CLOSED.

[laozu]

WHO: Ancient China Wuxia Crew ( Wei Wuxian laozu, Lan Wangji wangxian & Jiang Cheng sandu )
WHERE: Various locations.
WHEN: Various times.
WHAT: A catch-all log for literally everything so we don't spam.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Sexual content, discussions of suicide/suicidal ideation, physical violence, difficulties in communication, etc.

Comments

[laozu]

[ there is never a need, it seems. for apologies or for gratitude, and again it rings like dismissal in his ears. it feels like a part of him is being overlooked, disregarded. he wonders if lan wangji does it to protect himself. he's not the type to be caught up in petty grievances and thoughts of revenge, however well-deserved it would be. lan wangji busies himself with the plants, and it was with his hands in the dirt that wei wuxian had found him. it's with his hands in the dirt that wei wuxian thinks of him, their elbows and wrists overlapping one day - planting fresh crops in some undisclosed location. somewhere close to the river, so that he may sail a boat to jiang cheng and thieve him from his bed in the night, take him away from his responsibilities and back to them.

he sits up a little straighter, when told to mind the edge, pulling his legs in underneath his center of gravity so that he's able to stand in the next motion. to cross the roof on bare feet, with bare ankles, and stand over lan wangji. his hands are limp, his shoulders soft and his expression a dark, confused little thing. ]

There's never any need, with you.

[ why, lan zhan? tone curious, he reaches out with his fingertips and gathers lan wangji's jaw into them, tipping his face up from the sight of the greenery and the dirt they keep on their rooftop. ]

You know, you can be angry with me. You can let me know when I've hurt you. You can resent me for the decisions I make.

[wangxian]

[ there isn't.

to be wounded is no consequence. to be struck as though a stray dog, to be left to wait for scraps of anything — lan wangji is fine, he thinks, so long as wei wuxian is alive. if he is permitted to take part, to help, to in some way provide some measure of happiness — he does not expect anything, but still he wants.

green fans beneath his palms. he listens to wei wuxian, how he talks, and thinks he would not say such things if he knew what lan wangji was. but, want is different from need. and no matter how he wants, how much he would never forgive himself if anything were to have happened, he is twisted up within himself because he was not told, because of all that could have been.

he directs it at himself.

and still, wei wuxian touches him. he comes to lan wangji instead of retreating, but lan wangji burns. he burns with sentences he cannot form, with emotions he dare not put a name to. and yet, all that he sees and all that he projects is wei wuxian.

across the blue, against the sun — against the spines of crooked mountains and all their jagged teeth, he sees him. haggard, but still beautiful, he sees wei wuxian's lips curve around the sound of thank you. and lan wangji feels the heart in chest clench a little tighter still. he thinks that one day he will come upon wei wuxian again, dust along the crow's feet that catch now at his eyes, and wei wuxian will despise all and everything lan wangji could lay down at his feet. he will despise lan wangji, for again asking him to come home.

beneath the skin, it is an angry thing that writhes. it coils like snakes within summer, sluggish and sleep drunk. it presses its tongue to the edge of wei wuxian's fingertips, where all bridges to wei wuxian from lan wangji.

his incisors itch. his mouth parts, but it is not around nothing. ]

Do not touch me.

[ and for all that wei wuxian's expression is shuttered and shaded, it seeks. it seeks, as if lan wangji were something to find. tucked around a screen, made vulnerable and ugly, but still lan wangji's hand catches an offending wrist. he encompasses all that is lean and bird bone beneath his fingertips without customary gentleness, his thumb against the pulse.

like a child who cannot abide the whims of either the mind or the heart, there is something that goes flinty and dark in the pale of his eyes. it aches, as though caught against firelight. as though he were younger, rolled through iron and corpse dirt in the damp of a cave. his eyelashes dip, tremble beneath the weight of it.

he is angry. and he is hurt. and he cannot resent him, because all that wei wuxian is has crawled within his foundations and made itself a home, if only as much as wei wuxian will allow him.

and yet —

i cannot lose you. ]