#lxc said (⁠◔⁠‿⁠◔⁠)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[friendlyneighbourhoodanteater]

The Untamed as Onion News headlines part 1 (part 2)

[ohsweetflips]

my jgy thoughts have been expanding and adapting and roiling and toiling etc etc etc and all of it is coming down to me affectionately marveling at this character. he’s cut-throat. he’s cunning. his kindness leaves lasting impressions. his mercy is what predates his demise. he’s one of the few cultivators who helps those in need. he will sacrifice them if it benefits him. he loved. it didn’t last. it killed him. it orchestrated his downfall. he’s a genius. he’s paranoid. he compartmentalizes. he splits the world into who he would sacrifice and who he would not. people he loves and people he would sacrifice are not mutually exclusive. he’s filial to a fault. it was all for his mother. he is a study in assimilating to survive. the results vary. he manipulates the herd mentality to his benefit. it is turned against him. he is killed for the one thing he didn’t do by the one person he wouldn’t sacrifice. it is still somehow better than what the hive-mind cultivation world would have done. i love this tragic kaleidoscope of a character.

[roxiusagi]

Sangcheng week Day 2 - Music

Even with all the effort that Nie-zongzhu put into not cultivating properly with the Nie sabers, he still starts suffering from Qi deviations just like his predecessors, due to accumulated heart demons from the past decade. He vehemently refuses to be treated with the song of clarity for the longest time and only finally relents when he is promised to be held through it and kept safe by his beloved.

(this time i went with the live-action flavour because i never tried that before and it was pretty fun change actually haha)

[trans-xianxian]

lan wangji standing up to jin guangshan to say that he never heard wei wuxian disrespect jiang cheng or insult the jiang sect is so important in the sense that, to everyone present, he is a respected cultivator of high social status known for his righteousness and honesty, with seemingly no stake in this fight, going "no, that didn't happen actually", and by virtue of the very specific relationship they have, I think it means Most to jiang cheng coming from lan wangji. but it is also such a wonderful highlight to the fact that lan wangji's love for wei wuxian is almost always tied to his sense of justice and fairness. he defends wei wuxian because he loves him but also because it is the right thing to do

[khattikeri]

kind of impressive how lan xichen manages to still be perceived as a smart but tragically kindhearted and righteous man when he consistently, easily, and very intentionally turns a blind eye to wrongdoing from people (jin guangyao) or groups (gusu lan, the jianghu in general) whom he tells himself "have a good reason" to do violent and immoral things. he's not dumb and he wasn't sadly misled by one bad apple. he was just an enabler who didn't want to examine or challenge his perception of them as good people.

[bnnywngs]

Wei Wuxian was tricked to be here, he never once heard about this competition-like one month stay in the empress palace to choose the current emperor's second son's wife. They told him he was coming to study under the most famous scholar in their country and sure, Lan Qiren is there, but not as the teacher he expected.

All the men and women present were dressed in their finest robes and all looked extremely politely or were trying to be. The empress and Lan Qiren had told them what to expect of this month - what they were supposed to do and be taught.

He told them he was mistaken and was getting out, but Lan Qiren frowned and called him by name and said that his parents wrote him down as one of the candidates, shocking him into speechless.

(later that night he would find a letter from his mother asking for his forgiveness and that she was expecting him to do well in the competition, for his annoyance)

And when he turned around to leave the room, not believing what he was being told, he crashed against a solid body, going down with a surprised yelp. The man looked at him as if he was dust, used his feet to get him out of the way and treated him as rudely as possible for a second son when Wei Wuxian tried to get a apologies from him.

Angry beyond words, Wei Wuxian decided he was going to flawlessly do every damn step of this, win this goddamned competition and when Lan family would ask for his hand he would reject Lan Wangji with a beautiful monologue about rudeness!

Write that! He's going to be on the history books!

(as an emperor consort years and years and years later, as things happened and he fell in love with Lan Wangji, his brother in law decided to marry out and his father in law stepped down because he was already too old and his youngest son was good enough to be emperor)

[disastermages]

[read it on ao3]

Lan Wangji does not swear. Not frequently. Not unless the situation truly calls for it, but he almost swears and drops his phone as it starts vibrating, his brother’s contact photo flashing up on the screen while the shower roars from behind the closed door. He’s long since cleaned up the broken glass and the drops of blood from the night before, but Lan Huan’s call makes him drop the dustpan, broken glass raining down on the floor yet again.

“Ge,” Lan Wangji greets, pressing the phone between his neck and shoulder as he stoops to grab the dustpan and restart the process of sweeping. He’s grateful that Lan Huan cannot see him, it would make it harder to conceal the frustration and everything else whirling at him. 

He can’t remember how long Wei Ying has been in the shower, scrubbing at his paint-ruined hair for who knows how long. The hot water has almost certainly run out, but Lan Wangji can’t bring himself to knock on the door, not when the spirits punished Wei Ying because Lan Wangji dared to fight back.

“Didi, you’ll never guess what I recovered on a nighthunt!” Lan Huan sounds excited, but Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to match his brother’s energy, the glass tinkling as Lan Wangji sweeps it up while Lan Huan sets up the story about the new artifact he’d found.

“It’s a haunted pickle jar, could you ever imagine such a thing? According to some of the disciples here, one of their old sect masters used it to imprison his teacher.” There’s an air of amusement in Lan Huan’s voice, an air that usually puts Lan Wangji at ease, but this time, it only makes Lan Wangji’s eyebrows screw together, broom and dustpan held carefully in one hand while the other clings to the stair rail.

He’d managed to hurt the Yiling Patriarch earlier, it wouldn’t be easy for the Patriarch to gather up enough energy to push him down the stairs or trip him yet, but Lan Wangji wouldn’t put it past him to try.

“Why would the old sect master put his teacher in a pickle jar?” The question comes out numb and careless, meant to show Lan Huan that Lan Wangji was listening to him. Distantly, Lan Wangji hears the water stop above his head as he rounds into the kitchen. A pang of guilt rings through him as he tries to guess whether or not Wei Ying had managed to wash all the paint out or if his hair was truly ruined. 

“It’s hard to say,” Lan Huan says, and Lan Wangji can hear the opening and closing of his car door, the brief tone of the door being left open ringing through the phone. “Jingyi isn’t the best researcher yet, he only found two reports, one saying that the sect master and his teacher hated each other, and another was a story called “Regret of Chunshan”, but he wouldn’t tell me what the story was about.”

“Perhaps someone could perform Empathy with the spirit attached to the pickle jar.” Lan Wangji says it without thinking, regretting it the second he hears his brother’s side of the call go deathly quiet. He can almost picture the way Lan Huan’s eyes close and the way his shoulders lay back against the seat. 

“Empathy wouldn’t be the most practiced way of going about it.” Lan Huan tries to keep his tone gentle, Lan Wangji can tell when he doesn’t want to argue and he hates that it puts him on edge. “Please don’t misunderstand me, didi, Wei Ying’s methods are revolutionary, but the long term effects haven’t been studied yet. And what if a possession came of it?” Lan Wangji feels himself frowning before he can stop himself. Lan Huan isn’t making any new points, they’ve both made their arguments about this before. Lan Wangji knows that he’s supposed to point out that Wei Ying himself has used it several times and hasn’t ever been possessed or hurt because of his own method.

But Lan Wangji cannot make the point about possession anymore, even if he doesn’t know how the Yiling Patriarch wound his roots around Wei Ying. 

“Brother is right, I should not have mentioned it.”

He shouldn’t have done it, but the words left Lan Wangji’s mouth. They’re hanging in the airspace between Lan Wangji and his brother, and he can’t take them back. He was childish, but he does not want to make himself apologize for it.

“How is Wei Ying, A-Zhan? How are you both?” Lan Huan does not enjoy their disagreements, so he sidesteps this one as carefully as he can. Lan Wangji can hear the tiredness in his voice.

“Wei Ying is well.” Lan Wangji answers, and it’s not a complete lie, at least not yet. “He’s made several improvements to the house.” Yet again, it’s not a lie, Wei Ying had shown him photos from before he’d laid a hand on the house. Every bit of graffiti has been covered by paint that is very purposefully neither neutral nor impersonal. “He has let me help.”

Being allowed to help might be a lie, but Wei Ying let him pick out some of the colors to replace the ruined mural, and he’d been allowed to help with dishes and smaller jobs. He’d even been asked to hold the ladder for Wei Ying once. But Wei Ying wouldn’t let him lift a finger for the heavier jobs, he only allowed Lan Wangji to watch.

Lan Wangji means to say more, he means to eliminate any kind of doubt from Lan Huan’s mind, but the words turn to ash in Lan Wangji’s mouth as Wei Ying drags himself into the kitchen. His hair is still dripping down his shoulders and back, with dried paint still clinging to whole locks of it. Whole sections without paint have already begun to dry, damaged and brittle and sticking out everywhere.

Wei Ying says nothing while Lan Huan's voice turns into a thin buzz in Lan Wangji’s ear, his chin resting on his crossed arms. Without meaning to, Lan Wangji interrupts him and rushes through his goodbye, promising to catalog the pickle jar when he returns home, whenever that would be. He abandons his phone on the kitchen counter, nearly letting it fall into the trash can with the broken glass.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji calls him softly, watching the way Wei Ying’s eyes stare blankly ahead, not seeing the rest of the kitchen in front of him.

“I’m gonna have to cut it all off.” 

The words are without anger, without sadness, devoid of anything beyond acceptance, even as Lan Wangji comes forward, his hand already reaching out. He isn’t sure what he means to do with it, whether he means to rest his hand somewhere on Wei Ying’s arm or the table he’s all but wallowing on. 

He hadn’t spent all that much time looking at Wei Ying’s hair, not when they were younger, and not now, until it had been ruined in an attempt to punish the both of them with the other.

“I could cut it,” Lan Wangji offers. He tries to stroke his fingers through Wei Ying’s hair as gently as he can, but he gets caught by knots and tangles that wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for him. It drives a cruel icicle into his chest. “I could try to make it look nice.”

“It doesn’t have to look nice, it just can’t look like some ghosts dumped paint all over it.” Wei Ying doesn’t react to Lan Wangji’s hand, even when one of his fingers gets stuck and the knot won’t let it go.

Parts of Lan Wangji scream at him to wrap his arms around Wei Ying and hold him until something comes, whether it be sadness or anger, but he holds himself back. He forces himself to settle for hanging in Wei Ying’s space, his hands hanging dumbly by his sides. He wishes words were easier, he wishes something would come out of his mouth, if only to break the silence.

He wishes Wei Ying would blame him. He wishes Wei Ying would lash out and push him away. He wishes Wei Ying would reach out and touch him, however minimally.

It takes Lan Wangji a moment too long to see the tears as they tumble down Wei Ying’s cheeks, mixing into the water droplets, but he still can’t make himself move or speak, though his fingers twitch. 

He did this.

He was the one who came and he was the one the Yiling Patriarch attacked.

He was the one who struck back at the Yiling Patriarch, and he was the one who brought this retaliation.

This is his fault.

“Wei Ying, I am sorry.” Lan Wangji says, dropping onto his knees and forcing the words past the tangle in his throat. His own eyes, wide and unseeing, stare straight ahead, focusing on one long white thread that dangles from Wei Ying’s ripped jeans. He hadn’t bought them like that, he made those holes himself through hours and hours of hard work.

Wei Ying still does not touch him, nor does he turn to look at Lan Wangji, but that does not stop him from sitting back, the chair creaking with the shifting of his weight. “Can you really make it look nice?” Wei Ying’s hand shakes as he raises it to touch the ends of his hair, the roughness making him frown and drop the strands he’d only just touched. 

It isn’t forgiveness, it isn’t even absolution, but it still makes Lan Wangji start where he kneels, his face tilting up to look at Wei Ying as he scrubs at his face with the heel of one hand.

“Mn. Does Wei Ying have scissors?” Lan Wangji would do his best. He would be more careful than he is when he trims his own hair, he would do far better than any of the at home haircuts his uncle ever gave his brother and himself. 

The scissors they find aren’t ideal for cutting hair, but they’re better than the kitchen scissors that Wei Ying had originally suggested, but they’re sharp enough, despite Wei Ying using them to cut anything and everything, from twine to outline a flower bed, to wallpaper, to the contact paper that lined the cabinets and shelves. 

Lan Wangji doesn’t allow Wei Ying to help as he drags one of the chairs out onto the back porch, the space narrow and crowded from Wei Ying’s past and future projects.This is the very least he can do, even as Wei Ying watches him from the threshold of the back door, a tired kind of interest clinging to his features.

It takes nearly fifteen minutes of bargaining and rearranging for Lan Wangji to leave enough room for himself to move and Wei Ying to sit, but those fifteen minutes couldn’t have prepared him for he way Wei Ying peels off his shirt, midmorning humidity making the fabric sticky enough to cling to Wei Ying’s tanned skin. 

Lan Wangji has to remind himself not to stare, even as a kind of hunger resurfaces in his very core, though that hunger fades just a little as he begins to work, the heat of his cheeks cooling as the scissors cut through the parts of Wei Ying’s hair that are still stained with paint. Red, yellow, orange and blue, all of them faded, fall to their feet while Lan Wangji works, a concentrated frown on his face.

Damage follows after the colors on the floor, the strands almost breaking beneath the bite of the scissors and making the both of them wince. Lan Wangji has to thread Wei Ying’s hair between his fingers to find them as those damaged strands start to fall away, carding through again and again until there’s only the familiar softness that ought to be there.

“I will not leave it like this,” Lan Wangji explains as Wei Ying turns on his front facing camera. Neither of them had a hand mirror to look at what remained, and Lan Wangji had forgotten his phone inside, “I only wanted you to see how much was left.” It’s more than either of them thought there would be, with one side longer than the other, but Lan Wangji had been careful. He’d been determined to only take away what was necessary.

Lan Wangji means to come stand in front of Wei Ying, to start the work of making his hair look as nice as he could, but he trips.

Lan Wangji trips over the leg of the chair and feels Wei Ying’s hands pulling at him, trying to keep him from hitting the ground, but he only succeeds at lessening the blow, pulling Lan Wangji between his open legs while Lan Wangji sits back on his knees, trying to collect himself. His own long hair is in his face for just a moment too long.

Heat flares in his cheeks again and his eyes grow wide as he comes to terms with where he’s sitting, on his knees between Wei Ying’s legs. He can’t help the way his mouth falls open, words of any sort refusing to come as he blinks and forces himself to stand up. Wei Ying tries to help him, his hands catching Lan Wangji’s arms. They’re too warm, too big, too steady on Lan Wangji as he finally straightens himself, picking up the scissors from where they lay on the floor. 

Neither of them say a word as Lan Wangji puts himself to work again, cutting Wei Ying’s hair into something presentable, something he could go to the hardware store with. All of it would be more forgivable if Lan Wangji didn’t have to take Wei Ying’s face into his hands and turn his head more than once. It felt too… Too intimate. Too close to something they weren’t. Too close to something Lan Wangji has scolded himself for daydreaming about. 

Wei Ying’s hands don’t stay still, he clenches them and unclenches them against his thighs, he tangles his fingers in the loose strings of the holes at his knees, once or twice, Lan Wangji even thinks Wei Ying might be reaching for him, only to have a stray hair be plucked off his shirt, brown eyes staring up at Lan Wangji’s face as if Wei Ying expected to be swatted away. 

But Lan Wangji couldn’t ever bring himself to swat Wei Ying’s hands away, not unless Wei Ying did something unforgivable, like chasing him with a bug. Only then would Lan Wangji slap his hands away. 

When Lan Wangji finishes, Wei Ying’s phone comes out again, checking over Lan Wangji’s best work with a smile on his face. Lan Wangji almost smiles himself, but he manages to bite it back as he sets about brushing hair from Wei Ying’s shoulders and the chair he’d been sitting in. He’d have to sweep it off properly before it could come back inside. 

“You really weren't lying when you told me you’d make it look nice.” A grin has found its way back to Wei Ying’s face as he stands up, trapping Lan Wangji between his own body and the narrow space behind the chair, whether he means to or not.

“I do not lie.” Lan Wangji says, and he mostly means it. He has not lied to Wei Ying. He would not lie to Wei Ying. He doesn’t want to, not when Wei Ying is still smiling at him like he is. It takes everything in Lan Wangji not to reach forward and let his fingers brush against the ends of Wei Ying’s hair, his stomach still clenching around nerves. “Do you truly like it?”

“You did a great job, Lan Zhan, I mean it.” Wei Ying says in a low, soft kind of voice, “I thought I was gonna have to shave it all off, but you did it way better than I ever could.” Lan Wangji’s hand finds the back of the chair against Wei Ying’s praise, nerves giving way to something kinder, something that feels similar to relief.

If he were a bolder man, Lan Wangji might thank Wei Ying for his praise, he might even say something in return, something about how Wei Ying could go out wearing the worst clothes and the silliest hairstyle he could manage and still look fine just as long as he smiled, but Lan Wangji is not bold. Lan Wangji is not bold and he forces himself to keep those words tucked against his chest, though he can’t stop his own smile from blooming on his face.

“I should clean up,” Lan Wangji says the words as gently as he can, wanting nothing more than to put his hand on Wei Ying’s bare arm, but he forces himself to settle for a glance, unhidden and unapologetic as he lets his eyes scan down the length of Wei Ying’s torso, from his shoulders, to his chest, to the thin trail of hair that leads further down.

For a moment, neither of them move and neither of them speak. Wei Ying’s shirt hangs in his hand, limp and defeated. Lan Wangji wants to press it against his chest and breathe in the scent of Wei Ying as it clings to the shirt, haunting it like a much kinder ghost.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying starts, but says nothing else, the whole of his body leaning just a little closer to Lan Wangji.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji echoes back at him, his eyes flicking away from the waistband of Wei Ying’s jeans to meet his eyes. Heat blooms against Lan Wangji’s skin as one of Wei Ying’s hands curls around his wrist, the gentle seizure of it a stark contrast from the brutal grip that had left Lan Wangji with dark blue bruises. Dark blue bruises that Wei Ying traces over with a thumb now.

“How come you didn’t tell your brother about what the Yiling Patriarch did to you?” Wei Ying doesn’t let go of Lan Wangji, not for a moment, but his grasp never tightens. It never even threatens to. Shame blows the grin off of Wei Ying’s face like a candle, the light around them fading as clouds start to gather over the sky, “I didn’t mean to listen in, but you were on the phone and I didn’t want to leave you alone any longer than I already did.”

“My brother would’ve wanted me to come home, and if I did not come on my own, he would have come to fetch me.” Lan Wangji says, the words tasting bitter as he takes the risk of letting his other hand cover Wei Ying’s where it still hangs onto his wrist. “I am not ready to leave Wei Ying.” Wei Ying watches their hands, nodding along with Lan Wangji until almost the very end, then Lan Wangji has no choice but to watch something tired settle into Wei Ying’s face.

“Lan Zhan… If he… If I ever hurt you again, even if I don’t mean to, even if he takes over again, you have to tell someone. Promise me.” Lan Wangji isn’t sure he means to do it, but Wei Ying pulls him forward, his eyes turning to liquid amber, “I don’t ever want to hurt you like that again, I never wanted to hurt you in the first place, so please, promise me, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s pleas threaten to smother him as thunder rumbles overhead, the breeze picking up around them.

Nothing can stop Lan Wangji from pressing his hand against Wei Ying’s cheek now, not even himself as he frowns, trying to think of ways to soothe Wei Ying’s nerves. “Where did Wei Ying go while the Patriarch was in control?” Lan Wangji asks without promising anything, his thumb rolling over the swell of Wei Ying’s cheek. Wei Ying squeezes his eyes shut against the question at first, shaking his head, but never shaking Lan Wangji’s hand away.

“I thought…” Wei Ying starts and opens his eyes as he drags a breath inwards, “I remember thinking about how you were probably going to go to bed soon, so I wanted to go up and say goodnight, but you were still in the shower, so I was going to wait, it’s like a dream from there.” Lan Wangji waits patiently, finally shaking Wei Ying’s hand off his wrist to stroke his hair back from his face. “I remember I was in the bathroom with you, but you were behind the shower curtain and you kept calling me, but I couldn’t answer, you couldn’t hear me.”

The first few droplets of rain splatter against the ground and Wei Ying lurches forward, letting himself be caught by Lan Wangji. “I thought you were messing with me.” Wei Ying groans as the floodgates finally open, buckets of rain falling upon the ground all at once. They aren’t even safe under the porch roof, cold rain is already sinking into Lan Wangji’s back.

“And then you woke up.” Lan Wangji finishes for him, though not unkindly, his arms fully wrapped around Wei Ying now, the touch far more than he’s used to.

“And then I woke up.” Wei Ying confirms, “I woke up and you were hurt, so you have to promise me, alright?” Wei Ying’s forehead thumps against Lan Wangji’s shoulder as the rain thunders down, drowning out all the other noise around them. 

“I promise.” Lan Wangji murmurs, his lips brushing against Wei Ying’s temple with each word.

But he would not leave Wei Ying behind.

Not again.

[random-mdzs-thoughts-dumpster]

That moment in the Donghua where LXC was so distracted by submissive MY that he couldn't react fast enough to stop NMJ lunging at him with his saber

[twilit-tragedy]

Shoutout to the MDZS donghua for giving Wangxian their secluded home in the middle of nowhere, with a donkey and two bunnies. You dropped this, king 👑

[llycaons]

the casual way cql/mdzs fans will post like absolutely objectively incorrect takes is sooo annoying too like 'haha it's soooo funny how [literally something that has zero support from the text and is just something op thinks would be funny if it was actually a thing]' like obvi it's a thing in every fandom space but it's so obnoxious to me when it's something EYE like

[lilapplesheadcannons]

"Brother!"

Lan Xichen startles awake with the most un-Lan like mixture of a groan and a snore. He struggles to open his eyes to peer through the darkness of his bedroom. Maybe he falls back to sleep again...

"Brother!!"

The whisper becomes even more urgent.

Lan Xichen will die of a qi deviation before he reaches 40. And he's already getting crow's feet. He might get thinning hair around his temples, too, if his brother keeps this up. "What is it, Wangji?" He tries desperately to sound calm and sympathetic.

"He is consorting with evil!" Even in the dark, Wangji's voice sounds grim.

Against his baser instincts, Lan Xichen pushes away his blanket. Lamenting the lost warmth, he pushes himself up to sit up against his pillows. "Is it young master Wei again? What has he done this time?"

"He's apparently associating with.... with women of negotiable affection."

Lan Xichen prays for strength. "You mean prostitute?"

His brother probably nods in the dark. Xichen can only see a vague silhouette against the dakness in the doorway.

"Wangji, first thing first. Young master Wei doesn't owe you anything. He doesn't know any of your feelings. He has no obligation to spare them"

A small gasp from the doorway tells Xichen that he should consider himself lucky Wangji is too old to bite him. He regrets the harsh words that slip out of his tired mouth the moment he finishes uttering them. He pauses to soothe the sting, "Young master Wei has always been righteous and chivalrous. You must not believe in any stray rumour you come across."

"Then?"

Lan Xichen understands now. His brother didn't wake him up to ask for direction. He wants validation. He wants encouragement. Xichen sighs softly, "I think you should visit him in Yiling. See for yourself."

"..." The silhouette nods again before abruptly leaving, closing the door behind him.

Lan Xichen sighs again, dragging a tired hand across his face. Maybe if he goes back to sleep now, he can still get sufficient sleep to pretend to be somewhat well-rested in front of Uncle in the morning.

A shape beside him stirs, "What was that about?"

"Just doing my brotherly duty. Go back to sleep, my love." He lies back down before turning and pressing a kiss on the person's forehead.

"Your brother is .... repressed. Women of negotiable affection? Do you think he saw me?"

"I doubt Wangji was in a mental state to notice an elephant in my bed if I happened to have one. Good night."

The person opens his mouth to speak again, but Lan Xichen firmly hugs him and closes his eyes. It will be a long morning tomorrow.

[amokslime]

Still thinkin about them

[nebulathunderwave-art]

POV you interrupt Lianfang-zun and Zewu-jun during one of their conversations

[trans-xianxian]

lan xichen deserves as much criticism as the rest of the powerful people who absently sat by as wei wuxian and the wen remnants were unduly persecuted but at least he has the decency to look fucking exhausted throughout this entire exchange

[f3rda-is-m00dy]

making shitty memes for S tier fanfics is my love language ¯⁠\⁠(⁠◉⁠‿⁠◉⁠)⁠/⁠¯

today's S tier fic in question is "Heart Deviation" by @foxyyaoguai, which features a lan xichen with some ~✨special knowledge✨~ that wei wuxian gets to, ahem, experience firsthand.

so everyone should go read it for dinner and dessert 👌