"Bully" a short comic by meee :D
Honestly I always wanted to someday post a comic I made here on Tumblr, since 2015, but never did, this is the first time I finish a project and I'm proud c:
Maybe I could love you, too.
Summary: Life would be easier if you werenât so in love with your best friend.
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven
Someone like me
Summary: Youâre not sure why, but Robinâs best friend absolutely loathes you, without question. And that makes things difficult seeing as how you have a massive crush on Steve Harrington.
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven
COMING SOON:
Keep it poetic
Summary: Steve Harrington discovers a world that lies in a different dimension underneath Hawkins, Indiana. One where animals talk, trolls exist, and everyone likes to sing their emotions.
Hi everyone! Hereâs the promised masterpost for the qin su!wwx AU where Qin Su summons Wei Wuxian, along with a brief explanation of the AU. Keep in mind that the links are organized in order of the âverse timeline, so they might shift around from update to update. For nielanâs side of this au (featuring baby Lan Jingyi and plenty of happy nielan) check out this fic.
Introduction
Politics and Sect Dynamics in the Qin Su AU
wei wuxianâs revival (ao3)
rescuing wen ning
lan wangjiâs first meeting with jin zixuan
wei wuxianâs life at the jinlintai
operation su she
escaping lanling (ft. lan xichen)
wangxian reunite
wangxian reunite: part two
escaping: part two Â
escaping: part three (ft. jiang cheng)
flirting for information
drunk shenanigans at the inn
misconceptions about death and resurrection
jin zixuan: matchmaker extraordinaire
a wangxian confession
arriving at the cloud recesses
lan xichen mourns qin su
lan qiren, re: wangjiâs new flame
nie huaisang: the eternal third wheel
escaping lanling redux (ft. the nielan babies)
aftermath at the burial mounds
eloping: wangxian style!
unexpected surprises (ft. nielan)
an afternoon in the rabbit field (ft. lan sizhui)
baby xiao-yu arrives!
More links will be added as I fill out prompts, so keep checking back for updates! <3
Begginâ on your knees: LADS LI begging for your forgiveness
Synopsis: The LIâs have said something to you they instantly regret. Cue the most groveling, pathetic, lovesick apology youâve ever seen.
Warnings: Fluff, Hurt to Comfort, Angst, Description of medical issues, description of wounds, they are pretty pathetic yaâll.
A/n: This was another commission from the lovely @moonlitnycto! This was for my Christmas Commission deal i have going on right now! Spots are still open!
Ë᯽ ÝË Xavier
The mission was supposed to be simple, extract intel, minimal engagement with Wanderers. But of course, you had to improvise.
Xavier watches from the tactical feed, jaw locked tight as you ignore his direct order to fall back, charging headfirst into enemy sightlines instead. His knuckles whiten around the comm unit.
âWhat was that?" His voice cracks through the earpiece, sharp enough to make you flinch mid-stride. âDo you enjoy being a liability? Or are you just determined to get yourself killed?"
Silence. Even the static in your comm feels heavy.
Then, worse, the choked sound of your breath hitching.
Regret drowns him before the mission even debriefs.
Xavier cornered you in the armory the second you were alone, his palm slamming the locker beside your head.
âI didnât meanâ" His voice breaks, raw with frustration, At himself. âYou know I didnâtâ.â
You finally meet his eyes. And his breath stutters.
âYou meant it," you say softly. âThatâs the problem."
The moment your words Xavierâs knees hit the floor like a man sentenced to death.
His hands fist in the fabric of your mission pants, forehead pressing into your stomach as his breath comes ragged and unsteady.
âI hate myself when you look at me like that," he grits out, voice muffled against your uniform shirt. âLike Iâm just another person who doesnât see you."
His fingers tremble where they grip you.
âI see you. Every reckless, brilliant inch." He takes a harsh inhale. âAnd Iâd burn the world before I let my own pride make you doubt it again."
You slide your fingers through his hair, gently at first. Then your grip tightens until his pretty blue eyes flicker up to meet yours. The regret there is volcanic, but you donât let him look away.
âYou want to make it up to me?" you question, thumb brushing the scar on his cheekbone. The one you stitched up after his last reckless charge. âThen listen next time. Trust me like I trust you.â
His jaw flexes, but he doesnât argue. You lean down, your lips a breath from his. âIâm stronger than you think. Nothing is going to keep me from you. In this lifetime, or the next.â
You seal the confession with a kiss.
Ë᯽ ÝË Rafayel
The air in the studio was thick with tension, the scent of paint thinner sharp in your nose as you stood frozen under Rafayelâs glare. He was pissed.
"You lied to me." His voice was dangerously calm.
You swallowed hard. "Rafayel, I didn'tâ"
"Don't." His hand sliced through the air, cutting you off. "I trusted you. I told you things. Things I've never told anyone and the whole time, you were justâwhat? Playing along? Waiting to report back to them?â
âThemâ was the Unicorn Operatives. It was never in-detail things. But Rafayel was still a person of interest for your organization.
Your stomach dropped. This wasnât about some minor mistake, this was about everything, The secret mission, the hidden agenda, the lies woven into your time together.
"I had to," you insisted, stepping forward. "It wasnât about you-â
"Of course it wasnât!" he exploded, voice cracking. "Nothing ever is, is it? Not my art, not my trust. Not even this." His gesture between you two was vicious. "Was any of it real?"
The second the words left his mouth, his face twisted with regret.
You saw it, the flicker of pain in his eyes, the way his fists clenched like he wanted to take it back. But the damage was done. The silence between you was deafening.
And then, quieter, broken: "...Get out."
He froze, the sound of your sharp inhale like a physical blow. When your eyes began to water, the sight sent a lance of guilt and regret through him.
He'd wanted to hurt you with his callous words, to channel his anger into something that would leave you as wounded as he felt. But now, watching the tears well up in your eyes, all he felt was sickening remorse.
His throat tightened. The urge to take it all back clawed at his chest like a wild animal. To apologize, to comfort you, to go back to the way things were.
His knees folded with the weight of his regret. He fell to the ground before you, grasping your hands tightly as if fearing you'd slip away.
"Don't cry," he pleaded, each word a tight whisper. "Please, please don't cry.â His fingers clenched around your wrists, desperate, as if he could anchor you with touch alone.
"I didn't mean it," he insisted, desperation coloring his voice. "I was angry, I was hurt, but I didnât mean a damn word."
A tear rolled down your cheek, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips as he clung to your hands like a sinner at prayer.
You sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "If you really want to make it up to me..."
Rafayel nodded frantically, ready to agree to anything. "Name it."
You pointed at the scattered sketches and paint tubes across the studio floor, his earlier outburst had sent them flying. "...You clean this up."
His mouth fell open slightly.
You tilted your head. "And..." You pause for effect. "...You make me hot chocolate. With whipped cream."
Rafayel blinked once, then exhaled a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead against your knuckles in sheer relief. "Deal," he mumbled.
You nudged him with your knee. "And marshmallows."
He groaned dramatically, but his grip on your hands tightened, like he never wanted to let go again. "Fine. But only because you're cute when you cry."
You scowled. "Rafayel.*"
He grinned, already scrambling to his feet. "Kidding! Mostly."
Ë᯽ ÝË Zayne
The hospital room is too bright, too sterile. The rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor a mocking counterpoint to the furious pounding of your own pulse. Zayne stands at the foot of the bed, his white coat pristine, his knuckles bone-white where they grip the railing.
"How long?" His voice is quiet. âHow long have you been having arrhythmias and didn'tâ" He chokes on the words, his composure fracturing. âDidn't tell me?"
You flinch. The truth lodges in your throat like glass. Three months of hiding skipped beats, of biting back gasps when your heart stuttered mid-mission, of pretending the black spots in your vision weren't getting worse.
Zayne reads the answer in your silence.
âDo you have any ideaâ" He cuts himself off, jaw working. When he speaks again, it's with a cold, clinical precision that cuts deeper than any shout. âYou're my patient first. Always. If you can't trust me with that, then what are we evenâ"
He stops. Catches himself too late.
The unspoken words hang between you like a death sentence: âThen what are we even doing?â
The second they leave his mouth, regret floods his features. He reaches for you.
But you're already turning away, swallowing the bile rising in your throat.
Because the worst part? He's right. And now neither of you can pretend otherwise.
The apology comes hours later, whispered into your hair as he holds you through the worst of the episode, his tears hot against your shoulder.
Zayne holds you in his arms as the episode passes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a steadying counterpoint to the ragged thudding of your own. His tears are hot against your shoulder, his fingers trembling as they trace your spine. He whispers apologies against your hair.
"I didn'tâI didn't meanâ"
He sighs, his grip tightening. You feel the fight go out of him, replaced by a raw vulnerability that's rare in him.
"I don't want to lose you," he breathes. "That's all. I just don't want to lose you."
You turn into him, burying your face in the safety of his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heart against your cheek, the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers trace patterns on your back, as if committing the curves and planes of your body to memory.
For a moment, you let yourself forget the world outside this hospital room, the looming specter of your illness, the arguments and apologies that still linger between you. Here, wrapped in his arms, you're not patient and doctor.
You're just the two of you.
âJust stay with meâŚhurts more when your goneâŚâ Your body shakes with a cut off sob. Zayne just tightens his grip on you.
âAlways.â
Ë᯽ ÝË Caleb
The argument had been brewing for week. Ever since Caleb came back from that last deep-space mission with the neural chip embedded behind his ear. At first, it was little things. The way his eyes glitched violet for half a second when he laughed, how heâd sometimes stare at the wall like he was listening to something you couldnât hear.
But tonight? Tonight it all snapped.
âYou donât get to shut me out like this!" you shout, slamming your palm against his chest. âThat thing in your head is changing you, and youâre just-just letting it!â
Caleb's jaw tenses, his pupils flickering with that unnatural glow as he steps closer.
âMaybe I like the upgrade," he sneers, voice colliding with a coldness that doesnât sound like him. âMaybe Iâm tired of playing the dumb, lovestruck boy when the Fleet needs me sharp."
The second the words leave his mouth, his whole body goes rigid, his expression collapsing into horror as he reaches for you.â
âWaitâPips, I didnâtâ"
But youâre already backing away, your eyes burning with tears.
The second your footsteps echo down the hallway, Calebâs entire body jerks like heâs been shocked awake. His breath is coming in ragged gasps as the artificial glow behind his eyes flickers and dies. The chipâs cold influence fractures, leaving only your Caleb.
âNoâno no noââ
His knees hit the floor so hard the impact reverberates up his thighs, but he doesnât care. Heâs already scrambling after you, his Evol flaring wildly as he slides the last few feet on his knees, colliding with your legs like a man begging for mercy. His arms lock around your waist, his face pressing into your stomach with a broken, wet gasp.
âI hate it. I hate the chip, I hate what itâs doing to me!â His fingers dig into your back, clinging like youâre the only thing grounding him. âPlease, please donât let it take you away from me too. Iâll ripit out myself.â
His voice cracks, and for the first time since the implant, you feel him shake.
You sink down, wrapping your arms around his trembling shoulders to pull him against you. His tears are hot and shaky against your skin. You've seen him through so many things, but this is different. He's usually so strong, so resilient, but this feels like the weight of every battle finally breaking him.
âHey, hey," you whisper, one hand cupping his jaw with gentle ferocity. âIt's you. You're still you, do you hear me?"
Caleb leans into your touch like a kicked puppy. You gently wipe away his tears and give him a smile. âYou can make it up to me by helping me with that model plane. The chip can take away a lot from you. But it can't take away your hyperfixation on those planes.â
Your teasing makes Caleb let out a wet chuckle and sniffle. âYeahâŚplease?â
You kiss his flushed cheek and stand with him. The over 6ft man leans on you like a cane. Youâve always been his support, and always will.
Ë᯽ ÝË Sylus
The door to the penthouse slams open with enough force to make the windows rattle. Sylus strides in, his usually impeccable posture rigid with barely restrained fury. You trail behind him, limping, clutching your bleeding forearm but he doesnât turn to check on you.
Not yet. His hands clench at his sides, the leather creaking ominously.
âSit," he snaps, gesturing sharply to the leather couch.
You flinch but obey, sinking onto the cool material with a hiss of pain. The wound isnât life-threatening, just a deep graze from a stray bullet, but the blood has seeped through your sleeve, staining the fabric a stark, accusing red.
Silently, Sylus retrieves the medkit from the side cabinet. When he kneels in front of you, his face is carefully blank, except for his eyes. His irises burn with a simmering, scarlet intensity, the glow pulsing in time with his rapid breaths.
He doesnât speak as he peels back your sleeve, revealing the angry, jagged gash beneath. His touch is strict, antiseptic swabs, pressure, bandages but his fingers tremble. Just once. A fracture in his composure.
âYou could have died."
The words crack like a whip. You look up, startled, but he isnât looking at you. His jaw works, his gaze fixed on the bloody gauze in his hands.
âAnd for what? A stakeout?â Itâs spoken in a venomous whisper. âYouâre reckless. Stupid. You donâtâ"
He stops.
Sylus drops the gauze. His hands fly to your face, cupping your cheeks with a desperation that steals your breath. His thumbs brush over your skin, tracing invisible wounds as if reassuring himself you're whole. âI can'tâ" His voice breaks. If I lost youâ"
There is a moment of silence as he cradles your face. He falls to his knees.
Not the controlled, graceful descent of a man who kneels only to dominate, but a collapse. A surrender.
âForgive me," he rasps, eyes desperately searching for your own.
He presses his forehead against your knees, his breathing ragged. The anger has evaporated, leaving only raw, unfiltered terror in its wake. Terror of you, for you.
âI didn't mean it." The words are muffled against your skin, his fingers digging into your thighs like the bullet may re-aninate and take you from him again. âFuck. Fuck. I never should haveâ"
His shoulders shake. Just once. He looks up.And you see it: the wet, furious gleam in his crimson eyes. You canât move. Youâve been wounded far beyond this simple bullet wound.
But this time, it had been on HIS watch.
âTell me you hate me," he demands, "Tell me youâll never forgive me. Anything. Justâ" His fingers tighten. âDonât lie there like youâre already gone."
You reach out, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. He flinches, like your touch burns.
âSylus," you whisper.
Thatâs all it takes. He crumbles. And for the first time in his life, the most dangerous man in the N109 Zone begs.
Steddie where Steve runs a small bakery with Robin, and Chrissy is one of their regular customers.
She stops by every morning to buy coffee and pastries before she goes to work, always buys a lot of extra goods for her friends too and flirts with Robin as she waits for her order.
Steve teases Robin every freaking day because her infatuated little grin is adorable, but as best friend it's Steve's job to give her shit about her crush.
This goes on for months, until one morning Chrissy shows up at the shop with a hot guy by her side and Steve bluescreens because, holy shit, that must be the hottest guy Steve's ever seen in his life.
But Steve doesn't even have a chance to greet them properly. As soon as the guy catches sight of Steve by the counter, he turns to Chrissy with these big, shocked eyes, betrayal all over his handsome face.
"Chrissy! I can't believe you hid this beautiful creature from me! I thought we were friends!!!"
Takes Steve a moment to realize he is the beautiful creature.
Wangxian plot bunny I may or may not write, but I encourage people to write as well đŤĄ
Wei Wuxian: I have an excellent idea for people to leave us alone.
Wen Qing: oh boy...
Wei Wuxian: don't you wanna know what I got?
Wen Qing: stupider?
Wei Wuxian: booo! Anyway. I'm gonna send this message at the Great Sects and they'll be so disgusted they'll leave us alone!
Wen Qing: "if you want to keep the Yilling Laozu from doing horrible, ghost cultivation, then send someone as a sacrifice to have nasty, disrespectful sex with him. Those who exceed his expectations will gain everything he owns".
Wei Wuxian: See? 100% guarantie of success! Nobody will take the offer and if they do, I just say it wasn't good enough! Win-win for me!
Wen Qing: so you got stupider. Alright. Scrape that idea
Wei Wuxian:...
Wen Qing: what. Did. You do.
Wei Wuxian: I already sent it to the major sects...
Wen Qing: I swear tO GOD!!
Meanwhile, at the big sects:
At Yunmeng jiang: the message was ripped apart by Jiang Cheng because he knows Wei Wuxian 's brand of stupid and isn't going to fall for it. Also, not willing to send someone to Yilling, like, think of their reputation!
At Qinghe Nie: the message was also ripped apart by Nie Mingju because he thinks Wei Wuxian is mocking them by calling out their righteousness. They're not sending anyone either, but Nie Huaisang 's brain is going "??.. !"
At Lanling Jing: there's a huge debate about which prostitute to send him, how much they'll have to pay said prostitute to keep the Yilling Laozu content and get their hand on the Yin Tiger Tally without sacrificing too much on their side. Everyone is shooting everyone in the foot. Nothing concrete is done.
At Gusu Lan: the message was ripped apart and everyone is shaking their heads at the shamelessness of the Yilling Laozu, they're too "above" to even consider sending anyone. Lan Qiren, knowing Wei Wuxian 's brand of stupid (same as his mother, hmpf!) is nearly ripping his beard off from how mocking the boy is! Lan Xichen is sighing at yet another proof Wei Wuxian has fallen because of his cultivation. He goes to tell his brother not to do anything rash but Lan Wangji is already gone. Oops.
A month later, Lan Wangji comes back with a gaggle of old people and a child. And the Yilling Laozu, dragging his feet and trying to escape. Lan Wangji says "excuse me." at the sentries before walking to the sides in the forest for.. about 45 minutes? and when he comes back, Wei Wuxian is disheveled and loopy. He looks like he's been mauled by a fierce beast. The rest of the Wen group look exhausted and used to it, wishing they could be set somewhere so they don't have to endure their Yilling Laozu being ravished (enthusiastically) by Hanguang-jun four times a day. Wen Yuan is just happy Wei-gege and Rich-gege made up.
the timing could NOT be better. no no listen he HATES to have attention taken away from him, is he really gonna be outdone by this kirk character? no way. listen to me donald. reclaim the narrative. die spectacularly. TODAY
Wei Wuxian inherited many things from his mother, but he got his father's hair, thick, long, lustrous and silky. His hair has always been longer than most and darker than midnight. He doesn't want to cut it, but hates it coming onto his face, on his hands on his sword while he's doing anything, THUS, â¨he braids itâ¨.
It's a long thick braid, reaching below his thighs and sitting on his shoulders without his permission. Whenever he turns around or is sword drilling, it swishes behind him like it has a life of it's own.
Bonus: wwx in braid is many people's gay / straight awakening. Jc and yzh has to keep away suiters (and creeps) behind wwx , cuz he's oblivious to other's crush on him. As he's busy looking at lwj đ
"Lan-xiong," Nie Huaisang says one afternoon, while Lan Wangji is trying to meditate in the courtyard behind the Yashi. "There's something you ought to know before the guest disciples get here."
Lan Wangji squints at him.
"What is it?" he says flatly. Knowing Nie Huaisang as he does, he guesses that Huaisang intends to relay some piece of gossip; but as telling tales about others is strictly forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang ought to know better than to attempt such a thing before the clan's Head of Discipline.
"It's about Yunmeng Jiang," Nie Huaisang says.
"What about Yunmeng Jiang?" Lan Wangji has had little to do with the cultivators of Yunmeng Jiang, but he doubts that a class of their most talented disciples could cause much trouble at the lectures. "Have Jiang-zongzhu's daughter and her shidimei decided not to come?"
Nie Huaisang waves his fan in dismissal. "Oh, nothing so serious as that. It's onlyâwell, have you heard of Wei Wuxian?"
"Briefly. He is Jiang-zongzhu's head disciple, is he not?"
The aforementioned Wei Wuxian's instatement as head disciple was an occasion of some note in the Jianghu, Lan Wangji remembers. For one thing, Wei Wuxian is not a bloodline member of the clan: though this is not so uncommon amongst the latest generation of head disciples, especially in sects where clan disciples are not the majority. For another, Wei Wuxian was apparently disfavored by his shimu from the day Jiang Fengmian first brought him to Lotus Pier at the age of fiveâand when the news of his appointment reached Lanling Jin last year, there was a great deal of murmuring about how Yu Ziyuan had taken it.
"He is the head disciple," Nie Huaisang says gravely, "but that is of no importance here. The trouble isâoh, it's just a word, don't look like thatâis that Wei-gongzi is a calamitous beauty, and his shidimen wrote to me asking whether the Cloud Recesses would be willing to assist in his protection during the lectures."
He holds out a letter and passes it to Lan Wangji. "Here. Jiang-xiong explained everything."
Much to Lan Wangji's regret, the letter's contents are exactly as Nie Huaisang described them. Apparently, Wei Wuxianâreferred to in the letter as da-shixiong, as it had been penned by Jiang Wanyin and his biaodi Yu Zhenhongâis both too handsome for his own good and dangerously charming; and as a result, Jiang Wanyin professes, his shixiong leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes.
The last time we visited Lanlingâwhich we would not have done if we had any choice, but the fact of my sister's betrothal ensured that we had precious little say in the matterâfive of Jin Zixuan's cousins came to blows at the sight of my shige, each insisting that she and no other would be engaged to him in the future, Jiang Wanyin writes. One of the girls jilted her intended on the spot, vowing that she no longer wished to see him again as long as Wei Wuxian walked the earth; and her intended tore off the yaopei she had gifted him and flung it into the nearest koi pond before declaring that she need not worry about keeping their engagement, for he no longer had any love for her and now wished to bring our da-shixiong into his clan as a bride.
Lan Wangji looks up in dismay. "What?"
"Read on," Nie Huaisang advises grimly. "It gets worse."
Yesterday, he stole a flower from a local bun-girl and went to market with the bloom behind his ear; and later, we received news that the sight of him caused six carriages, nine produce wagons, and two riders on horseback to crash when he stopped to cross the street. He returned home after buying all the ruined produce and helping the women who were bruised in the melee, without the slightest idea that it only occurred because the driver of the first carriage was blinded by the sunlight reflected upon his hair; and the next morning, Fuqin received so many petitioners asking for Wei Wuxian's hand in marriage that he hung a sign at the gates to announce that he would entertain no suitors until after Wei Wuxian comes of age.
"Guanyin in heaven," Lan Wangji hears himself croak, stunned. "Howâ?"
Nie Huaisang shrugs. "If you ask me, it's the hair."
Lan Wangji shakes his head and looks back down at the letter in disbelief.
Thus, it is my hope that you will inform the second Young Master Lan about the two latest incidents, and impress upon him the importance of restraint in the Lan disciplesâand in all the others who will come to study under Lan-laoshiâwell before we arrive. (This passage is written in a more graceful hand, likely Yu Zhenhong's.) Our seventh shimei once fell off the pier and into the lake because da-shixiong smiled at her, and no trouble came of it because Lingxi-shimei is a strong swimmer; but if Lan-laoshi's disciples keep falling down the mountain because da-shixiong braided his hair instead of putting it up, someone might truly end up coming to harm.
"This beggars belief," Lan Wangji says doubtfully. "Can one man truly...?"
"I've seen him," Nie Huaisang replies. "And yes. Keep reading."
"'And if it would not be too much trouble,'" Lan Wangji reads aloud, "'please also consult Lan-er-gongzi or Zewu-jun on the subject of da-shixiong's safety.' Safety?"
Nie Huaisang winces. "Wei-xiong is very lovely to look upon," he offers, "and from his dress, it is not always clear that he has the backing of a great sect. Some men do not take well to being told no by a beauty."
"And by some men, you mean the men of Lanling Jin?"
"One never knows where such dangers may come from," Nie Huaisang tells him. "But if you ask me, you ought to keep an eye on the Jins anyway. Apart from Jin Zixuan, I doubt there's a single man in this year's course who doesn't hate Wei Wuxian for enchanting all the Jin girls."
Lan Wangji nods and rises to his feet. "I will handle this matter," he says decisively, turning towards the open door to the Lanshi. "You write back to Jiang-gongzi, and inform him that the Cloud Recesses will be duly prepared for his shige's arrival."
The Lan disciples are prepared accordingly; for over the next week, Lan Wangji orders all the male disciples between fifteen and twenty-five to copy the sect precepts concerning restraint, and ensures that none of the maiden disciples over the age of twelve will have cause to meet Wei Wuxian save for his own sect sisters. Fortunately for everyone concerned, Wei-gongzi is said to be twice as brilliant as he is beautiful: which means that Shufu is easily persuaded to place him in the advanced lectures reserved for disciples who would be hampered by study with the rest of their age-mates. Lan Wangji is the sole male disciple allowed to attend those lectures; so for much of his time at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian's only classmates will be a pair of married women and Lan Wangji himself.
Lan Wangji thinks better of the arrangement three weeks later, when he is carried to the infirmary after meeting Wei Wuxian on the mountain path and falling thirty feet into a copse of trees below.
"I'm so sorry. Lan-er-gongzi, I'm really sorry," Wei Wuxian gasps, gripping Lan Wangji's clenched fists as Xiongzhang and one of the healers set his broken legs at the other end of the bed. "You can hold on as tightly as you like, all right? Zewu-jun is nearly finished."
Lan Wangji closes his eyes tightly.
"What have I done?" he hears Wei Wuxian mutter to himself. "I'm so clumsy. I'll look after you until you're better again, second Young Master, just say the word and Iâ"
"Lan Zhan."
Lan Wangji feels his brother's fingers twitch against his knee.
"What?"
"Notânot Lan-er-gongzi," Lan Wangji wheezes. "You may call me Lan Zhan."
Wei Wuxian beams at him with tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "You're not angry?"
"No."
His eyes fall shut again, provoking a sound of utter desolation from Wei Wuxian. "Here, I'll take that ribbon off," Wei Wuxian says soothingly, his rough hands stroking Lan Wangji's hot forehead. "Your ears are burning up. You'll feel better as soon as it's gone."
At the foot of the bed, Lan Xichen makes a choking sound: but Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care.
"Mm," Lan Wangji sighs, smiling. "Thank you, Young Master Wei."
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