﹙ wangji is wangji… are you sure. how much of his worth is measured by the perfect angle of the lan ribbon — now absent around his head? how much of perfunctory excellence has he poured into his missing whites, demanded by his peers? what is black and what is white, and all that. but wangji is wangji, beyond society’s forceful hand; there’s a reason gusulan rose atop a nonsensical amount of strict rules. a reason, perhaps, to live in the recess of a cold mountain. lan blood burns hot, passionate, thousands of precepts in lieu of a leash; as a distant voice teases his ears, lan wangji feels the phantom pain of deep slashes across his back, and he tumbles to his knees.
he’s heard him before. in the most witting part of his mind, shame and loss are replaced by a strange soothing presence, and for the first time since he opened his eyes, it truly feels like home.
catching an unnecessary breath, lan wangji slowly glances towards the man beside him, blinking sluggishly still, a twitch in his jaw that indicates frustration blossoming. he shouldn’t be like this. weak. bare. a feeble grip on his senses. was he bitten? yes, he wants to say, recalling the pain in his neck, on his forehead, and still failing to fully connect the dots. he was in a barrel. submerged… and then devoured, released back into the sea; his eyes widen then, and he’s just short of gaping like a stranded squid fish. ﹚
Xiōngzhǎng...!
﹙ it comes to him like a crashing wave, washing over him, a slap across his muddled senses. his brother is here, and the unsettled crease between xichen’s brows mirrors lan wangji’s growing agitation.
his gaze drifts away, towards the horizon. he blinks uneasy. ﹚ I’ve perished. ﹙ he swallows once, twice. redirects his focus on his brother, hesitant. ﹚ Twice.
this was unnecessary long i'm so sorry asljf
﹙ wangji is wangji… are you sure. how much of his worth is measured by the perfect angle of the lan ribbon — now absent around his head? how much of perfunctory excellence has he poured into his missing whites, demanded by his peers? what is black and what is white, and all that. but wangji is wangji, beyond society’s forceful hand; there’s a reason gusulan rose atop a nonsensical amount of strict rules. a reason, perhaps, to live in the recess of a cold mountain. lan blood burns hot, passionate, thousands of precepts in lieu of a leash; as a distant voice teases his ears, lan wangji feels the phantom pain of deep slashes across his back, and he tumbles to his knees.
he’s heard him before. in the most witting part of his mind, shame and loss are replaced by a strange soothing presence, and for the first time since he opened his eyes, it truly feels like home.
catching an unnecessary breath, lan wangji slowly glances towards the man beside him, blinking sluggishly still, a twitch in his jaw that indicates frustration blossoming. he shouldn’t be like this. weak. bare. a feeble grip on his senses. was he bitten? yes, he wants to say, recalling the pain in his neck, on his forehead, and still failing to fully connect the dots. he was in a barrel. submerged… and then devoured, released back into the sea; his eyes widen then, and he’s just short of gaping like a stranded
squidfish. ﹚Xiōngzhǎng...!
﹙ it comes to him like a crashing wave, washing over him, a slap across his muddled senses. his brother is here, and the unsettled crease between xichen’s brows mirrors lan wangji’s growing agitation.
his gaze drifts away, towards the horizon. he blinks uneasy. ﹚ I’ve perished. ﹙ he swallows once, twice. redirects his focus on his brother, hesitant. ﹚ Twice.