#ghcstchild

@ghcstchild sent: ❝ Don't be like this! ❞ a soft pout chases away all the stiffness of his expression, embarrassment too unfamiliar a word as his sitting position goes from uncomfortable to unseemly, plastered all over the library desk to surrender every inch of himself to the austerity of averted gaze. Pleading for a glimpse of sunshine on his skin, like the fool he makes of himself. ❝ Lan Zhan, look at me. Don't you like my drawing? ❞

“ wei ying. 50 more copies. ” and then he would be free from his distracting presence. the slight ache in his chest at the thought is just anticipation, he's sure. nothing else. though since they are almost done with their time together, he supposes he could spare a quick glance at the other's art. the text on musical scores is set aside for a moment as he picks up the parchment to inspect.

they had gotten a freshly picked bouquet of flowers from someone, delivered immediately as soon as they were chosen for fear of the flora wilting during their travels. when received, jiang yanli had thanked the poor messenger, looking as though they were threatened within an inch of their life to get it to hubei as quickly as possible and then maneuvering on horseback to get specifically into yunmeng. she had given them a jug of water for their travels back to wherever ( though she had an inkling and this inkling had her smiling into the flowers, giddily ), then had headed back into the courtyards of the lotus pier.

currently she sits in between the legs of her shīdì, his hands weaving flower after flower into her freshly washed and dried hair- he's grumbling something though she cannot quite catch everything that is coming out of his mouth, but she laughs anyway. her arm snakes behind her to lightly pinch at wei wuxian's thigh, chiding him for the grumblings. " are you putting a curse on someone, a'xian? " she teases, her feet swaying back and forth in the calm waters. they sit at the pavilion by the edge of one of the walkways, having started out their day with a bit of inscribing and painting. now they've greeted the afternoon with hair - braiding and flower - weaving, watching the disciples cool off by swimming under and beside the docks.

Lan Qiren isn't sure how he feels about it. The Yiling Laozu had done atrocities and should pay for his crimes, yet, he had come willingly with Wangji and the Lans, agreed to get cleansed. It's not an easy process and it requires the two of them to be alone, even if his nephew is right outside. If that's out of fear that his uncle will kill Wei Wuxian or out of worry for his uncle, he doesn't know.

The older man looks at the worn, sick-looking, appearance in front of him, ignoring the singe of pain he feels while doing so. Wei Wuxian choose his path, an unfortunate one he had warned about, but the younger man had not listened, like always. It's a pity, considering how intelligent he is and how much skill he possess. A true loss for the cultivation world.

Cleansing him will not be easy. It will take multiple and long sessions, taking a toll on them both, but if he can be cleansed, perhaps his addled mind might get lighter. Or so Lan Qiren hopes, not that he has voiced those thoughts. If the man survives, he already looks half dead and Qiren almost wants to feed him first, but knows that would just make things worse since the cleansing will most likely expel anything in his stomach.

"There is no need to rush, Wei Wuxian," Lan Qiren replies when the younger man tries to hurry him. "This will take time." With those words, the elder Lan waves his hand and an array appears underneath his... patient, then he takes a seat by his own guqin and starts playing a song very few knows, not the regular Cleansing, but something even stronger, something he wouldn't let his nephews play out of danger to the player themselves. However, he only plays a few notes before stopping, frown deepening. With quick, swift motions, he's by Wei Wuxian's side, grabbing his wrist. The cool spiritual energy of the Lans flows through the younger man, searching, poking. Resentful energy clinging to it like black phlegm, but no matter how hard Lan Qiren pierces through it, through Wei Wuxian, he cannot find what he seeks. Retreating, complexion a shade paler, staring at him with horror visible in his eyes. "You have no golden core." Last time Lan Qiren had sensed Wei Wuxian's golden core, it had been a strong one, filled with powerful spiritual energy, but now... now there was only a void. It made him feel sick and it only had one explanation: Wen Zhuliu.

-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @ghcstchild inquired ; ❛  it's nothing.  ❜

   IT’S ALWAYS NOTHING with him when it comes to his own health. That was something learned throughout their shared history. It was always something that brought him irrevocable pain to still think about. Apparently, it never crossed his mind that all he continued to think about were those THIRTEEN YEARS he spent without the other because it was nothing. Still, even now it seemed, Wei Wuxian continued to fail to realize all he had to do was ask for help. 

   When the world stood against him, did he still not realize that Lan Wangji was determined to stay by his side? Regardless of what the Cultivation World threw at them, all he wanted was to protect the man who was currently telling him it was nothing. 

   There are many words that Lan Wangji can say, many that would fit and would even be heard. Despite how much he failed to listen to warnings, he listened at the very least to the words when Lan Wangji spoke. He might not heed the warning, but he listened. However, as many gathered in his throat just as many found themselves choked down. Having the words to say and being able to speak them didn’t always go in tandem with Lan Wangji. He could fill an entire memoir with the words he had for Wei Wuxian, but they would struggle to fall from his lips. 

   So instead of saying them he knelt in front of the other, undoubtedly getting grass stains on his white robes. He would drench them in much more and had for the Cultivator across from him. Reaching his hand out he gently took hold of the thin wrist that held onto the Dizi, tugging it over toward him and turning it so he could look at the cut across his arm. With his Cultivation not what it used to be, Wei Wuxian was much more susceptible to wounds and infections. He was by no means weak, he would never consider this man weak, but he didn’t recover as quickly as Lan Wangji did. 

   Still, to some extent, he was right. The wound wasn’t that bad and he had more than enough supplies on him to take care of the wound. A simple cleaning and bandage would patch the other right up. 

   Letting go of Wei Wuxian’s wrist he reached into his robes for his Qiankun pouch and opened it up. Fetching out the jar of cream and a roll of bandages, he sat both down beside him. Tucking the pouch back away he held his hand out for Wei Wuxian’s own again. He will not force him to let Lan Wangji patch him up, but his heart would be eased and honored if the other let him. 

... okay.

it was never his intention for wei ying to see him like this. but he had wanted to check on him, and he thought maybe he could hide it.

— foolish.

this is nothing like the broken leg in his youth. it is not something he can grind his teeth and bare. it was obvious the moment he entered the room, movements stilted and far too cautious. he hadn't the energy to fight back when wei ying insisted. he simply sat, trembling from the pain and the cold, and let the other have his way with him.

his back is on fire, torn to ribbons and screaming even more as the bandages are peeled away, taking shreds of skin with them. he cannot help the pained noises that escape his lips. but even still, he tries to reassure the other man.

“ what is done is done. ” he speaks through gritted teeth, fists clenched at his sides. though especially brutal, he understands. they do not want another like his father on their hands.

how ironic it is, then, that he is harbouring the other half of his soul in his rooms like this. but he is not like his father — and perhaps that is even worse.

❝ Your wounds, ❞ is all he manages, a pouch half full of medicinal herbs clenched in his fist until his knuckles go white. ❝ They'll get worse if you don't let me help. ❞ Except he doesn't have to reason, doesn't need to coax Lan Wangji into common sense like a child — it's worse than he hoped it would be. The way something in his chest still tightens, the way his heart still races in the other's presence. It's been months since he left the Cloud Recesses without saying goodbye, and yet that stupid heart of his never learned to deal with unspoken rejection. And now, they'll die if they don't work together, even though it doesn't mean they need to talk, but what else is there to do? There's almost nothing left of the world they used to know. ❝ I won't... do anything inappropriate. ❞ Lesson learned. Still, his grip tightens. ❝ So, be a good boy? ❞

the pain of a broken limb was bad enough. now, with rows and rows of punctures and the sting of fresh poison on top of that, lan wangji has half a mind to use bichen to hack the damned thing off. and with wei ying there, looking at him like that — well, perhaps he should have let the creature eat him whole.

not a word has been spoken between them since that day. so much had changed in the space of a few months, lan wangji's world had flipped on it's head. and yet it would be a lie to say his thoughts didn't drift to wei ying from time to time, even still. despite the rejection he'd felt, despite the losses he'd experienced, there is still longing in his bones.

and yet he finds himself shrinking under the other's gaze. there is no choice to accept the boy's help — he is far too exhausted and his injuries too severe to have any hope of recovering on his own.

be a good boy rings in his ears much more intensely than he'd like to admit. he refuses to acknowledge it.

they do this often- where wei wuxian will bound to jiang yanli and cling to her like he had once done so as a child and each time he does it, it causes her to collapse into a fit of pleased giggles, her chest warm with unbound feelings of familial love for her shīdì. today is no exception to that, she realizes, and as she's bringing a pot of their beloved lotus and pork ribs soup, she feels a pair of arms clinging around one of hers.

her gentle gaze flits to the side where wei wuxian is practically hanging off of her arm- although she seems weak, she is not entirely so ... however, her strength does not go up to being able to hold herself straight with an adult man hanging off her arm. still, she laughs brightly and yells softly, " a'xian! " then she puts the pot down on the table with her one hand and twists to face him, her now free hand cupping his cheek.

" is this three - year - old xianxian or one - year - old xianxian? " she teases light - heartedly, fingers now pinching at his cheek gently. jiang yanli peers up at her shīdì with an immeasurable fondness, her hand coming back to pat at his cheek again. " come now, a'xian. i called a'cheng too- let's have the soup together, okay? "