little AU / canon divergent concepts ft. weird angel timey-wimey shenanigans:
Barn scene, 4x01. Dean realizes he’s seen this man before. Little flashes of forgotten moments throughout his life. The flash of a beige trench coat. Blue eyes haunting his dreams. A head half-turned toward him in a crowd. He asks the man, “Who are you? What are you?” And is both surprised and not when he gets his answer: Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Next he asks, “How?” because the memories are coming back sharper now and he knows he’s seen this exact face, just as it is right now, over ten years ago.
"Time works differently for angels in ways you could not even begin to comprehend,” Castiel explains. “I am billions of years old and I have known you my whole life, Dean Winchester. And I have already watched over you for all of yours. And this is my very first day on Earth in this vessel but you have seen me before. My mission began when I rescued you from Hell yesterday morning and held your familiar soul in my hands. We have many years ahead of us and I am already dead."
he moves her onto his lap, hands tightening their hold on her waist as he pulls her closer to him. she shifts, twisting around to straddle him, settling in to make herself more comfortable.
placing her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, she continues to chuckle away at her own joke.
“i’m just saying, you were never very subtle. my eyes have always been up here luke, not down near my chin.”
she sounds so smug, her toothy smile bright and distracting.
luke tears his eyes away from her smile, looking up to find her watching him. he figures his cheeks might be on fire right now, but so what? she already knows the effect she has on him.
“yeah well,” he tries to feign indifference, coughing slightly into his hand to clear his throat, “you never seem to mind.”
julie’s smile mellows at his words, her eyes soft. “no, i really don’t. kinda think it’s cute, actually.”
luke perks up at her words, his grin making an appearance.
“you think i’m cute?”
true to form, julie rolls her eyes at him, sighing loudly even as her smile stays firmly in place.
“you’re impossible.”
gleeful at the turn in conversation, luke quickly surges forward, pecking her lips, once, twice, until he hears a giggle make its way out of her.
at the sound of his favourite melody, luke changes tactic, only wanting to hear more of it, as he shifts to peppering light kisses all over her face, while his hands migrate to her lower back where they remain firmly locked.
“what are you doing?” she breathes in between giggles, her voice light and full of joy.
“listening,” he presses a kiss to her left cheek, “to my favourite” moves to kiss her right cheek, “sound,” hovers right in front of her, lips aligned with hers. “In the world,” he finishes, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks before pulling her to him.
it’s quiet in the studio after that, but neither luke nor julie seem to mind.
hi! i just wanted to ask your thoughts on how you believe a-yuan grew in cloud recesses? do you think lwj adopted him as a son openly? do you think they lived together in the jingshi or were they kept apart? there are so many different headcanons and i personally think lwj would keep lsz close but i wanted to know your thoughts/headcanons!!!
(hidden dialogue ficlet: unlocked)
When people see Lan Sizhui standing beside Lan Wangji, they often nod and remark in murmurs to one another, now there’s an exemplary disciple! as expected of Hanguang-jun. And it is true, of course it is true! that Lan Wangji raised this child, taught him how to position his hands above a guqin, taught him qin language, was there when A’Yuan attempted his first wobbly notes to question a lonely spirit trying to move on—Lan Wangji taught him how to hold a sword, the very root of elegant form and gracious conduct in battle. Lan Wangji brought him to the field of rabbits, and Lan Wangji combed his hair, and Lan Wangji showed him resilience, and Lan Wangji revealed to him how deeply sorrow can cut.
(There are other whispers too, ones less kind, but we will not dwell upon those.)
But for those first three years, the ones that outsiders know nothing about, the ones that many even within Gusu forget or bury: the one beside A’Yuan was Zewu-jun.
Though Lan Wangji had strength enough to drag his broken form to Yiling and bring back a fevered, half-dead child, he had not the strength to care for him, not the way a four-year-old needs. Lan Wangji, scars bleeding through the white of his robes like slashes of wild poppies, collapsed into his bed, unable to move for days on account of his agony.
And so: what of the child?
Lan Xichen, harried, heartsore, exhausted on the heels of endless endings, carried A’Yuan to the medical building, sat by his little cot and listened to his labored breathing. He wrote letters on a cramped table meant to hold medical instruments and held his personal meetings in the hall of the sick and dying. Lan Xichen split his days and nights beside two beds, dark circles growing beneath his eyes, lines growing upon his brow. A’Yuan recovered quickly. Lan Wangji did not.
And so: what of the child?
Well. A child needs companionship, and a child needs attention, and a child needs warmth and love and education. Lan Xichen could not provide those, not nearly enough by half. He had raised his own brother once, see how that turned out! But what else could he do? A’Yuan could not join the other disciples, not yet. Lost and confused, he stared up at Lan Xichen with round eyes, mouth silent and solemn, grieving and yet not knowing how. It was a familiar expression. Lan Xichen thought of Wangji at six years old, those same eyes, that same mouth.
What else could he do?
For all that it is easy to see Lan Wangji’s hand in Lan Sizhui’s education—his sword forms, his musicianship, his elegance—it is easy to miss Zewu-jun’s: the way Sizhui values peace and guards it with careful diplomacy. The way Sizhui is quick to situate himself between two clashing men. The way Sizhui puts Hanguang-jun’s subtle and cold expressions to words. After all, no one but Zewu-jun could do that before.
And on an unassuming night in the midst of Zewu-jun’s seclusion, when the moon is neither full nor crescent, Lan Sizhui clambers through the sect leader’s window with his closest, loudest friend, bringing a forbidden jar of wine and the kind and gentle smile he learned from the sad-eyed man who welcomes them in.
“i can’t believe i finally made it home,” he says in a whisper, hitch in his voice and tears in his eyes as he gently cradles her tear stained face in his hands.
a small laugh escapes her, breathless, her fingers gently caressing his cheeks.
“we’re not home yet, but we’ll be there soon, i promise.”
he shakes his head, a small smile on his lips.
“no jules, im already there. i’m home.” at her confusion, he emphasises his words by releasing her face and pressing his hands against her smaller ones covering his cheeks. “i’m home,” he repeats, his gaze unwavering.
Sending all the good vibes your way!! ✨✨ Wangxian + laundromat prompt, but only if you’re feeling it!
happy birthday sarah~~ (*´▽`*)
(crossposted to ao3)
—
Someone has taken Lan Wangji’s laundry out of the dryer and dumped it all on the counter in a haphazard heap, even though he started heading down as soon as he received the notification on his phone. He frowns. The clothes are still warm, and the room is empty but for the steady whirs and thumps of the machines. And—it’s fine, it’s just that he always comes promptly when his clothes are done to avoid this exact situation. He likes being the only one to touch his clothes, to know where they’ve been and how they’ve been handled. It hasn’t even been two minutes.
As it is, they’re now on the counter beside another heap of clothes, these ones cold, wrinkly, and probably still a bit damp. He suspects the owner overloaded the dryer, actually. Lan Wangji sighs, lifting his clothes into his basket just as he hears the door bang open and raucous footsteps running down.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, it’s you!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, bounding his way over to the counter.
Lan Wangji takes a moment to control his traitorous racing heart, like he always does, before turning to face him. “Mn.”
“Did your laundry just finish?” he asks, grabbing the pile of wrinkly clothes in both arms like a gremlin, instead of loading them into a basket like a human being.
“You’ve dropped a sock,” Lan Wangji points out. “Two so—three socks,” he corrects as more fall to the floor.
“Ahahah, Er-gege, won’t you pick them up for me?” Wei Wuxian asks, probably pouting if his tone of voice is to be trusted. Lan Wangji can’t actually see his face around the mountain of clothing in his arms. “I can’t reach.”
Lan Wangji acquiesces because he’s weak. “Next time, bring a basket,” he suggests.
“Jiang Cheng’s hamper was full,” Wei Wuxian says, shrugging dangerously. Another sock falls to the floor. Lan Wangji picks it up and puts it back on top of the pile.
“Next time,” Lan Wangji repeats.
“Yes, yes, next time!” Wei Wuxian says. “Thanks, Lan Zhan! See you around!” And then he’s gone in a teetering whirlwind.
Lan Wangji takes another breath to steady himself and picks up his basket.
–
It takes a few moments for Lan Wangji to realize something is wrong. He pours the fresh laundry onto his bed to fold it and grabs a shirt, then another, and then catches a glimpse of unexpected color in the pile.
He blinks and sets down the shirt to reach for the corner of red sticking out amidst all the white.
He finds himself holding a pair of bright red briefs that definitely do not belong to him.
Were they in the dryer before he loaded in his clothes earlier? He thought he had checked, but perhaps not thoroughly enough. He sets them aside to bring back down to the laundry room later, and continues folding.
He finds another pair of briefs, these ones patterned in… lily pads? He puts them on top of the red ones.
It’s when he finds the third pair (a deep violet) that he finally stops folding and starts digging through the pile, discovering, to his increasing horrified bewilderment, that no fewer than twenty-three pairs of briefs and one pair of boxers have made their way into his clothing.
He also appears to be missing all of his underwear.
This doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t make any sense! He stares at the pile of offending underwear with a sinking heart. He knows exactly who they belong to—it’s obvious enough from the aesthetics on display, and when he gingerly picks one of them up, he discovers “wwx” written in fat black marker on the inside of the waistband.
Wei Wuxian writes his initials on his underwear?? Why??
Lan Wangji stands helplessly amidst his unfolded laundry, Wei Wuxian’s underwear, and his own messy feelings.
–
Lan Wangji knocks sharply on the door to the suite that Wei Wuxian shares with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, stack of neatly folded underwear in one hand, ears hot and embarrassed. The hallway is blessedly empty, but he still feels ready to crawl out of his skin.
There’s the sound of what sounds like a rapid argument and brief scuffle before the door is wrenched open.
“Oh, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says, hair mussed and clothes askew.
“Did you… just have a fight over who would open the door?” Lan Wangji asks in lieu of a greeting, definitely not looking at Wei Wuxian’s exposed collarbone.
“Yeah, and he lost,” Jiang Cheng calls out from inside the room.
“You and Huaisang ganged up on me!” Wei Wuxian protests. “But since I’m honorable, I opened the door anyways.”
“Aren’t you glad? Turns out it was for you in the first place,” Huaisang says with a sly bent that Lan Wangji doesn’t appreciate.
“How do you know that?” Wei Wuxian demands. “Maybe he’s here for you guys!”
There’s a disbelieving, ringing silence that follows.
Lan Wangji clears his throat. “I came to return these to you,” he says, trying very hard to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he offers the pile of underwear.
“Return—wait, what?” Wei Wuxian stares at the tidy stack. “What the fuck? Is that—is that my underwear? Is that all of my underw—hold on—wait—”
“It was mixed into my laundry,” Lan Wangji explains. “I came to see if you had mine.”
“Uhh—” Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder, and Lan Wangji can see that he’s thrown his laundry in a pile on his unmade bed without touching it. “Y-yours? Why would I have—are you missing yours?”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, offering the underwear again because he really, really does not want to be holding it any longer.
Wei Wuxian unfortunately doesn’t take them, instead dashing back inside to start digging through his pile of clothing.
“You don’t have to do it now,” Lan Wangji says, starting to panic a little because frankly, he’d prefer not to be present for this. “I can come back later if you find—”
“What the fuck?” Wei Wuxian demands, pulling out a pair of white boxer briefs, and Lan Wangji sort of wants to die, actually, thanks. “Wait, are there more?”
“Really, you don’t have to right now,” Lan Wangji says, a little desperately, though he’s hoping it doesn’t show in his voice.
“Wow, Wei Wuxian, did you steal all of Hanguang-jun’s underwear?” Jiang Cheng remarks snidely. “You know that’s not what people mean when they talk about trying to get into someone’s pants—”
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian snaps, sounding genuinely angry which… well, it hurts. A little. Lan Wangji isn’t going to dwell on it.
“What?” Jiang Cheng retorts unrepentantly.
“You can’t—apologize to Lan Zhan!”
“For what?” Jiang Cheng demands. “It’s not like I was saying anything about his honor.”
“For fuck’s sake—I’m going to—Lan Zhan, let’s talk outside,” Wei Wuxian says, coming back out and slamming the door behind him, muffling Nie Huaisang’s cackling.
The hallway is silent.
Lan Wangji offers him the stack of underwear for the third time.
Wei Wuxian takes it, looking a little dejected.
“Sorry,” he says.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Lan Wangji replies automatically.
“You can’t listen to anything Jiang Cheng says, okay? He just likes to rile people up.”
“He likes to rile you up,” Lan Wangji corrects.
Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, a small smile sneaking its way back onto his face. “Yeah, you’re right. Everyone else is just collateral damage. Still. Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Lan Wangji says. “I’ll come back later to get my clothes.”
“How did you know they were mine?” Wei Wuxian asks.
Lan Wangji resolutely does not say, I know what you like to wear. “Your initials are on all the waistbands.”
“Oh, right!” Wei Wuxian says laughing.
“Why?” Lan Wangji asks before he can stop himself.
“Jiang Cheng got mad that I kept borrowing his and marked them all saying I wouldn’t have any excuses in the future.” Wei Wuxian brightens. “Joke’s on him though! He forgot this one was originally his.” He points at the one patterned with cute cartoon lotus root slices.
Lan Wangji isn’t sure he wanted to know that, but they are very cute and he’s trying very, very hard not to think about Wei Wuxian wearing them. It’s a losing battle.
“Anyways, thanks,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’ll come by your room with your clothes in a few minutes. There’s no need for you to come back up here.” He reaches behind himself for the door handle.
It’s locked.
Wei Wuxian rattles it incredulously.
It really is locked.
“What the fuck!” he shouts. “Jiang Cheng! Huaisang!!”
“You aren’t allowed back in,” Nie Huaisang informs him with irritating cheer. “Not until you take care of this situation.”
“I need to come in to get Lan Zhan’s clothes! How the fuck am I supposed to resolve this situation from out here?”
“We’re taking drastic measures,” Jiang Cheng cuts in. “Obviously.”
“Wait, are you the one who switched our—Jiang Cheng! Let me in! I’m going to strangle you!”
“You’re not allowed back in until you get a goddamn date with Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says imperiously.
There’s a full five seconds of absolute silence. Lan Wangji thinks his heart has leapt up into his throat.
“Excuse me?!” Wei Wuxian demands, voice at least two octaves higher than usual, tinged with an uncharacteristic alarm.
“You heard the man,” Nie Huaisang says with the enthusiastic energy of a sports coach. “Get a date, and you can come back in.”
“You can’t be serious,” Wei Wuxian says. He rattles the door handle harder, as if this will change anything.
“If,” Lan Wangji hears himself say. His throat is dry. “If that’s all it takes, that’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“What? Do what—a date? No, don’t let them bully you, it’s fine, I’ll just break in through the window,” Wei Wuxian says waving his hands. “The latches are broken.”
Lan Wangji can think of almost nothing he’d like less than watching Wei Wuxian literally risk his life to avoid going on a date with him.
“No, thank you,” he says politely to cover for his wounded pride.
“Oh, okay.” Wei Wuxian actually seems to deflate very slightly, which is—huh. “That’s fine. But—oh, but here, you’ll have to take these back.” Wei Wuxian holds out the stack of underwear, not quite looking at Lan Wangji directly. “I can’t climb while holding them. Just uh, take them back to your room? And I’ll break in and bring you your clothes in a few minutes and we’ll swap.”
“It’s dangerous,” Lan Wangji says.
“If you try to break in, I will push you off the building and break both your legs,” Jiang Cheng threatens helpfully.
Lan Wangji opens his mouth, but Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he wouldn’t dare. Here.” He all but shoves the underwear back into Lan Wangji’s hands. “I’ll be quick.”
Lan Wangji catches him by the elbow before he can take two steps. “Wei Ying,” he says, because—because.
Wei Wuxian flinches, but doesn’t yank himself away. “Lan Zhan,” he says nervously.
“I would rather go on a date with you than have you risk your life over some underwear,” Lan Wangji says, which—well, it’s not exactly what he meant to say, but it is true.
Wei Wuxian looks away, but Lan Wangji catches the flashbulb flicker of disappointment on his features, and wait, wait—
There’s a scream of frustrated rage from behind the door.
“LAN WANGJI, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE JUST ASK HIM.”
“Don’t bully Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says automatically.
“IT’S NOT BULLYING IF IT’S FOR HIS OWN GOOD!”
And Lan Wangji might be bad at using his words, and he might be bad at confronting his own feelings, and he might be really, genuinely terrible at reading social cues, but at this point—maybe—
“Wei Ying,” he says, fingers tightening around the crook of his elbow. “Please go on a date with me.”
“Lan Zhan, really, you don’t have to listen to them—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats, forcing the words out past the terrifying anxiety. “I want to.”
Wei Wuxian finally looks at him, really looks. “You want to?” he echoes.
Lan Wangji nods because he doesn’t think he’s physically capable of saying it again.
“Oh.”
“So?” Lan Wangji prompts after a moment, because he’s not sure he can continue to take this.
Wei Wuxian blinks, and then suddenly looks very, very intense. “Okay, hear me out,” he says, which usually doesn’t bode well. “What if you go back to your room, I break in anyways, and then I come down with your clothes, and we make out in your bed for an hour?”
Lan Wangji feels like he’s had all the breath punched out of him.
There’s a disgusted, wheezing gurgle from behind the door. It opens just wide enough for a toothbrush to be flung violently outside before slamming shut again and locking with a resounding click.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian protests, but he’s grinning now, so wide his eyes are crinkled into little crescent moons. “You said I could come back in if I got a date!”
“I fucking hate you! Don’t bother coming back tonight! Fuck this! The things I do for you! Fuck!” There’s the sound of another door slamming.
“Congratulations,” Nie Huaisang says drily. The door opens again, and a box of condoms comes bouncing out. Slam. Lock. “Don’t forget to use protection.”
Lan Wangji’s face is burning, but Wei Wuxian laughs as he bends down to pick them up without a hint of shame, and Wei Wuxian smiles at him like that when he links their pinkies together, and well. Lan Wangji could be convinced to forgive them.
—
* jiang cheng and nie huaisang have been FULLY planning this for like, two months, including but not limited to: stalking lwj’s laundry schedule, timing how long it takes for him to get from his room to the laundry room, pestering wwx to do laundry on the exact day that they know lwj is going to be washing his clothes, hiding in the laundry room to leap out and perform the swap in an absolute mad frenzy so they could escape before lwj saw them at the scene of the crime—
* there’s a lot of chaotic dumbass energy in this scenario ok
after the wars, after everything, when seiya is healed, and they all finally have a minute to breathe and be human again, there’s a moment where everyone is suddenly lost and untethered. the graude foundation still has pretty much endless wealth, so it’s not like they have to worry about their livelihoods, but they’ve been fighting nonstop since they were seven years old, and not having any fighting to do is very strange. so they all split up for a while
Ikki was never really a permanent fixture in the mansion like the rest of them anyways, and he disappears on his travels. he doesn’t take any of the foundation’s money because he’s prideful and frankly still wrestling with his own bitterness about what was stolen from him, and he travels on his own power, works odd jobs, wanders. no one sees him for almost two years. the only person he calls sometimes is Shun, and he always takes care to time it when he knows his brother will be asleep, leaving short voicemails from payphones around the world. “I’m still alive,” he usually says. “Sleep well. Don’t worry about me.”
Shun and Hyoga are sort of together, sort of not together, still trying to figure things out--they got close after they became saints, so a lot of their relationship is built on shared trauma, shared experience, and the constant threat of imminent death, but they’ve never really had the time to know each other in other ways--how they react to minor inconveniences, what chore they hate the most, what they’re like on caffeine, what they’re like on lazy, contented days, what kind of schedule they fall into when left to their own devices--they travel apart for a little bit, seeing what it’s like to have space, but they end up falling together again anyways, so that’s that
Hyoga takes Shun to Saint Petersburg (still Leningrad at the time) and Moscow in the winter--it’s still the USSR in 1990, and the soviet union is frankly on the verge of collapse--but everyday life continues. restrictions are loosening and Hyoga has citizenship, so they’re relatively unencumbered in their travel through the two cities. Shun, it turns out, really enjoys european paintings, especially 19th century Romantic vibes, so Hyoga takes him to the Hermitage, where Shun stands for almost twenty minutes in front of Aivazovsky’s Ninth Wave half in tears, and then spends another twenty in front of Repin’s painting of Sadko, smiling and marveling at the details
at the Tretyakov, he cries three times: once in front of Ge’s Conscience, Judas, once in front of Perov’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, and once in front of Vrubel’s The Demon, Seated
when Hyoga asks him why on the third one, he says, “he reminds me of my brother”
Hyoga looks at the painting and thinks, he reminds me of you
(see notes for links to the paintings, if you’d like)
For the prompt: 14. “How did you fail a survey?” + wangxian
“Oho, what’s this?” Wei Wuxian chirps, popping up to prop his chin on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
“What do you think?” Lan Wangji asks drily, moving his hands to give Wei Wuxian a better view of the angry “0” and sharp tirade in red marked on the paper on the desk before him.
Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “Isn’t this Professor Jin’s—wait, isn’t this the first week survey? How did you fail a survey?” he demands, plucking the paper off the table to look at it more closely.
“It was a poor assignment with inappropriate questions,” Lan Wangji says calmly. “It was a waste of time and unacceptable behavior from a professor. I told him so.” He starts pulling out his laptop as if this isn’t a wild statement.
“Yeah—I can see that now,” Wei Wuxian says, skimming through Lan Wangji’s extensive criticisms annotated in exacting and viciously neat handwriting beside each question. “Damn, Lan Zhan, is this what your students have to deal with? You must be a terrifying TA.”
“Perhaps.” Lan Wangji frowns. “I find their work more acceptable than this.”
“I mean, everyone knows Jin Guangshan is a sleaze and an asshole, but he doesn’t read most of the time, and definitely doesn’t look at assignments past the first page. If you’d scribbled some nonsense under the questions to make it look like you answered them, he would have given you full marks.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Basically.” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I wrote some porn about rabbits that I broke up into sections under each question. And then I illustrated it on the second and third pages.”
Lan Wangji closes his eyes, but Wei Wuxian can see him struggling against a smile. “And did you get full marks?” he asks.
“Oh yeah, here, wanna see?” Wei Wuxian leans over to drag his backpack into reach.
“That’s all right.”
Wei Wuxian can’t help but laugh. “If you say so, Er-gege.” He goes back to reading through Lan Wangji’s brutal commentary. “You really went out of your way to only write in the margins.”
“I wanted him to know what I was doing,” Lan Wangji says simply.
“Are you going to do this for every assignment you object to? What are you going to do if he fails you in the class? It’s a requirement for graduation.”
“Then I’ll fail,” Lan Wangji says peaceably.
Wei Wuxian shoots him a look. “But?”
Lan Wangji blinks at him with a flat and innocent expression, and maybe four years ago Wei Wuxian would have bought it, but Wei Wuxian knows better now, Wei Wuxian knows him better now, so he just stares back pointedly.
“But I’m planning on getting him fired before the end of the semester,” Lan Wangji says finally, turning back to his laptop and what looks like an essay on ancient Chinese law, as if this is the end of the conversation!
“Lan Zhan!” he exclaims, spinning Lan Wangji’s chair around to face him. “You can’t just say things like that and not tell me the plan!”
“The plan is to get him fired,” Lan Wangji says, trying to spin back to his desk, but Wei Wuxian preempts that by climbing into his lap and kissing him messily on the forehead, nose, mouth—
“I love you so much, you know that?” Wei Wuxian says, grinning against Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji retaliates with a sharp, tiny nip, then pulls away.
“Wei Ying.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll let you get back to your boring essay about—what is it about? Wait, no, don’t tell me, actually, I don’t want to know—” He clambers off of Lan Wangji as he chatters, sprawling himself out on the floor and dragging his own homework out of his backpack.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, beginning to type. “Mind your posture.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I’ll cushion my joints or whatever,” Wei Wuxian says unconcernedly, flipping open his folder stuffed with haphazard papers and syllabi. His copy of the contentious survey is still there on top. He grins, slithering back up towards Lan Wangji’s chair.
“Wei Ying.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to read what I handed in to Jin Guangshan?” Wei Wuxian prods, sliding the packet in question over onto Lan Wangji’s keyboard.
Lan Wangji sighs, but he picks it up.
Wei Wuxian waits for a few moments of silence, watching gleefully as he sees the tips of Lan Wangji’s ears redden.
“Wei Ying, did you—” Lan Wangji starts, then cuts himself off.
“Yes? What did I do?” Wei Wuxian asks cheerfully.
“You wrote this about us,” Lan Wangji accuses, looking delightfully embarrassed.
“No, it’s about rabbits!”
Lan Wangji shoots him a withering glare. “You gave this to Jin Guangshan?”
Wei Wuxian laughs. “It’s not like he read it!”
Lan Wangji sighs and closes his eyes.
“Oh, come on, Lan-er-gege! You didn’t even get to the best part! Did you want to see the illustrations? I think I did a good job—hey, Lan Zhan, look, look—”
