buganjimo-blog1

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eyecovered‌

     though she was quite certain he wasn’t asking her to do their laundry, she still eagerly whisked the wad of clothes from his arm. briefly neglecting their, meal she gently placed them amongst a small pile of dirty clothes that she had already accumulated over the week. 

     “ can you make sure the pot doesn’t boil over ?? ” she asked him, retrieving a spare bucket and various other items. once she completed gathering the essentials for laundry, she set up a little away from her hearth. “ it still has some time to cook, but still. ” there was a pause as she rolled up the sleeves of her current robes, revealing a better view of her Curse. “ if you’re going to stay here very long, we’ll need to get you some more robes sometime. ”

     For a single moment, it’s all he can do to stare at his now-empty hand in silence. His eyes dart then to her and Lan Wangji purses his lips (likely not noticeable in comparison to his average expression)... but he acquiesces to her instructions without much of a fight at all, moving to take her place and sit on his knees by her fire.

     But wait. Wordless, he stands and approaches, tentatively feeling the bundle of his own robes until he finds the telltale lump inside, rifling through with a determined furrow to his brow until he manages to extract it. The weight of this little bag is enough to help lighten his mood considerably: he is not here entirely unprepared. 

          “I have more.” Sheer coincidence, luck really, that he possesses his qiankun bag in spite of him not having intended to hunt. He opens the small pale pouch and retrieves from inside another set of robes, folded just as neatly, somehow... bigger than the bag they were contained in. The qiankun bag is placed aside with Bichen.

     And then he returns to his given duty, crouched by the pot and watching it ever so intently.

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     I don’t know how much of it I’ll get written tonight, but I’m planning on writing up a verse where the Wen sect is rebuilt after the war instead of totally annihilated, and Wen Ning is its sect leader ( ⌯◞◟⌯)

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fellprice‌

Self-destruction, to some, was an exquisite art. Men of dubious character would argue that there was no greater masterpiece than the construction of a funeral pyre from one’s own bone. Wei Wuxian could not agree with such an assertion, yet even still he destroyed himself. But he did not make it art, he did not make it beautiful, it did not sprawl acrost pages in brilliant, crimson ink like a fine manuscript. No, it was ugly; the poem written in the dead of night with a trembling, frail hand that threatened to snap at any moment. There was no grace to the path Wei Wuxian had chosen to walk, and each day he seemed to ruin himself more and more. Yet the sympathetic glances only infuriated him more, he felt he did not need the pity–and why should he be pitied? Was this not a hell of his own making? Was this shell he carved of his old form not his craftsmanship? An architect to sorrow, an architect to destruction. 

He had overexerted himself. This too he should have foreseen, yet still felt the dread of the matter settle within his stomach. Wei Wuxian stared at his hand, vision blurred, attempting to recognize the ghastly, pallid thing as his own. It trembled, and Wei Wuxian cursed the weakness of his own character. 

Another horrible cough–sending his shoulders forward before he fell to his knees, retching blood onto the ground like some leper. And he coughed, and coughed, and coughed, feeling his throat and lungs scream in agony. Was he bleeding? Wei Wuxian could no longer make the distinction betwixt what blood fell from his lips and then his nose. It pooled beneath him, dripping, a macabre mirror of what he was now–what he could never be. 

Wei Wuxian’s gaze felt warm, blurring further. Tears? Tears! Tears now! He hardly needed them! What good would crying do? He attempted to laugh, bitterly, yet that too devolved into another coughing fit, and he silently wondered if this one would finally claim his life.

If he had noticed Wen Ning’s entrance, he would have sat upright and acted as if he were not troubled by his own rapidly deteriorating condition. But he did not notice Wen Ning, and so he coughed and sobbed pitifully, with shrill laughter ringing throughout his chamber. He was all the world’s horrors then; mortal foolishness and brilliant rot all possessed by one man alone.

@buganjimo and i agreed on a horrible pain train

     For the rest of the clan, the ones who do not know Wei Wuxian as Wen Ning does, it may very well be difficult to tell that something is wrong. His master is somehow both the most honest of men and so very skilled at concealment that getting a real and genuine read on him is borderline impossible, not that he would trust the man any less with his own life, if it still mattered.

     Wei Wuxian for the Wens is made of bright smiles and tenacious hope, so much so that even death cannot curb Wen Ning’s admiration for him, but he can ignore only so many subtle signs. The hunching of his shoulders, the falter of his smile when no one, as far as Wei Wuxian himself is aware, is looking; conversations are shorter, family dinners with their gracious host in attendance have begun to dwindle and Wen Ning... he hears things.

     Usually, he prefers to afford his master some space, some... privacy. People like Wei Wuxian find some purpose in hiding their problems from others: Wen Ning was that way, when he could worry about things.

     This, though, is not one of those days where he can pretend he hears nothing, even if he only ever did so for the sake of his master. His footsteps are not those of some clumsy lumbering corpse, quiet enough that his presence seems to remain concealed even as he begins to circle his master, deadened eyes wide with concern.

          “Young master...?” He remembers Wei Wuxian saying that his ability to not only still remember but to feel is nothing short of miraculous, given his circumstances, but Wen Ning cannot remember ever feeling such ugly, restless dread in his entire life. He cannot remember ever wishing to rip away his own heart as much as he does now, seeing his master in this state. “Wei Wuxian...!”

     His panic makes him too clumsy for this. Wen Ning collapses before his master, hovering and hesitant to touch him. When his hands finally find Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, they trouble the fierce corpse in the way they tremble beneath him and his ears ring with the strangled sounds of his master’s retching and sobbing. He should have seen– he should have been more aware that his master was pushing himself so far, to such an extent of this manner of sickness. He is not... he does not know what to do, for a short while, though eventually he does find his own voice again. “Wei Ying...?” It comes out as a croak, nearly. “Sister... my sister... I– I’ll g-get jie jie—!”

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Send 📖 and I will share an entry in my muse’s journal/diary!

Feel free to specify a certain topic, person, date, or anything else you’d like to see!

[buganjimo-blog1]

     How have I never iconed this scene before?

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fellprice replied to your post:      Never forget.

He’s such a dork

     This is a betrayal

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illusiive replied to your post: illusiive replied to your post: ...

i will respond once i get my head firmly back on my shoulders so hopefully tomorrow. :3 today was WILD

     No worries, always feel free to take your time.~

[buganjimo-blog1]

     Never forget.

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illusiive replied to your post:      Anyway today is loving Jin Ling day so...

gib nephew pls

     Nephew is gib

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l| SC — @illusiive​

          “Shū fù.”

     Constant travelling between Lotus Pier and Koi Tower never fails to give Jin Ling whiplash—the change of scenery doesn’t bother him, not anymore, because for the most part its people treat him the same: regarded with some distant reverence, acknowledged but little more. The disciples of Lotus Pier fear their Sandu Shengshou should they cross his nephew and his compatriots here in Lanling... 

     No, it’s because his paternal uncle is the only person in the whole of the cultivation world who can actually stand him, he’s certain. And even then–

          “Oh, am I–” At least with his other uncle, he can tell much easier when he’s being a bother. “I don’t- mean to interrupt, you're probably busy...” Jin Ling bows his head again just as he had in greeting. Even just running into his uncle in the halls like this is something unexpected: he doesn’t expect very much time to be made for him by now and he doesn’t blame them for it.

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fellprice‌

❝ Nice shot! ❞ Not perfect, no, yet certainly better than he had seen of the other juniors. It was reminiscent of Wei Wuxian himself, really, and he partly considered putting a blindfold around Jin Ling, just to see how well he performed. ❝ I was looking for you. I was hoping you’d be slacking off or something, but you’re still training pretty hard. ❞ Wei Wuxian did not hesitate to scale the assaulted tree, carefully sitting atop one of the branches and letting his feet dangle like some manner of energetic monkey.

He smiled down at Jin Ling, warm and loving, yet not without its playfulness. His hand patted the spot on the branch next to him invitingly, ❝ you should come up here too. I can give you archery advice. Believe it or not I used to be pretty good at it. ❞ How he intended on instructing Jin Ling whilst in a tree was difficult to say, yet the truth was he only wished to speak to him more. He desired a closer bond, to understand the young man he could not have been here for until only recently.

Jin Ling needed greater warmth in his life, and Wei Wuxian had already decided to do his best in providing however much of it he could. 

          “Wh–”

     Oh. Of course.

     Jin Ling guesses he shouldn’t be surprised Wei Wuxian of all people would have found him. It’s been... some time since they last spoke – whether because of or in spite of not having much time for them to run into one another, they must be on something approaching decent standing as of now, to that he’ll admit – and... he doesn’t know what to say to that, for a minute.

          “Why would I want archery advice from you?” It’s a lot less scathing than he used to be even if Jin Ling’s usual brand of snappishness remains, though, probably because he just can’t muster the energy to make more of a show; he does end up approaching eventually, though, even if he makes no move to join Wei Wuxian on the branch he’s claimed. His bow is stored and arrows tucked back into his quiver, and the Jin cultivator folds his arms over his chest. “Don’t say you showed up just because you wanted to offer your bad archery pointers.”

[buganjimo-blog1]

     Sizhui loves his dad!

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learning from jiujiu

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     Jin Ling; yeah i like to read

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l| SC — @fellprice​

          “Ugh–!”

     It isn’t a secret that for all of his pompousness, Jin Ling’s archery is second to none in his generation, loathe as some might be to say it for the sake of his pride. Never has he been the strongest but he’s agile, quick enough in mind and on his feet that any lack of physical prowess doesn’t mean much to an enemy that can’t even get to him to attack him. Even in a panic his arrows fly true; regardless of circumstance, his shots find their target no matter the obstacle in the way.

     For him to hit anything less than a near-perfect bullseye, on a stationary target... his only fortune is that he had the foresight to vent his frustrations here, instead of the training yard just inside the Cloud Recesses. 

     Damn it all. He stalks his way toward the poor tree that had served as his guide, ripping out and inspecting each of the arrows that hadn’t quite hit right. He hates this, hates being here, more than anything hates–

     No, no, it’s not that serious, he’s just... getting worked up over nothing.

[buganjimo-blog1]

     Anyway today is loving Jin Ling day so low-key starter call? For Jin Ling I guess?

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     Deserved

     Better.