betulookgoodinthedancefloor



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    He forgets how quickly Wei-qianbei changes faces, sometimes. Like pulling a theater mask over a bruise—color over color, a diversion with the swipe of his hand.

    Lan Sizhui navigates a world that hates his father, one endless wave at a time.

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    01 Feb 2021

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    Framed by the soft morning light, sleek hair swept back and pale blue robes not even slightly rumpled, he looks almost inhuman.

    He looks like the last person who should be knocking on Wei Wuxian’s door.

    In which Wei Wuxian is a curse worker secretly searching for a lost dragon, Lan Wangji is his new assistant, and the two things may not be entirely unrelated.

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    01 Feb 2021

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    “It’s okay that you miss him,” said Lan Wangji, a familiar litany to them both by now. “Do you feel sad?”

    “I feel sad,” A-Yuan repeated, shoulders hitching with tiny hiccuping sniffs. “When is he coming back?”

    “I don’t know. I am not sure where he is.”

    But this seemed to frustrate A-Yuan. “Xian-gege! I miss him! Please, baba?” He looked up at him with wet cheeks and a wide, quivering frown. “Please baba can you ask him? I really miss him!” He sobbed again, heartbreakingly.

    It stabbed straight through him, cracking open the reservoir of loss and helplessness that was all his own. His child’s grief did that, sometimes. It always took him by surprise. He caught his breath sharply and gathered A-Yuan into his arms, holding him tight until the pain ebbed.

    “I will try,” he said softly into A-Yuan’s hair, when he could speak again. He never made uncertain promises and tried not even to raise uncertain hopes, but his son was hurting. His son believed he could make it better. He couldn’t not try.

    Wen Qing might at least know who this “Xian-gege” was. He would text her in the morning. It would be a start.

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    30 Jan 2021

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    Time splits and splinters, is reborn. Jiang Cheng is a cultivator, then a brother, then an orphan, then a sect leader, then a nothing, then a cultivator again, a sect leader again, an orphan still, an only child. Jiang Cheng blooms and is eaten and blooms and is eaten and blooms and is eaten. 

    In the first story he kills his brother because his brother — fell. Ghosts wrapped their breath around Wei Wuxian’s throat and strangled all his words, twisting them. Ghosts had held Wei Wuxian together at the seams while their bitterness shook him apart. He lost control and was swallowed, and the swallowing was whole: a-jie, Jin Zuxian, the Wen clan, Wei Wuxian himself. Jiang Cheng wielded a blade like his mother’s love, wielded grief like his mother’s love, wielded his brother’s name like his mother’s love: Wei Wuxian! Go die!

    Still: he failed to stab him. On purpose? No. Yes. Both. Neither.

    -

    Or: Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, over and over.

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    21 Jan 2021

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    16 Jan 2021