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  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #p:jc/wn #t:fic | “Are you crying?” Jiang Wanyin asks him, and Wen Ning frowns. Pats his cheek with one hand. “No.”
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:bodysharing #n:postcanon #p:lwj/wwx #t:fic | “Mo Xuanyu’s revenge,” Lan Wangji says dully. “It is finished.” Wei Ying hangs onto Lan Wangji’s hand, his palm clammy. “I guess that means I’m finished too. He got what he wanted.” “You are not finished.” Lan Wangji grips his hand tighter and pulls him closer. “We are not finished.” (Or: the one where Wei Wuxian shares Lan Wangji's body with him after the sacrificing curse ends and takes his body with it.)
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #p:jl/ljy #t:fic | Ouyang Zizhen is turning twenty, and he’s invited all of his friends to celebrate. There at the party, Jin Ling meets one of Zizhen’s more... forward friends. Also, Lan Jingyi gets drunk. (Maybe). // TEENS!!! the one where jingyi fakes drunk to rescue jin ling from a suitor.
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #n:♥ #p:lxc/nhs #t:fic | Nie Huaisang stole happiness from Lan Xichen. He stole peace. If he could just see him, and see for himself exactly what he’s done, and know—that will be enough. Then he’ll be able to paint again, and his hands won’t shake as he does it, and he’ll remember why he ever in his life bothered to put brush to ink to paper. After all, a man should have to live with his mistakes. There is no other way to learn from them. His brother believed that. // this fic is fucking KILLER. post-canon, xisang, and the slow dissolution of nhs's persona.
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #p:ljy/lsz #t:fic | The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator. "Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!" Lan Jingyi comes of age.
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #n:timetravel #n:♥ #p:lwj/wwx #t:fic | Lan Wangji opens his mouth. He closes it. He is blisteringly aware of how absurd it sounds for him to say, I am you, only happier. The truth, perhaps, is not always the best choice. // absolutely killer. I've legit never recovered from reading wwx talking to his past self at the height of his trauma, or lwj thinking about how even in time travel he can't see wwx as he was before he gave up his golden core. also, this quote: “Solitude suits me.” Lan Wangji looks at this boy—this boy, who will not understand his pain for months, months, years, decades. All he knows now is cold. When you are born in winter, when you are raised in winter, when you are planted and watered and nurtured in winter, all you can ever know is ice. All you will ever know are hands too frozen to bend, feet too cold to feel.
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #p:lwj/wwx #t:fic | The funny part is - and it is a little funny, even if Wei Wuxian has no one left to share the joke with - they never have. Not anything. He has never kissed any part of Lan Zhan besides his slim hands; never been even partially undressed with him anywhere besides a miserable, xuanwu-infested cave. It’s always been like this between them, this simmering need, this desperate understanding: a knowledge so deep that it lives somewhere in his bones, that if he wanted to have Lan Zhan he could have him, and if Lan Zhan wanted Wei Wuxian he could have that too. But they never have. // this is the fic with the tag about how the working title was Ethical Edging
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #p:lwj/wwx #t:fic | Ah, what else to say...this will be a quick letter, as I want to send it off before I head out in the morning. Of course there’s too much to express—especially when I lack the gorgeous poetry of your voice, which you’ll be pleased to know has prevented my peaceful rest on many a night. It is wrong enough that you lay beyond the edge of the clouds, and I lay alone under feverish rain. I can only hope that I also disrupt your evenings, else life would be far too unfair. Your Wei Ying // between parting and reuniting on a mountainside, wei ying and lan zhan exchange love letters.
  • #c:m/m #f:mdzs #n:postcanon #p:lwj/wwx #t:fic | “We hear that His Excellency might be married by summer’s end,” the merchant’s wife says and Wei Wuxian freezes, his heart in his throat. “The Gusu Lan sect has been buying enough red silk and brocade that the merchants in Caiyi can’t satisfy the demand.” He feels himself grow brittle inside, like a flick of a finger to his temple might make him shatter. His ears are ringing. “Who’s the lucky bride?” he asks despite himself. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Or: The story of a marriage.

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