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

[sandu]

[ he needs.

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.

[laozu]

Yes, Lan Zhan. You have us.

[ 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. ]

[wangxian]

[ you are both idiots, jiang cheng tells them. and he knows, he knows what it is that jiang cheng means. he knows, because lan wangji has always been a fool. he has always done what was correct and right and true to what it was he knew, no matter the perception of those who thought they knew it better, those who could not choose as he did without even stricter consequence.

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. ]

[sandu]

[ maybe he wishes for better things. for himself, for both of them, for all of them.

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. ]