji's expression, yet she convinced herself that maintaining this distance was the wiser path. It pained her deeply, this act of pushing him away, but she couldn't bring herself to bear the weight of potential rejection and humiliation. The thought of unrequited feelings gnawed at her heart, urging her to take this route ignoring him seemed the lesser of two agonizing options. The prospect of dealing with the consequences paled in comparison to the agony of baring her unreciprocated emotions to him.

While on the way to the library, y/n found herself abruptly pressed against the wall by Lan Wangji. His arms formed a barrier, preventing any avenue of escape. Fatigue and weariness marred his countenance, the signs of exhaustion evident. Disheveled and disarrayed, his appearance was a stark contrast to his usual impeccable self, his hair unkempt, and his ribbon askew.

"Wangji, what is the meaning of this?" y/n exclaimed, her voice tinged with both fear and the pressure exerted upon her.

"You," Lan Wangji's voice emerged, a soft exhalation. "Why have you ignored me?"

"I haven't," she responded, a hint of defiance in her tone.

"What have I done to deserve this treatment? Why have you turned so distant?" Lan Wangji's voice lowered to a whisper, his confusion palpable. "I witnessed you sharing smiles with Wei Ying, yet in my presence, you flee, your expression portraying fear."

"If your heart truly belongs to Wei Wuxian, there is no need for you to conceal it," Lan Wangji's voice held a quiet conviction. "Just don't leave me again."

A wave of guilt swept over y/n as the reality of Lan Wangji's emotions settled in. Her intentions hadn't been to evoke this reaction from him, but her stubbornness had blinded her to the impact of her actions.

"Is this truly your interpretation?" y/n's laughter held a bitter edge. "You believe that I harbor feelings for Wei Wuxian?"

"Despite our shared upbringing," she continued, a touch of disbelief colouring her words, "it seems as though you know nothing about me." A hint of hysteria crept into her laughter, a poignant reminder of the irony that had woven itself into this situation.

"Then tell me!" His voice cracked with a mixture of desperation and frustration as he clutched her shoulders, tears tracing their path down his cheeks. "Tell me the reason why my closest friend has been ignoring me for weeks."

"Oh, so you're eager for the truth now?" she taunted, her tone edged with bitterness. "You, who can hardly stand up to your own uncle, yet you have the audacity to demand the truth from me?"

Her words faltered as the petals tightened their grip, the sensation almost suffocating. She pushed him away, desperation flaring as she retreated to her room, the need to release the petals becoming urgent. Once behind the closed door, she emptied herself, the blossoms and blood mingling in a haunting display of her unspoken agony. This time, it was more intense, the hue of the blood darker, marking the depth of her struggle.

Her heart raced, each beat echoing in her ears as her vision blurred. The agony coursing through her was nearly unbearable.

As the weight of her suffering intensified, she found herself struggling to remain upright. The room seemed to spin around her, and the pain was as tangible as the air she gasped for. Every heartbeat felt like a thunderous drum, each thud resonating through her weakened body.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji's determination didn't waver. With a fierce resolve, he pressed his ear to the door, straining to catch any sound from within. His own heartache mingled with worry, and a sense of helplessness gripped him. He knew something was deeply amiss, something he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Y/n!" His voice, raw and urgent, seeped through the door, carrying with it a desperate plea. "Please, let me in. I need to understand. Why are you ignoring me? Every night I wonder what I did wrong. I spent many sleepless nights thinking, where did everything go wrong. I just want my bestfriend back."

On the other side of the door, y/n fought to steady herself, the room around her threatening to dissolve into darkness. Her breathing grew ragged, and her resolve to protect him began to crumble under the weight of her own suffering. Yet, in this moment of vulnerability, her love for him remained unshaken, and it was that love that gave her the strength to respond.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the door, her fingers barely able to push it. Slowly, she pushed the door, as it revealed her disheveled figure, petals scattered at her feet. In that fleeting instant, her eyes met Lan Wangji's, and all the words that had remained unspoken seemed to hang in the air, waiting for a chance to bridge the chasm between them.

Y/n offered him a fragile smile, a glimmer of reassurance in her eyes. And then, without warning, her strength gave way, and she collapsed into his arms. Blood and petals spilled from her lips, a stark reminder of the hanahaki's cruel grip on her, and her labored breathing weighed heavily in the air.

"Y/n!" Lan Wangji's voice cracked, raw with panic and fear as he swiftly caught her, his arms encircling her limp form. "Y/n! Wake up," he implored, his voice a desperate plea, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

His arms cradled her, his fingers trembling as they brushed against her skin. Panic surged through him, a tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume his composure. Gently, he shifted her in his arms, his touch tender yet urgent, as if his very presence could summon her back to consciousness.

"Y/n," his voice was a whisper, laced with vulnerability, as he pressed his forehead against hers. "Please, open your eyes. You can't leave me like this." Every word trembled with the depth of his emotions, every syllable a plea for her to return to him.

He held her close, the petals that had once haunted her existence now scattered around them, a poignant reminder of the love he hadn't fully comprehended until this moment. In his arms, he held not just a friend, but a soul he had come to cherish a truth that had remained hidden in the silence between them.

As the seconds stretched into eternity, his heart raced, his every sense attuned to the hope of her awakening. "Y/n," he murmured once more, his voice a prayer in the quiet room, a plea for her to fight back against the darkness that threatened to steal her away.

Time seemed to stand still as Lan Wangji cradled y/n in his arms, his heart aching with a depth of emotion he had never experienced before. He could feel the weight of her frailty, the fragility of life that hung in the balance. Every rise and fall of her chest felt like a precious testament to her existence, and he held onto her as if his grip alone could keep her tethered to the realm of the living.

Desperation fueled his actions as he gently patted her cheek, his touch a mix of urgency and tenderness. "Y/n, please," he whispered, his voice cracking, "come back to me."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with anticipation, as Lan Wangji's pleas hung in the air like a fragile melody. And then, after what felt like an eternity, a faint flutter of eyelids stirred. Y/n's eyelashes trembled, and her eyes slowly opened, her gaze meeting Lan Wangji's with a mixture of confusion and recognition.

"Lan Wangji?" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, as if she were emerging from a dream.

Relief washed over him in a powerful surge. "Y/n," he breathed her name, his grip on her tightening almost instinctively. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you share your feelings with me?"

A weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she attempted to speak, though her voice was strained. "I... I'm sorry, Wangji."

The weight of her apology hung in the air, the unspoken truths between them finally laid bare. Lan Wangji's gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his touch gentle. "You don't have to apologize, y/n. I wish you'd have confided in me sooner, but I understand why you kept this hidden."

Y/n's eyes shimmered with emotion as she looked up at him, her vulnerability mirrored in his own eyes. "I was afraid," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Afraid of losing our friendship, of facing rejection and humiliation."

Lan Wangji's thumb caressed her cheek, his touch a soothing balm against her doubts. "Y/n, you mean the world to me. Our friendship is invaluable, but if there's a chance for more, I want to take it. I want to explore these feelings with you."

Tears welled in her eyes as his words reached her heart, erasing the fears that had held her captive. "Wangji," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude and affection.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her forehead in a tender, chaste kiss. "Rest now, y/n. We have time to heal and to discover what lies ahead for us."

As the room bathed in the soft light of their shared understanding, they clung to each other, a promise of a future woven from the threads of their unspoken love. The journey ahead wouldn't be without challenges, but they faced it together, united by the bond that had weathered the storm of pain and petals.

[twistedappletree]

TYPE: One-shot

JURISDICTION: It’s fluffy with a dash of angst, your honor

PAIRING: 💛 Jin Ling / Lan Sizhui 🩵

SIDE CHARACTERS: (background) Lan Jingyi, (background) Fairy

ELEMENTS: Gusu/Lanling settings, canon universe, Lan Sizhui POV, friends to lovers, teens to adults timeline, Lan Sizhui being adorably patient with Jin Ling~

✨

Sometimes, people break and they just need to be held. So, Lan Sizhui holds him and thinks about how beautiful hands are.

As Jin Ling’s breathing steadies under the gentle touch of his hands, he’s so thankful he has them.

🪭

In which Lan Sizhui navigates his feelings for Jin Ling from the day they meet, through friendship into adulthood and learns that some hearts just need love and patience to heal.

{AO3}

Lan Sizhui thinks hands are beautiful.

Maybe it’s the aesthetic of them—their idle poses, so effortlessly poetic, the stories told by callouses, scars, or lack of each. Maybe it’s what they’re capable of—creating, working, holding, nurturing, speaking without words.

Or maybe it’s who they belong to. Maybe it’s the way their hands brushed when they first met, briefly, but long enough to electrify Lan Sizhui’s senses. Enough for him to spin around with stars in his eyes and question what they might become.

Ever since, he daydreams a lot.

He’s careful not to let it disrupt his studies but it’s difficult at times. Difficult when he’s a stride away from him, looking determined and prideful and frustrated and bored in the span of seconds, a constant storm of emotions shamelessly on display. It’s the air of someone who boasts confidence, who always gets his way, who feels openly, fervently, vocally until his throat is raw, until someone listens.

It’s alarming and endearing. It’s an eruption Lan Sizhui wants to explore and understand, even if it burns him because it doesn’t make sense.

Nothing about the feelings Jin Ling gives him makes sense, and so he often looks at his hands for an answer. This complicates everything.

•

They’re on a night-hunt in Gusu.

Lan Sizhui stays by Lan Jingyi’s side while Jin Ling trails behind them with Fairy. He refuses to walk with them, no matter how many times Lan Sizhui invites him to. They haven’t known each other long but Jin Ling has made his prideful demeanor obvious. Perhaps he feels he’s too good for them, or maybe he just doesn’t like them.

But Lan Sizhui stops himself from speculating because Jin Ling is here with them of his own free will, choosing to night hunt with them instead of on his own. He can feel Jin Ling staring at him as they walk—not at Lan Jingyi, only him. He’s burning a hole in his back with those fiery amber eyes. Lan Sizhui is patient and mature for his age but he’s still young. He wants to turn around and ask him what he wants but he bites his tongue because part of him is afraid of the answer and another part of him is afraid of the way his words will catch in his throat when he looks at him.

It’s embarrassing. It’s confusing. It’s exhilarating.

He hopes their hands touch again.

•

After agreeing to separate and cover more ground, Lan Sizhui hears a scream in the distance and recognizes it immediately.

He runs faster than he’s ever ran in his life, runs to the same person who turns his nose up at him and tries so hard to pretend he doesn’t exist. Why? He thinks, Why am I running?

Because he’s human above all else. It doesn’t matter if Jin Ling doesn’t like him. That doesn’t mean he wants him to get hurt.

Lan Sizhui arrives just in time to defend Jin Ling from an unusually aggressive corpse. He notices Jin Ling’s sword is on the ground, too far for him to reach. Jin Ling is also on the ground with a deep gash in his forearm staining his golden robes crimson with fresh blood.

Something in Lan Sizhui ignites like a wildfire and he subdues the corpse more viciously than intended, severing its head and kicking its decapitated body with so much force, it crashes into a tree and crumples limply to the ground.

His breathing is heavy when he drops to Jin Ling’s side. He tries to touch his arm and examine the wound but Jin Ling flails and spits venom with his words. “I’m fine,” he snaps, “Don’t touch me!”

Jin Ling’s eyes are red and glassy. His lips are trembling, his body shaking. It’s obvious he’s hurting and the venom in his words doesn’t match the pleading in his gaze. Lan Sizhui ignores his protest and carefully helps him to his feet.

He’s clinging to him. He’s crying. He’s blushing. He’s beautiful.

Lan Sizhui retrieves Jin Ling’s sword and sheathes it for him, then helps him find his balance as they step onto Lan Sizhui’s sword and take flight back to the Cloud Recesses.

Jin Ling lets Lan Sizhui hold his hand to elevate his wound and sparks shoot through Lan Sizhui’s veins. Everything feels warm. He feels so warm against him.

•

Jin Ling walks with them now.

Lan Sizhui notices he prefers to walk alongside him instead of Lan Jingyi. They’ve known each other for months now but Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi still butt heads and bicker, even if it’s rarely serious. They won’t admit they’re friends and it makes Lan Sizhui smile.

Lan Jingyi is called away by one of their seniors, leaving Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling alone together. They walk wordlessly through the Cloud Recesses in the chill of Gusu’s wintry air. The Lans are always dressed for it but Jin Ling isn’t a Lan. He shivers and hugs himself and shuffles closer to Lan Sizhui.

Their shoulders brush together and Lan Sizhui looks down at him. Jin Ling is trying desperately to appear fine, to appear nonchalant and entirely uninterested in any comfort Lan Sizhui might have to offer. His nose and cheeks are dusted pink from the cold, his brows are sharp and pointed as he glares into the distance, focusing on anything other than Lan Sizhui to distract himself.

Lan Sizhui removes his outer robe and wraps it around Jin Ling, who freezes as though he’s been trapped in ice. Their eyes finally meet and Lan Sizhui expects Jin Ling to yell, to curse, to rip the robe off and shove it back into his arms.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks away again and tightens the robe around himself. He’s smiling.

Lan Sizhui’s heart melts.

•

There’s some days when Jin Ling wants to be left alone and Lan Sizhui respects that.

Today is one of those days but something’s different. He’s fidgeting, he’s cursing over his open book, he’s shredding his fingers through his hair in frustration. Lan Sizhui knows that Jin Ling often gets discouraged if he doesn’t understand the material they’re learning. His offers of help aren’t always well received since the line between help and insult is razor thin with Jin Ling.

His eyes keep wandering from his own work to Jin Ling until his heart drops. He looks closer. Jin Ling is crying and it’s not normal. It’s more than just frustration, more than incomprehension. Something is hurting him. Something is broken.

Finally, Jin Ling cracks and pushes himself to his feet. Their senior screams at him as he runs out of the room. Every disciple turns to look at him, including Lan Jingyi who turns to Lan Sizhui with a question on his face.

Lan Sizhui doesn’t think as he stands and runs after Jin Ling. Their senior is screaming at both of them now but he doesn’t care.

He runs faster than he’s ever ran in his life, faster than he did on their night-hunt. He runs to the same person who used to turn his nose up at him and tried so hard to pretend he didn’t exist, the same person who now looks him in the eyes, stands by his side and treats him like he’s the only one in the world.

Because they’re friends above all else. It doesn’t matter if that’s all they’ll ever be. That doesn’t mean he’ll abandon him to his thoughts.

•

Lan Sizhui finds Jin Ling with Hanguang-Jun’s rabbits. They’re hopping around him, pawing at him curiously as he hugs his knees and cries.

He’s careful as he approaches him, still unsure of what exactly is upsetting him but it becomes clear soon enough.

Lan Sizhui sits on his knees in front of him, far enough to give him space and close enough that he doesn’t feel alone. “A-Ling?”

That’s all it takes for Jin Ling to rush forward into Lan Sizhui’s arms. By the way he shivers and sniffs and sobs in his embrace, Lan Sizhui knows he’s stressed. He’s tired. He’s breaking and that’s okay. Sometimes, things are too much and there’s no clear explanation.

Sometimes, people break and they just need to be held. So, Lan Sizhui holds him and thinks about how beautiful hands are.

As Jin Ling’s breathing steadies under the gentle touch of his hands, he’s so thankful he has them.

•

It’s an odd feeling being older.

Everyone has specific duties now, duties that fill up their time in ways they never had to worry about as juniors. Lan Sizhui is the only exception after stepping aside to let Lan Jingyi lead the Lan sect. Lan Sizhui knows he’s the projected choice with the highest cultivation and the right temperament to lead—he simply doesn’t want to.

There’s too much to see, too many places to travel, too many souls to meet, things to learn, experiences to be had. He’s always wanted to know more than what’s directly in front of him.

So he travels. He sees the world. He collects things along the way to bring back to his friends, his family, to him. He thinks about him everyday, hears him in the songs around the world, sees him in the beautiful art of distant places. Even when they’re apart, they’re always together. They’ve known each other for years now. What they’ve become is no longer a question.

Lan Sizhui smiles as he boards a boat to go home.

•

Jin Ling is waiting for him at the docks of Lanling, as expected.

Lan Sizhui can see his long, burnt umber hair playing with the wind like vibrant smoke burning gold in the sunlight. His hair crown dripping with delicate chains reflects and glimmers like a beacon guiding Lan Sizhui towards him, beckoning him to hurry.

They’re closer now and Lan Sizhui hops onto the bow of his boat, earning worried and dismayed glances from both Jin Ling and the other passengers.

Jin Ling’s eyes are smoldering like sunsets with a turbulent mix of disapproval for Lan Sizhui’s antics and anticipation for the moment his boat docks. It fills Lan Sizhui with amusement and joy because sometimes it’s fun to tease him.

But the boat is simply too slow.

Instead of waiting for it to arrive, he uses a boost of spiritual energy to leap from the bow onto the docks. The other passengers yell and Jin Ling shouts out, “Lan Yuan,” in a scolding tone that incites a playful laugh from Lan Sizhui.

They’re still miles apart as they stare at each other—or what seems like miles because it’s never close enough. Jin Ling’s fury melts into something longing, wanting, overwhelming.

He runs. Lan Sizhui runs.

They run faster than they’ve ever ran in their lives. They run while looking each other in the eyes, eager to stand by each other’s side, to feel like they’re the only ones in the world.

Because they’re in love above all else. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of them now. They’re never going to hide.

And when Jin Ling crashes into Lan Sizhui’s arms, he thinks hands are beautiful. The way Jin Ling’s hands wrap around his waist? Beautiful. The way Lan Sizhui’s hands caress Jin Ling’s blushing face? Beautiful. The way his thumb brushes over Jin Ling’s lips before they kiss? Beautiful.

It’s better than a daydream.

Lan Sizhui thinks life is beautiful.

{ 🖤 }

[creationsofthedark]

psd#321 - download link in the source

it will not work on every gif/picture!

you can edit it to fit your gif/picture but

do not reupload psd itselt, do not use to create new colorings and do not claim as your own.

reblog if using. that motivates to share them :)

crediting me if using is nice as well <3

[waitineedaname]

saw a post about mdzs characters and pets and now I'm thinking about my headcanons. Lan Wangji has bunnies, obviously, and they are extremely spoiled. Jiang Cheng does not have dogs because he would like Wei Wuxian to visit thank you, but he works at a dog shelter so he gets his dog time that way. Wei Wuxian can barely be trusted to take care of himself, much less another living creature, so he doesn't have pets but he is inexplicably friends with every corvid that lives within a mile of his apartment bc he regularly feeds them from his balcony. Nie Huaisang has concerningly intelligent parrots that are loud as fuck.

[llycaons]

if you're writing a romance and the change the character has to go through is so dramatic that they're literally insufferable prior to their development then at a certain point it's like. why bother. darcy from pride and prejudice had to undergo major personality changes, but from his first introduction he was a observant and clever, and he conversed intelligently with elizabeth. he did have obvious flaws but they just made me more interested in how he'd change, it didn't make me want to give the book up in disgust. characters can be at odds, have different goals and perspectives, argue and fight, and even be enemies, but they should both be tolerable presences to read

[almonddirge]

Honestly wild that Wei Wuxian was able to fix his sleep schedule so quickly after reuniting with Lan Wangji. I had a sleep schedule like WWX in high school, but in adult life I’ve actually gotten worse to the point I’m still falling asleep between 1 and 3 am but then I’m sleeping 12 hours.

My mom had a free trial of Lan sleep and she hated it. It was because of my brother’s job’s summer schedule, and she has never been so glad for school to be in session soon. She went right back to her normal schedule and is very happy.