*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.
no subject
it is the absence. it is the hollow emptiness in his gut and in his chest and the way he has to swallow back names of those who are no longer there beside him. it is the forgetting, the features and voices growing fainter by the hour and the day until he cannot recall to mind instantaneously the way wei wuxian had laughed one brilliant summer day, the kite string caught in his fingers. the way that the corners of his sister's eyes curve as she stood by, watching from the pavilion.
it is not the dying. it is being left behind, it is watching the back of some retreating figure, it is biting down on his tongue to keep the words from coming.
no more, no more of this.
death is not an unfamiliar thing. he has lived through it. he had brought it upon countless people in his lifetime and perhaps more. even if he had never - not in the way wei wuxian has, not in the way lan wangji has, it is not the fear of it that has him following the touch willingly, to press his face against the warm earthy-smelling crook of wei wuxian's throat and take a shuddering, steadying breath.
they are here. they have not left.
stay, he says, in his gestures more than words, in the way he curls his fingers against their dirt-streaked clothing. perhaps later he would feel ashamed, would think it weak, finding in his actions yet another fault that he should reprimand himself for, to cry like some child that has skinned its knees and need some inane comforting.
stay, he asks, soundless and silent, but jiang cheng knows that he cannot ask it of them. they are like some free floating leaves, some petals blown in the wind, a scent carried in the air. they are like some fierce bursting forth of greenery through snow, like some nameless songs sung by birds in forests untouched, with no restraint and no mastery. they are free, as he has never really been free. the realisation carrys with it as much acceptance as jealousy, of some hopeless, helpless envy, of longing.
but they are here. for now, they remain near him, beside him, and jiang cheng can reach for them. ]
no subject
stretched thin. weak of limb, tired of lung. it is the secondary reason that he drags lan wangji and jiang cheng to him, begging for a few minutes more of closeness before reality and force of personality try to drag them all to some distance again. the christmas party feels so long ago, zerzura's bright and shining happiness a false and empty promise - but it was a promise, it was their ideal. all three of them had begged that world for the same life: one that was spent together, in happiness. one that was spent basking in smiles and fond gestures, in work that complimented one another and struggles that none had to face alone. he can feel lan wangji's promise, that lan wangji will be at his side. that lan wangji will be at jiang cheng's, and he can suddenly think of no better man to have asked to adore his precious shidi as gently as he, himself was adored.
he feels jiang cheng's desperation and can think of no other man who he will feel desperately needed by, desperately clung to in the way that jiang cheng clings to him. in the way that jiang cheng finds solace in lan wangji's calm. he thinks: we are three sides of a whole, and knows that he needs them desperately. for all that zerzura lied to them, fabricating a false life - a happy one, with no loss or war or bloodshed... he sees the echoes of reason in the other two. the reason for the lie, the way that zerzura had built it. because all three of them had the same dream of a life together.
me too, he promises lan wangji in emotion and gesture. he kisses his face softly, pressing his mouth to the arch of his cheekbone.
i'm not leaving, he promises jiang cheng, turning his head to kiss the corner of his eye, gathering the salt of his tears onto his lips. ]
It's okay. I have you now.
[ and tenderly ( love in his arms and the threading of his hands through their dark hair ) he holds them close. ]
We did it all, together. I could have asked for nothing more, than you two at my side -- you're both so good. You're so good, my dearest two.
no subject
i have you, he says. and all of lan wangji burns with it. all of it threads blue and bright against his ribs, comes as though a great storm on the mountains. it comes as though the pull of heavy branches, the loosing of every flower brought about by spring. it comes like years of waiting, like the tucking of mementos between the pages copied text. tucked as though his heart was, until he had held within his palm the certainty that he had come back to them. them, lan wangji and jiang cheng. and now, in their arms, wei wuxian's pulse is a steady thrum and lan wangji presses to it kisses.
i have you, he tries to tell them. but, the words stop up in his throat. his arm, pressed across wei wuxian's chest, catches the way that wei wuxian draws breath. it catches life, as much as his own hand does, molded to the round of jiang cheng's shoulder. it catches them both, but it will not cage them. it will not hold them captive.
and yet— they are here and they are whole and they are all the better for it. they are here and they are whole and lan wangji feels his heart ache against the truth of it. here, he is not dreaming. here, he dreams in waking with the two of them. here, he knows that within their lives he's wanted. he's needed.
for now, an ugliness within him would have once told him. for now.
and yet, in this moment, it is far from him. it is far from him, as he breathes out. as they breathe in. ]
Have you, [ he echoes, after a longer pause. ] Both of you.
[ and he guides them closer still, shares with them the meager heat he has collected. he guides them nearer still, keeps them guarded as much as wei wuxian guards them.
were any to tell lan wangji that he would love as he does now, he would have thought it ridiculous. he would have thought it absurd. he would have thought that his heart could only fix and narrow, could only hold within it the capacity to love a single one. and yet, jiang cheng had been a blessing as much as wei wuxian had been. as different as they were, as uniquely as he loved them—
lan wangji leans into the shape of their desires and knows theirs too are his. ]
no subject
in childhood, he has always basked in the sun - he has lacked for nothing within his sect, his family, and felt that he was needed - even with the thin worn patch of fear that has always told him that he will never be enough, that he will always follow one step behind the one he would readily call his brother. he was here. he was needed. even when they had parted from each other, he had believed that in some ways, in some other world, wei wuxian would need him the same way he had needed him.
even pressed to them like this, his cheek against the curve of wei wuxian's throat, the weight of lan wangji's arm across his bowed shoulders, there still remains a fear - of what they do not yet know but what had already come to pass in reality for him.
jiang cheng, even in his deepest dreams would not dream of ever telling - would rather cut out his tongue than to tell an account of it. it is not for fear of upsetting - it is more of what has come to pass, of what could or would, and now - now that he knows what it feels to be within the comforting circle and press of both of them against him, it is not something that jiang cheng would willingly tear himself free of.
maybe it is selfish, to want such a thing.
maybe he is nothing more than some greedy, self-serving fool, to just let things be.
but his heart is a sore and tired thing. he aches for such things as he had lost, for the ghost of a man he had chased after for all these years, for the one he had only before now looked from afar. he yearns for simple things such as these - the press of lips against his hair, his face, the steady heartbeats and the voices murmured close. ]
Both, [ jiang cheng repeats, stunned and dumb, before he laughs - it is a raspy, choked out sound, born more of some shock than any mirth; at just how they have found themselves in such situation, at the feel of their warmth, their breaths, the sound of them living and breathing and alive, beside him. so alive. ]
Both of you, you are- [ he feels too out of breath - feels as if he has been running too far and too long, to catch up. but he is here now. ]
-both fucking idiots.
no subject
[ he can hear the abortive words that lan wangji speaks; he knows now, how difficult even these small admissions must be for him. lan wangji is many things, but eloquent is not one of them. when he speaks, the words he chooses are truthful and poignant and direct. wei wuxian speaks for his shidi in this moment, not only because it is something he has done, something he always does, but because he can feel it radiate from jiang cheng as well. the wanting. the crying, wailing thing that begs for family and comfort. his brother is a sweet thing at heart, of the three of them, jiang cheng's heart is perhaps the most fragile, the most injured. it wants so much, because it has lost so much. he hears it in the words that jiang cheng says as well - the hesitation and fragility of his heart. ]
Jiang Cheng, you too. You have us.
[ idiots alike, they three may be. they may be fools, they may be endangering themselves, but if he could not push lan wangji and jiang cheng away to protect them, then he will keep them close. he will strangle them with his focus, his protectiveness. he will cast a net across them with words and action to show the world that he will burn it and build in the ashes without shedding a tear for it, as long as his dearest two remain safe and happy. ]
no subject
lan wangji had always been a fool. and it is no less true, as he keeps them in his arms. it is no less true, dirt upon their skins and grasses crumpled underfoot. it is no less true, than the moment lan wangji had realized he was in love with either in the first place.
you have us, wei wuxian tells him. you too, he tells jiang cheng. and slowly, lan wangji warms against the shapes of them. slowly, lan wangji knows that they cannot remain as this, curled against the earth, curled against each other, but lan wangji knows that in this moment he is selfish in his wants. he is selfish, thinking if it could last for just a while longer—
and still, it comes slow. across the pale of their blued bond, it is the shape and bend of the magnolias that flood them. it is the cut of latticed windows, the crest of clouds. it is spring again in the mountains, and the lan wangji of fifteen hears them, wei wuxian and jiang cheng. he sees them, as he settles his brush against the whiter tooth of paper. and all at once, lan wangji is not the same. and all at once, lan wangji is never the same again.
jiang cheng speaks of lan wangji as he passes with his shixiong. he is a young thing, a thing yet untainted by war and by anguish. he does not yet understand what it is to lose another. he does not yet understand, but wei wuxian does. he does, and the wei wuxian of lan wangji's memory is beautiful and framed. and when wei wuxian tilts to him the full of his bright smile, unabashed and unashamed, lan wangji does not yet know the feeling that curls within his chest both tight and hot is love. he does not understand it, even as the lan wangji of then tears his eyes away.
you have us, wei wuxian tells him. and somehow, the corners of lan wangji's mouth twists into something softer, stranger. against wei wuxian's throat, the impression of what could be a smile carries within it a sweeter bitterness for all that cannot be and will not ever be again. and yet—
lan wangji's hold upon them tightens, in degrees both comforting and subtle. he knows that wei wuxian speaks for them all, speaks for what jiang cheng refuses to and lan wangji cannot.
and still, lan wangji tries his tongue. impresses not upon them depth of his affections, but rather offers them. for you, it suggests. if you will have it. ]
Wei Ying, [ he breathes, and the sound warms him from the inside out. ] You too.
[ you have us. ]
no subject
better, softer things, a past and present that is not stained with blood and death and dying. he wishes for them to be whole and unbroken, without the scars like fissures of lightning that winds their way across their being - without the scent of mourning, of temple-incense and gravedirt that is now as much a part of who they are as their blood and marrow and bones.
he wishes he were better. jiang cheng has always felt himself to be - not enough, not nearly so, and to sit cradled here amongst the two of them is too much.
you too, wei wuxian says.
you have us, lan wangji says.
he does not feel enough, as if he is enough, the familiar burn of insecurity that sizzles across his veins in a mix of shame and elation makes him shrink and flare like some fire that burns against wet wood.
they have him. he has them, too, in return. ]
Idiot, [ he says, with a voice that does not sound his own - it trembles, it is soft as he rarely is - with a wavering edge like some wind that washes through reeds in a river bank. ]