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]

[ he thinks of abel, sick with tears at the loss of his fighter - his partner - whom wei wuxian could tell loved as readily as abel loved him. he thinks of cain's brusque words, calling wei wuxian's teasing touches and words out as though they were avid flirtations, naked impressions of what his heart was yearning for. and certainly, he thought he had loved to tease and caress with no meaning to such acts, when in truth some part of his subconscious was calling out for reciprocation, for adoration and comfort and loyalty from another. while he still cannot conceptualize it, while his mind and heart shy from the idea that this is [love], he knows that lan wangji has given to him so many kindnesses, so much devotion. his hands are gentle, his eyes are soft.

he'd like to think, that this man likes him.

he'd really, really like to think that lan wangji holds him because he treasures him.

and so, he sits on the boundary of such sinful thoughts and bleak yearnings - wondering if it's true, wondering if the eyes that lan wangji makes at him are soft because he is a kind man performing kindnesses with his gentle, proper heart guiding him. and he wonders if the opposite is true, too, and lan wangji looks at him with such softness because -- because? ( i trust you; i have always trusted in you. ) do those gentle hands possess the ability to grab hold of him, to hold him so tightly he could break in two? ]

Mm, Lan Zhan?

[ he's scared. ]

Let me know if it hurts, okay?

[ because he is stiff from death, wei wuxian knows. sore and weakened from whatever process had revived him. even as wei wuxian's leg swings over the width of lan wangji's hip, he is careful not to press down on the new scars, he is stiff and shivering, his weight precariously balanced over the simple sheet that covers lan wangji's bare form. he teeters there, astride him, hovering with his face flushed rosy and all too self-aware ( it's not a thing that suits him, not the way his shamelessness does. it makes him seem younger, more vulnerable, more like an unblossomed flower than a man. )

he sits.

hovers. ]