*seductively crawls out of hell* (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
laozu) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
meadowlarklogs2019-04-21 07:05 pm
laozu) wrote in meadowlarklogs2019-04-21 07:05 pm
CLOSED.
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.
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.
AND NOW FOR BODY WARMTH MEME, IN-GAME EDITION.
Please, stay.
[ he's unsure, how these things go when two people who had once been so close had fallen so far from one another's graces; when they're forced back together, injured and furious, how do they collaborate on anything without burning resentment, bleak insecurity rising to the surface. all he remembers in this moment is what sora told him. kind, wise words from a boy who he had openly admired for his simplicity, the way he viewed the heart of a matter and weighed it as more important than the nuances. ]
If you leave, I'll just have to follow you - and we're both likely to get lost in the dark.
[ in the depths of his pockets, he hides chenqing. the early morning had brought it from his dreams, laying it in his hands as though it needed to be there, with him - and knowing jiang cheng was around, waiting and watching and distant and dangerous, meant that he knew better than to bring it from its quiet, hidden place before his eyes. what matters now is that jiang cheng stays inside, even if it means he must stay in close contact with wei wuxian and the small family that has been so generous, inviting them to stay where there are four walls and physical warmth spreading through an enclosed room. but now, he stands just outside that space, layered in thermal gear and freezing from his toes upwards, trying to convince a man who is disgusted with the thought of him to stay the night. ]
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I don't need the likes of you to follow me.
[ in any way whatsoever, not anymore, like a sword cutting through tangled silk knots his voice is firm and scathing.
the light falls across the snow from behind him casting his shadow on the uneven disturbed surface - his own, and, to one side, shoulder to shoulder, wei wuxian's. he turns his gaze away. ]
no subject
[ there are no lights here, a maze of drift-heavy streets and rapidly dropping temperatures. for jiang cheng to loathe him so much that he would spurn the goodwill of a family with little to their name but their own bodies and warmth - he opens his mouth to offer himself in jiang cheng's stead. it's so easy to think of it, to know that the best decision for them both would be foe wei wuxian to brave the cold and leave the sect leader to shelter safely. ]
But of course, you can hardly bear to look at me - do you want me to cover my face? Will that bring you inside, or should I get on my knees to beg you?
[ naturally, as with all things that concern jiang cheng, what he wants to say or do is never the thing he says or does. instead his tone is as scathing as jiang cheng's own. ]
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[ it's a disorientating, unsettlingly familiar feeling that rises within his gut, the irritation, the niggling feeling that as always, wei wuxian makes it all sound so easy. it seems like it had always been this way - him as carefree as a cloud floating in the sky, and jiang cheng on the ground, looking up yet being unable to.
so instead he clicks his tongue, a sharp, irritated sound that speaks numbers on his temper. it isn't right for him to start a brawl like common street children would, not when the offer of hospitality stands with open door just behind the other man; he isn't such a callous man as to openly shun it.
two boys, close in age. could almost be twins, if you weren't looking so closely. ]
Fine, then. [ as always, saying things that they don't intend, the words that should be spoken locked away under seven keys and chains, shrouded and buried in grave-dirt.
he turns halfway, glancing over his shoulder, jaws set tight, eyes only narrow slits against the frost. ]
Prostrate yourself before me, then. Touch your forehead to the ground three times and maybe I'll consider it.
no subject
My submission pleases you, does it?
[ the words are dark, they'd be coy if he wasn't lowering himself to the snowy ground already with a soft sigh; if this is what he has to do, to perform, to get jiang cheng to agree to stay the night with him, then he's perfectly willing to prostrate himself before the master of the lotus pier on the off-chance that he'll consider staying. he tips forward, once on his knees and presses his brow and the bridge of his nose into the snow that has already begun to build on the road once more. against it, he is dark as a raven's wing, and with his hair shorn so much, it exposes the nape of his neck as he stretches there and speaks with as much gravity a she can muster.
( it should worry him, that it isn't difficult at all to comply with jiang cheng's command. ) ]
Sect leader Jiang, please come inside.
[ he speaks with his head raised, and bows a second time into his terse plea ]
For your continued well-being, I beg for you bear the burden of my existence until dawn breaks.
[ and a third time, whereupon he lifts his head and settles onto his knees there; easy and slack, his eyes dark and steady on his former brother-in-arms. ]
no subject
it reminds him of a time long ago. it had been much the same look on his face, before.
it infuriates jiang cheng to see how easily the other submits to the demand - how easy it is for wei wuxian, yet again, over and over again, to lay down everything he possesses; his dignity, his pride, his life, perfectly willing to let jiang cheng trample on those things as if they matter not. as if he matters not in the grander scheme of things. as if he had not been the one immobile, steadfast presence in the landscape of his world, that cutting him out of the picture is the same as cutting through his own flesh and blood.
( playing the hero again, playing the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat to everyone's problems - and the blade soaked in blood is still clutched in his own hands. )
no, it doesn't please him. ]
... [ standing in the ankle-deep snow, looking down at the other, jiang cheng has to resist the sudden, violent urge to kick him down, to tussle among the dirty downtrodden snow as children do, to beat wei wuxian into the ground until there is some other expression on his face, until there is something more fiery and red and dark blooming like bruises, like flecks of blood, on that face he can no longer call familiar.
he exhales sharply; a cloud of white, frosted air between them, containing everything that he could never put into words - all ghosts of the past, a lifetime ago and more, nothing more than empty words that holds no meaning.
till death do us part, is the way it goes - but death has already parted them.
jiang cheng is the one who breaks the contact first, his eyes turning away as the rest of him does, turning to the family standing congregated, worried, in the doorway beyond wei wuxian. a few, curt words of thanks, and he turns his back on the other, like he did many, many years ago, like he has always done since then. ]
no subject
he can hear jiang cheng's feet in the show, passing him by in the direction of the house, of the family who linger and worry and ask him if they are okay.
behind him, wei wuxian climbs back to his feet, loose-limbed and feeling strange. as he brushes himself off, dusting fallen snow out of his hair and off of his knees, his brain and bones feeling slack and watery and unlike himself. like he's been unmade momentarily and must bring himself back together in the wake of something that has passed him by again, yet again. another opportunity he's lost with jiang cheng. quietly, he follows in his wake, into the house with a few warm words shared with the family, looking concerned and confused about their conduct. his knees wobble as he crosses the room to where the children await armfuls of his and jiang cheng's damp, cold clothing to lay out to dry.
it leaves him bundled up in a blanket for modesty's sake, barefoot sitting with his back pressed to a wall by the cookfire they rely upon to heat the small, barricaded area of their home, waiting for jiang cheng to inevitably be brought into the same room, perhaps in the same state. a cup of heated tea, placed in his hands, brings him back from the brink he settles into - time passing before him without his awareness, bodies suddenly pressed to his side without his knowledge. outside, the leftover light granted to them by the sun finally gives way to dusk, to dark. seated across the room from jiang cheng, his feet cross under the blanket, his tea forgotten and cold.
his mind keeps drifting, in this place. but he rouses himself to watch over yunmeng's sect leader from time to time. ]
no subject
in the darkness, the different breaths mingling in the air, it reminds jiang cheng of the old days of the campaign, oft forced to sleep rough and congregated in fear of ambush or in preparation of one, pressed back to back for warmth. it reminds him of even earlier, the home that used to be his, theirs, the room that used to be theirs, sharing secrets in the dark, laughing at whatever silly thing that wei wuxian managed to rope them into doing.
one of the boys - the younger, the older, he can't tell, but the shock of dark hair and big eyes and the sheer determination has jiang cheng at a loss, and he lets the boy press up against one side of him for warmth. there is a hollow feeling in his gut like hunger, like an ache, as he leans his head against the wall and watches the boy's head lolling onto his knees in sleep. the nape of his neck is pale, naked and fragile, with dark hair curled against the skin.
( dark hair against snow, skin as pale as the snow flutters with the motion, settling on his hair, his forehead. eyes like some calm water at night, still and dark. )
he isn't entirely awake, but he isn't entirely asleep either - somewhere in between, evening out his breaths almost out of age-old reflex as he is wont to do, as he's been taught to do; the golden core thrums, slightly off sync to the beat of his heart. ]
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the children sleep so soundly, despite their discomfort. eventually, he has to unwrap the one he has from where he has curled himself among the blanket like a small animal, returning him to his parents's side gently. tucking him in, fluid and practiced - a parent himself, who could not protect his own child in the end. not from anyone, not even from himself.
he thinks, soon, that jiang cheng is mostly asleep. drifted away far enough that his shape in the dim glow of the cookfire breathes evenly, doesn't hold itself so tensely. with the child removed, wei wuxian is able to re-wrap the blanket around himself for modesty, and to slip across the room, sinking to his knees once more as he peers at jiang cheng in the dark. it's difficult to see him, but he would know his face in a crowd; he would know the way his brow creases when he regards something he must do, but is loathe to - he knows the way his eyelashes flutter when he laughs, because jiang cheng laughs with his body more than his voice. even thirteen years later, he can see elements of the boy that the man had been, before everything. before him.
but he also doesn't recognize the cruelty, the tales whispered of jiang cheng's single-minded focus to rip out demonic cultivation, root and stem, from the world.
wei wuxian takes up his hand softly, working it free from the blanket wrapped around his shidi, to bring the tips of his chilled fingers up to his mouth - cupping his palms around them as he blows warm air across them, to unthaw jiang cheng's fingertips, to warm him. he can feel the humming, blue glow build in his chest ( i still care, is the sentiment, i can't deny you, please be safe, be well, i wish you well ) and part of him hopes jiang cheng, wherever in his mind he is resting, will feel it. will hear it. will believe it, though it comes from someone he is disgusted with. ]
no subject
perhaps even, there is only just one remaining. come back from the dead to haunt him not just in memory now but in a body of flesh and blood, too real and tangible yet nothing more than a familiar stranger.
he is only half asleep - mostly asleep, drifting between phantom dreams that flick through his mind like arrows in the dark, fletchling whistling voiceless cries in the air. half asleep, forever wary even still, within the confines of this home that proves no threat or danger, the silent rustle of bodies cocooned in blankets, turning in sleep for some sad comfort.
a hand takes his, in the dark, in the silence. a breath in the dark against his fingers, stirring the frigid air barely warmed by the fire.
it is only through some conscious, stubborn reflex that keeps him from stirring; something in his chest aches, shivers like an injured animal is wont to do in the last throes of death, like a drop of dew would shiver with the first light of the sun that breaks over the horizon; it feels like death, it feels like rebirth.
maybe he hears it, in his heart of hearts, in the deepest recesses of age-old wounds that are yet to heal ( oh so slowly ). something inside him burns and aches with acrid longing, bitter and sour, the fingers wrapped around his own, the breath against his skin.
but hearing and believing are two separate things. two halves of one, jiang cheng sits motionless as if his entire being is held in the palms of the other, cradled in his hand, his soul converged, concentrated within that moment, entirely upon that single bit of contact. the glow from his chest is faint, barely discernible through the blanket, but there is no mistaking it -
wei wuxian has always been, and will be, something of a midsummer heat - like a kite flown freely, a speck of colour in the sky. in the river, in the boat, floating freely out of reach.
so he does nothing. he chooses to do nothing, as he has resolved to do. the jiang cheng of old would have grasped back, would have pulled him to himself like the days when they shared the room together, whispering until someone had come to interrupt, alerted by the sound of stifled laughter, but it has been long since he had much to laugh about, these days. the person in front of him is not the same boy he had known, and neither is he. ]