#song: bamboo bones

[this-is-z-art-blog]

[ID: five panel comic in the style of the meme of the two guys getting into an escalating argument. The scene is between Star and Valerie in Star’s room, which is in shades of pink and white. First panel: Star, wearing a flowing peach top and dark red skirt, is sitting at her desk, in front of a microphone. She’s saying “I’m telling you, Ember is not dating Skulker! She’s a lesbian.” Second panel: Valerie, wearing a flowing shirt in blue, purple, and pink, is emphatically responding “HOW would you know? I’m the one who’s gay here.” Third panel: closer in on Star as she fires back “ACTUALLY we’re BOTH the one who’s gay here.” Fourth panel: zoomed further out as Valerie dramatically tosses her chair, as Star stands up to stare at her fixedly. Valerie says, “WHAT. Are you coming out to me on our podcast to prove a point?!” Fifth panel: focus back on Star as she point and retorts “YEAH. You’re WRONG.”]

♪ I'm going to push back, push back, push back, With every word and every breath. ♪

DannyMay 2023: Day 23, Rogue’s Galley, with thanks to @jus-a-lil-mouse for bullying me into continuing this concept

[just-your-average-tangerine]

Song of the day: September 9 2024

Bamboo Bones by Against Me!

About Against Me!:

Against Me! is an American punk rock band, formed in 1997 in Naples, Florida, by singer and guitarist Laura Jane Grace. That same year, Grace moved to Gainesville, Florida, which is considered the band's hometown. Since 2001, the band's lineup has also included guitarist James Bowman. After releasing three studio albums through independent record labels, Against Me! moved to Sire Records for 2007's New Wave, which reached no. 57 on the Billboard 200. In 2011, the band launched the record label Total Treble.

(Via Wikipedia)

[dionysus-complex]

the Against Me! fans who don’t like New Wave and White Crosses are so perplexing to me

[laurasimonsdaughter]

What would a Disney adaptation of the Singing Bone be like?

Oh they wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole! But thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about one of my favourite tragic fairy tale motifs: Reincarnation as musical instrument (E632).

There are multiple ways a murder may be revealed by supernaturally speaking or singing bones, plants or objects, but the instrument that sings of the heinous murder is my favourite. It’s so deeply, darkly capital R Romantic. Most of all in the English and Scottish ballad The Twa Sisters and it’s prose counterpart Binnorie:

Two sisters (often princesses) are wooed by a knight, and while he betrothes with the eldest, he loves the youngest better. So the elder sister drowns her sister out of jealousy. A (blind) musician comes across the drowned sister’s remains and either makes an instrument from her bones or strings his violin or harp with her golden hair. As soon as the fiddle is played, usually at the king or the knight’s court, it mournfully sings how she was cruelly drowned by the bride. Most versions end there. In some the instrument breaks in two after singing its song. In some the sister is punished.

The Grimm’s The Singing Bone is less Romantic, but equally tragic:

Two brothers set out to kill a dangerous boar to earn a reward from the king. The youngest succeeds, so the eldest kills him and claims the princess’ hand in marriage instead of him. A shepherd finds a little snow white bone on the spot where the young man was killed and carves it into a mouthpiece for his horn. When he blows on it, it sings of the murder of the brave young man. The shepherd takes the wonderful horn to the king’s court, where the murder is revealed and the elder brother put to death.

In some versions the story is about which royal child will inherit the crown. Like in the Spanish tale The Blue Lily (where the murdered prince miraculously survives being buried alive and having his finger bone turned into a flute that sings of his fate), the Sicilian tale The Singing Bagpipe, or in the Swiss tale The Dead Girl’s Bone:

A king dies and leaves behind the queen and two children. One day they ask their mother who will get the throne. The queen tells the children that whoever finds a certain flower in the woods will be the one to rule. The princess finds the flower, but the prince murders her and takes it from her. Years later a shepherd boy finds one of the girl’s bones and makes it into a flute. When he plays it, it sings mournfully of the horrible murder. A knight hears the boy play the flute and buys it. He plays it wherever he goes. At last the old queen hears its song, removes her son from the throne, and mourns the rest of her life.

Some of the stories take out the rather gruesome detail of making an instrument out of human bone or hair and make it so that reeds or bamboo grow near the place where the victim was killed, so the instrument can be made out of them, like in the Russian tale The Silver Plate, the Indian tale The Magic Fiddle and the Dutch tale The Golden Spinning Wheel. In these versions the murder victims are resurrected and get to live happily ever after. Which is definitely the kind of ending I’d prefer to tell to children, but not where I think the true strength of this type of story lies. Some folklore is just poetic horror, and that can be its own kind of beautiful.

[fateandloveentwined]

poetry lines befitting MCS and XJY

These are mostly chinese tang shi and song ci poetry quotes, with a great biased amount from Su Shi because OP doesn't know better. Crude, 5-minute english translations below. There are lines I semi-made up or adapted from fandom/cpop songs (that is, most of Xiao Jingyan's lines), ngl OP is rather embarrassed of them because they aren't good at all looking back now but we'll just leave them here or else XJY would end up with zero quotes.

梅长苏 Mei Changsu

想那日束髪从军，想那日霜角辕门，想那日挟剑惊风，想那日横槊凌云。 ——夏完淳

Think to the day I tied back my hair and enlisted. Think to the day the horn rang at the frostbitten tents, think to the day I danced my sword making the sound that deafens the wind. Think to the day I took to the lance, and it pierced through the skies, rising higher than the clouds. — Xia Wanchun

将士百战身名裂。 向河梁、回头万里，故人长绝。 易水萧萧西风冷，满座衣冠似雪，正壮士、悲歌未彻。 ——辛弃疾

The warrior fights a hundred battles, yet what remains is his severed reputation. He looks to the bridge over the river, thousands of miles back, past acquaintances forever gone. In another life, over the howling of the west wind and the cold Yi rivers, the banquet sits, clothes adorned in snowlike white. The courageous man strides through the blizzard, the song of lament never ceasing. — Xin Qiji

零落成泥碾作尘，只有香如故。 ——陆游

The plum blossoms wither and drift to the ground, crushed into earthly soil and dust. The prevailing fragrance is what remains. — Lu You

亦余心之所善兮，虽九死其犹未悔。 ——屈原

So long as this is what my heart longs for and treasures, though I die nine deaths, my heart does not regret. — Qu Yuan

君臣一梦，今古空名。 ——苏轼

Lords and lieges ebb into nothing but a dream; in the river of time transcending present and past vain titles remain, cast into the void. — Su Shi

无波真古井，有节是秋筠。 ——苏轼

The heart is at peace like the ancient well that does not ripple; the integrity is as the autumn bamboos, steadfast and unfaltering. — Su Shi

舳舻千里，旌旗蔽空，酾酒临江，横槊赋诗。 ——苏轼

The warship moves a thousand miles, ensigns enshrouding the sky. He pours out wine by the riverside, holds out his lance, and writes verses as he speaks. — Su Shi

对一张琴，一壶酒，一溪云。 ——苏轼

Facing but a guqin, a jug of wine, a stream of cloud. — Su Shi

江山如画，是我心言。 ——风起时

The rivers and mountains of the kingdom outstretches before me, as moving as in art: this is my heart’s will. — from the song “Feng Qi Shi”, when the wind blows

战骨碎尽志不休，冰心未改血犹殷。 ——改自《赤血长殷》、王昌龄

Bones completely crushed from the battle, yet aspirations unwavering. The heart has not changed; the blood flows red still. — adapted from the song “Chi Xue Chang Yan”, the noble blood flows red, and poet Wang Changling

袖手妙计权倾变，敛眸笑谈意了然。 ——改自《赤血长殷》

With folded arms, he devises labyrinthine strategies. The sceptre of power sways and shifts. He shrouds his gaze modestly, and in conversations of small smiles, he discerns the intention of men. — adapted from the song “Chi Xue Chang Yan”, the noble blood flows red

萧㬌琰 Xiao Jingyan

潜龙一朝���风翔，长歌挽弓射天狼。 ——《长喑》

The submerged dragon rises one day to ride the winds. Singing high and long; the bow is drawn pointed at the invading Sirius. — from the song “Chang Yin”, the Long Darkness found here

挑灯殿阙思悄然，闻钤行宫寝无眠。 ——改自白居易

Awashed in the raised lamps of the imperial palace, thoughts whisper in grievance. The bell rings at the Jiu’an grounds, and he lies abed sleepless. — adapted from The Song of Everlasting Sorrow by Bai Juyi

驰骋沙场繁华梦，谈笑鸿儒君臣纲。 ——改自《致陛下书》、刘禹锡

Dreams soar in the flurrying gallops of the battlefield, flourishing dreams of splendour and joy. In pleasant dialogue with scholars, civility obliges polite smiles into the etiquette of lords and lieges. — adapted from the song “Zhi Bi Xia Shu”, a letter to Your Majesty, and Liu Yuxi

铁马并辔封疆，几回魂梦游；更鼓落夜未央，笔下兴亡断。 ——取自《长喑》、《赤血长殷》

Armoured horses riding in parallel at the borderlands — how many times has the soul wandered to such dreams of the past. The hourly drums sound ceaseless across the long night; under the emperor's brush, the fate of prosperity and declination writes. — adapted from the song “Chang Yin”, the Long Darkness found here, and “Chi Xue Chang Yan”, the noble blood flows red

揽尽山河只手倾，昂冕袖手瞰苍生。 ——改自《长喑》

The future of his kingdom sweeps into a tilt of his hand. With crown upheld, he folds his arms in his sleeves awatching humanity. — adapted from the song “Chang Yin”, the Long Darkness found here

咫尺抚眉峰，万丈叠远峰；梦底枕笑纹，惊风掀水纹。 ——《致陛下书》

Up close, the furrowed brows are smoothed. Ten thousands of feet stretch before him, converging into mountains at a distance. In the deepest dreams, the markings of a smile lie; he stirs up the wind which marks and rips tides in the tumultuous waters. — adapted from the song “Zhi Bi Xia Shu”, a letter to Your Majesty

Two (three) things to note:

My dying obsession with Su Shi, sorry I can’t help it that perhaps over half of the all the poetry I know is from him;

To be really fair, my favourite description of Mei Changsu is 运筹帷幄之中，决胜千里之外, used in describing Zhang Liang in Si Maqian's Records of the Grand Historian. He orchestrates masterplans in the tent of the army; he determines the victory of the battle from afar, thousands of miles from the front.

As for my favourite depiction of Lin Shu, it is definitely Su Shi’s description of Cao Cao: 舳舻千里，旌旗蔽空，酾酒临江，横槊赋诗。 The warship moves a thousand miles, ensigns enshrouding the sky. He pours out wine by the riverside, holds out his lance, and writes verses as he speaks. Xin Qiji’s verse above just fits the entire story of Mei Changsu so much, it deserves a mention.

I was assembling/making these lines up for something back then and so just listed whatever came to mind (for reasons I know not I kept on listing stuff for MCS, but maybe XJY was the typical good emperor kind of person so wasn't as inspiring coming up with quotes for him).

If there are lines of poetry you find really befitting the two characters, we're more than interested starting a thread here just for that purpose.

[life-winners-liveblog]

If you're looking for ideas about karaoke, I know a pretty good duet! It goes a little something like, "I've got a... DEAL WITH DESTINY-" ok I'll stop. Genuinely, though, for a duet I would go with Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men or Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy. I also have Song of the Witches by SJ Tucker up my sleeve, but I do not think you two would know it. *mutters: plus it's technically a three-person song* (Check it out though, it's based on my favorite book!)

-Bel

Scott: Oh! Martyn, you are like fish coded right?

Martyn: Kinda, more pirate...why?

Scott: This next song will be perfect then, It's called Deal with Destiny and I wrote it...with Lizzie.

Martyn: Who's Lizzie- you know what? I don't care.

.

.

.

Martyn: Oh, I start this time. 🎵Feast your eyes as I share my glorious wares. They are precious antiques, they're exquisitely rare. A magical inksac, some ancient bamboo, a dish of deliciously devilish stew. Make up your mind what fabulous find will it be?🎵

Scott: Doing good Martyn!

Martyn: 🎶I've got a fishing rod, an enchanted book, an iron ingot and a tripwire hook. A hand-crafted stick and a powerful bow, a dinosaur bone and a tasty potato. Maje up your mind what fabulous find will it be?🎶

Scott: And here it comes.

Martyn: 🎵I've got a deal with destiny, a bargain with fate, this buisness is bound to profit me as long as this fool takes the bait.🎶 Your turn Scott.

Scott: 🎶I mean thats all very nice, It's all very well. But I've go those things at Rivendell. I'm hoping for something a little bit new, those boots over there look like they could do. I've made up my mind, that fabulous find is for me!🎵

Martyn: Do you have to be so extra Scott?

Scott: What of course I do! And you missed your lines! 🎶I actually meant the shinier pair, would they be something you're willing to spare? You know I like diamonds, you know I love gold. And teal just suits me or so I've been told. I've made up my mind, that fabulous find is for me!🎶

Martyn: ...yeah, whatever.

Scott: 🎵I've got a deal with destiny, a bargain with fate, this buisness is bound to profit me as long at that fool takes the bait.🎵 Your turn.

Martyn: Huh? Oh right...🎶That sound fair, but what about me? I'm a generous soul but I don't give for free. Rivendell has such a lot in it's coffers, surely theres something of worth you can offer...🎵

Scott: 🎵Of course, I've got: The oldest wood from the tallest pine, the toughest stone from the deepest mine, the purest snow from the highest peak, the softest wool from the fluffiest sheep! ...make up your mind, what fabulous find will it be~?🎶

Martyn: How did you do that with your voice?

Scott: Training, did you like it? ...well guess we aren't doing the whole Lizzie and me bantering are we?

Martyn: Not doing that, let's just start singing when It's our turn again.

Scott: Fine...here we go. 🎵So do we have a deal?🎵

Martyn: 🎶Deal🎶

Scott/Martyn: 🎶I've got a deal (I've got a deal) with destiny (with destiny) a bargain with fate, this buisness is bound (and It's bound) to profit me (to profit me) now that this fool's made a deal (I've got a deal) with destiny (with destiny) a bargain with fate, this buisness is bound (and It's bound) to profit me. Now that this fool took the bait!🎶

Scott: That's done-

Martyn: It's not.

Scott: What?

Martyn: Theres another part here in the lyrics.

Scott: Wait...Really??

Martyn: Yeah...and It's mine to sing.

Scott: Huh. Go ahead?

Martyn: 🎶I've got to...deal with destiny, I've bargained with fate... this buisness is bound to the prophecy... Am I the fool? Have I just made a mistake?🎵

Scott: ...I...uh.

[bluelocksource]

Hiori Yō’s trivia (src: twt & Egoist Bible 2)

"Exposing yourself is only one aspect of ego."

☆ Character color: Light Blue.

☆ Weapon: Inspiration's Pass/ Supply of Inspiration.

☆ Birthday: 30th November.

☆ Current age: 16 (source) (2nd year of high school)

☆ Zodiac: Sagittarius.

☆ Birthplace: Kyoto.

☆ Family: Father. Mother. Himself.

☆ Current height: 183 cm.

☆ Dominant foot: Left foot.

☆ Blood type: B.

☆ Motto: "Life is not a game, but games are fun."

☆ Starts playing football: At age 0. "I was given a soccer ball the moment I was born."

☆ Team before joining BLUE LOCK: Bambi Osaka Youth (same team as Karasu).

☆ Hobby: Gaming.

☆ Favorite football player: Mesut Özil.

☆ Favorite animal: Sheep. ."My name is Yō (羊 = sheep), so I feel a sense of affinity with it. Meeee—*."

* He's imitating a sheep's bleat.

☆ Favorite season: Rainy season. "Can’t play soccer in the rain → stay at home → can play games → I like it."

☆ Favorite food: Sanma no shioyaki (Salt grilled Pacific saury) he even like the bitter parts. "I can handle bitter parts too."

☆ Food he dislike: Cotton candy. "Don't you feel cheated? It's just sugar."

☆ Favorite song: NieR: Automata soundtrack. "Let's try this game." "You should try this game, it's really great!"

☆ Favorite manga: Level E. "I like the scene with the smiling bug."

☆ Favorite movie: Ready Player One. "My otaku heart got excited."

☆ Favorite TV show: Monday Late Night Show. "I like how Murakami adds a good flovor to it."

☆ Favorite celebrity: Erika Toda "Congrats on your marriage!"

☆ Favorite brand: "Somehow, Square Enix."

☆ Magazines he often read: Jump and Young Jump.

☆ Frequently used app: Taiko no Tatsujin. "The one you play with your fingers."

☆ Mushroom shoots vs Bamboo shoots: Bamboo shoots. "They're crispy and delicious."

☆ What goes best with rice: Nagatanien’s (brand name) ochazuke. "I always have it with me. It’s a must!"

☆ What makes him happy: Being left alone.

☆ What makes him upset: Interference.

☆ What he thinks his strength is: Able to see things from a broader perspective.

☆ What he thinks his weakness is: Playing too much leads to a lack of motivation for other things.

☆ What made him cry recently: "I cried at the ending of 'Kaze no Klonoa'."

☆ Favorite/best subject: Computer.

It's written as パソコン (pasokon) which means Personal Computer, but it's just referring to Computer subject.

☆ Weak/least favorite subject: Physical Education. "I already play football, I don't see why I need to move around a lot."

☆ Ideal type: Someone who can leave him alone.

☆ Number of chocolates received from previous Valentine: About 4. "One was from a guy, so I was surprised."

☆ At what age he experiences first love: At age 10. "I was into Erika Toda from 'SPEC'."

☆ The first time he got confessed to: "A senior in middle school, one year older. They said they had been watching me, but I didn’t know them at all, so I turned them down."

☆ Fixation: Girls with broken bones (Influenced by Erika Toda in "SPEC").

☆ Average sleeping time: 7 hours. "I don't sleep when I'm gaming, though."

☆ How he spend his holiday: "Games. Games. Games."

☆ When taking a bath, which part he washes first: His neck. "I've heard it's full of nerves."

☆ What he usually buy from the convenience store: Yakult. "The health of intestinal environment is important."

☆ What will he do if he received 100 million yen: He would like to invest in gaming company.

☆ At what age he stops receiving presents from Santa: "Probably at 10 years old. My birthday is on November 30, so I was getting presents twice within a month."

☆ What was his last wish from Santa: "PS4 (now I’d ask for a PS5) and Nintendo Switch."

☆ What will he do during his last day on Earth: "Play as the killer in "Dead by Daylight" and get a complete wipe."

☆ Favorite historical figure: "All the people who created interesting video games. They are my saviors. Thank you!"

☆ If he hadn't encountered soccer, what will he be doing: "Probably other sports; either way, I think my parents would have made me do something."

☆ If he could only take one thing to a deserted island, what would it be: A tent. "It’s important to have a place where you can be yourself."

☆ If he had a time machine, would he go to the past or the future: The past. "I’d like to see my parents when they were active athletes. Maybe then, I could understand some things better and make peace with them."

* The crossed words are the changes made from twitter’s answer to the answer from Egoist Bible.

note: i want to apologize in advance for any mistake made in the translation!!

Last updated: 06/01/2024 05/06/2024 23/10/2024

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Pleasure Of Love • On The Line Again • This Is A Foxy World • Bamboo Town • The Man With The 4-Way Hips • Measure Up • Never Took A Penny • Atsababy! (Life Is Great)

Submitter's Note: If you plan on listening to this album, or anything by this artist really, just know that Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth, the frontline members of the band, have said stuff that is generally ableist and are very against autistic individuals in particular. If you are against ableism, then just take caution before listening by anything by Tom Tom Club, including this album.

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

No recollection

Part two to this idea - yes, already, I have a terrible case of mdzs brain worms disease today.

Part one here

This is the final part to this AU. From this point on, canon ensues (without the confession, you'll see why)

Warnings: Lan Qiren is especially cruel here (sorry, daddy)

Let me know what you think and thanks again to everyone that's been so supportive of me writing this!

Wei Wuxian wakes up in a place that he's not supposed to be in once again within 24 hours and he's starting to grow suspicious. How many coincidences can there be in a day before it becomes a pattern?

For one, he keeps losing consciousness. This is never a good thing in general, but given his predicament, it's even worse. He doubts it has anything to do with the sacrificial ritual, he has fulfilled Mo Xuanyu's wishes, the cuts on his arm are all gone and he has no other injuries elsewhere on his body. For all he knows, this body is now his own, no holds barred.

However, he doesn't remember anything about his previous life. Anything that seems even remotely significant for him causes him immense amounts of pain and -

He jolts up immediately, panicked, ignoring the pain that shoots through his body. He blacked out again, he definitely remembers that - what did he say this time? Did he scream the same thing? Did anyone hear him?!

He scrambles to recollect last night's events. He knows he blacked out, but he did wake up still in the forest at some point - a different part of it, but he definitely remembers waking up there. Several other things happened after that, and then he woke up this morning in this strange new place.

Which means that he must have blacked out again. That makes it, what, four times in one day.

It's definitely a pattern now.

Wei Wuxian sighs, laying back down. He doesn't know what happened when he blacked out, but he must have run away before he said or did anything incriminating. And anyway, that kid wouldn't have probably known what he was on about if he did hallucinate again.

Next thing he remembers is carving out a flute out of a bamboo shoot, a rudimentary thing and - playing a song. He would have never guessed himself a flutist, much less the kind that could summon something with it, but it seems as though his body knew all these things better than he did.

Then... someone showed up. Not just someone, some people. A lot of people. He doesn't know who any of them were, but trying to remember them hurt so much he collapsed to the ground, unable to think or even breathe. There has been screaming, fighting, maybe - he can't remember, hadn't focused on that at the time, it all hurt too much.

But there was one person that it didn't hurt being around.

---

The door to the house opens. Wei Wuxian has been walking around, inspecting the place and trying to make sense of his circumstances for a while now, so, dee in his thoughts, he hasn't noticed the sound, or the presence of someone else in his vicinity.

"Wei Ying."

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice, and sheer panic adds on to that seconds later. A man in those same white robes and forehead ribbon as the juniors - a man whose presence elicits the same bone-chilling terror - is standing just a few feet away from him, holding a tray of food.

He appears... concerned. Confused.

How does he know Wei Wuxian's name? Why is he using it so casually? Is this the man that's the source of Wei Wuxian fear?

It can't be, no, he would be dead if that was the case. Not to mention, though he can't remember him, Wei Wuxian doesn't feel any pain in his body when he tries to.

"Wh-who are you?" Wei Wuxian asks, unable to hide the fear in his voice, taking a step further back when the man tries to get close to him.

"Wei Ying, are you feeling alright?"

He tries to get close again, but Wei Wuxian walks even further back, and tries not to show his fear upon his back touching the wall.

"Stay away!" he warns, trying to sound scary, hoping his instincts take over and he can do some of those cultivation tricks from before and escape. "Don't-don't come any closer!"

The man puts the tray down and seems - even more confused now? He places his sword on the table, and Wei Wuxian's eyes cannot help but be drawn to it. It's beautiful, masterfully crafted, shining into the morning light. He feels that frustrating sensation again, of information being just barely out of his reach in his brain. He should know the name of this sword.

"I will not hurt you." The man says, and holds his hands up as proof to show he is unarmed. "I never have hurt you."

Wei Wuxian believes him, but he's still scared. Why is he so scared, what have these people done to him?

"What's your name?"

"Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji." the man replies, but he does it sorrowfully, like he expects Wei Wuxian to have known it and is greatly pained that he doesn't.

Why does this man appear so incredibly sad all of a sudden? He looks at Wei Wuxian in such a way that's both soft and aching, longing and regretful, and his features seem to have lost color, like he was losing hope for something.

"I've brought you food. Please trust that it is not poisoned. You are not comfortable with me here, so I will take my leave."

He turns around, walks past the table and towards the door but-

"Your sword." Wei Wuxian says. "You should take it."

"It will not harm you." Lan Wangji responds, but doesn't turn around. "You can use it to defend yourself if you feel in danger. It will obey you."

Wei Wuxian slides down the wall, not knowing whether he's relieved or even more conflicted now. A cultivator's sword is their pride, their companion, their most prized possession. Why would this man leave his own with Wei Wuxian?

And why would the sword obey him if he is not its owner?

Lan Wangji slides the door open and Wei Wuxian calls after him before he can stop it.

"Please, stay."

"No. You are... afraid of me." Lan Wangji says, and he almost sounds like he's crying as he does.

"I... I don't know what's going on with me." Wei Wuxian's eyes begin filling with tears, overwhelmed and fearful and frustrated. "I don't remember anything, and when I try, it hurts and..." he's desperately trying to wipe at his eyes, but the more he does it, the more tears fall. "...you're the only one that it doesn't hurt trying to remember."

He hears the door slide shut.

Oh, has Lan Wangji left? Maybe he really doesn't want to be around Wei Wuxian now, especially since he seemed so disappointed when Wei Wuxian didn't recognize him... will he go tell the rest of his clan? Will they come kill him?

But he suddenly feels himself enveloped in warmth and sandalwood scent. Lan Wangji is... holding him?

"You stayed?" he asks, between sobs, and burrows against the man even though he feels like he shouldn't.

"Mn."

Wei Wuxian curls up against Lan Wangji and wishes he could make himself small and stay there, hidden away, for the rest of his life. This is the safest he has been since he's been revived, and the longest he's gone without being in pain. Maybe this is the safest he's been in two lifetimes.

"I'm not scared of you." he finally says, and feels Lan Wangji's arms tighten around him, "You look like the person I'm scared of, but you aren't them."

Lan Wangji swallows hard. He has an idea of who it might just be that Wei Wuxian is so afraid of that resembles him so much. But Wei Wuxian doesn't remember that person now, and perhaps it's better this way.

"Can I ask you something, Lan Zhan?"

His heart leaps with both joy and ache upon hearing Wei Wuxian use his birth name again. He's never thought he'll ever hear it again.

"Ask."

"Was I really a bad person before?" Wei Wuxian's voice trembles on the last syllable, and his eyes tear up again. "Was I the kind of person that's worthy of being hated?"

Lan Wangji kisses the top of his head, and Wei Wuxian feels two tear droplets that aren't his own. "No. You were good and kind and brave. You were everything. You are still."

"Then why..." And he can't suppress a sob, "...why did they kill me? Why did they want to kill my son?"

Lan Wangji lets out a gasp and a pained sound and holds Wei Wuxian even closer, his own quiet sobs joining Wei Wuxian's.

They cry like that for a while, in each other's arms, and even when they stop, at last, they don't let go. Wei Wuxian asks, and Lan Wangji tells him everything he knows, from the moment they met to the present. How he was like, how much people admired him, how much Lan Wangji himself did. What happened during the war, how he saved the Wen remnants, how he stood up against injustice and how he lost his life for it.

The memories slowly, ever so slowly, return to Wei Wuxian. They don't hurt as much when it's Lan Wangji comforting him, and even when they do (the memory of his golden core surgery has been especially harrowing), he knows Lan Wangji is there for him in case he blacks out again. He never does, not even through the worst memories.

"I saved your son." Lan Wangji whispers in Wei Wuxian's hair, loud enough only for them two to hear. "I went looking for you in the Burial Mounds, and I found him there."

Wei Wuxian whimpers, in pain, and his fingers grip onto Lan Wangji's wrist. "I-I wanted to... hide him..." he manages, "...but he followed me and I had to fight him off..."

"You don't have to remember that now, Wei Ying. It's late, you're tired."

"No, I want to. I have to. I have to know..."

Lan Wangji sighs. "It was my uncle. Lan Qiren. He was acting sect leader at the time."

Wei Wuxian grunts in pain again, louder this time. Lan Wangji begins humming their song quietly, and Wei Wuxian relaxes against him once more.

"He wanted to kill A-Yuan. Said all evil must be eliminated from root." Wei Wuxian says, but he doesn't sound pained anymore. He's angry. "He almost - I had to overpower the stygian tiger amulet to stop him. That's how I destroyed half of it, and how I died."

"Wei Ying..."

"I begged him to just kill me and leave the child alone. I begged him to take me hostage if he wanted, I'd do whatever he asked. I'd give him Chenqing, the amulet, my notes, my soul, everything. He refused."

"You wouldn't have... you wouldn't have died if he hadn't..."

It's Wei Wuxian's turn to sigh. "If your uncle hadn't found me, A-Yuan and I would have hidden in the Burial Mounds together for as long as my body would hold. Probably a month or two at most."

He lifts his head, his eyes meet Lan Wangji's shocked, tearful ones, and he hopes a little smile and a gentle hand on his face will make the landing easier. "I was dying anyway. My days were already numbered."

"Wei Ying..."

"I'd been dying for a long time before it actually happened. The Burial Mounds isn't a place for the living."

Lan Wangji says nothing, and begins humming their song again, to comfort them both. Wei Wuxian joins him, and they harmonize, body and soul.

They don't say it, but the song ends with "I love you" anyway.

[disastermages]

Draped in Black and Dripping With Love Ch. 9

[read it on ao3]

A thick, rolling fog settles around the edges of Cloud Recesses, making the whole place go fuzzy and shapeless the longer Lan Zhan focuses on it, it’s how he knows he’s not quite hallucinating and not quite dreaming. He’s somewhere between the two, and knowing that makes it easier for him to pick his way through the forest of bamboo. Stalks of bamboo shoot up into a white, blindingly bright sky, but when Lan Zhan rests his hand against one, it feels real. It doesn’t have the set-piece feeling it usually has when he walks through his dream.

Even when he dreams of his mother, the Cloud Recesses don’t feel or look real. They feel like parts of a play, like moving backdrops. The pieces are painstakingly constructed, but they’re always fake. If Lan Zhan were to focus too intently on a single part of any of it, he would wake up, the whole dream ripped away from him.

This, all of this, is too real, too solid underneath him.

Sharp, snow white gravel crunches beneath his feet as Lan Zhan forces himself onwards. He doesn’t want to touch anything, but he can’t help himself. His fingers brush over dark wooden railings. Some of them had been replaced with metal in his waking world, but not all of them. Preservation of the old has always been important to his family. 

Lan Zhan bypasses the most public parts of the Cloud Recesses, the receiving hall and the classrooms without peering into a single room. They don’t feel important right now, he can’t even make himself try to understand the droning buzz coming from within one of the classrooms as he passes underneath a window. 

He’s following something, an invisible thread, an unheard voice urging him onwards through the fog and the haze. The path behind him disappears the further Lan Zhan goes, but Lan Zhan doesn’t turn more than once to watch it fade into nothingness. His back is already beginning to ache and burn as Lan Zhan climbs a hill, but the pain isn’t consistent. It fades and resurfaces, the throbbing of it leaving him breathless.

The ache reaches a fever pitch as Lan Zhan stumbles into the backhill of the Cloud Recesses. In his waking world, this is where his mother lived in her cottage, this is where Lan Zhan would still see her in the windows of it, her fingers tapping out hidden messages just for him, but the windows of the Jingshi are different now. They’re all in the old style, open air without a pane of glass and the door is thrown open.

Lan Zhan’s throat clicks, aching to call out for his mother, but the sound of a guqin stops him. He knows it isn’t being played for pleasure, he’s known the chords of Inquiry since he was a child, before he even started properly cultivating. 

The thread, the unseen path, urges Lan Zhan onwards, until he’s climbing the steps of the porch. The wood doesn’t creak underneath him, but a bone-deep hurt takes root in Lan Zhan’s fingers, as if all his calluses from years and years of playing the guqin meant nothing. Lan Zhan curls his fingers against his palms as he comes to stand at the threshold of the house. His breath burns his chest, until Lan Zhan has no choice but to let it go. 

His eyes adjust to the darkness of the cottage and Lan Zhan forces himself to step inside. The guqin player, whoever they are, sits on the back porch, their fingers working over strings again and again, but they don’t turn to face Lan Zhan as he comes upon the bed.

He’d noticed the lump beneath the blankets, but when he comes closer, Lan Zhan knows it to be a child before he ever sets eyes upon them. And it is a child. A whole, living, and unrotten child curled into a ball, rather than the ghost-child Lan Zhan feared it would be, but he can’t make himself feel relieved. The only thing Lan Zhan can feel is a hardly soothed kind of grief, as if the child were a thin balm to a greater wound. 

Pain rips through Lan Zhan’s back and fingertips as the guqin player begins their song again. A shuddering sigh rings through the room, but it sounds far too similar to Lan Zhan’s own voice. Lan Zhan turns away from the child on the bed and watches the way the guqin player’s shoulders sag. Brilliant red turns dark against white fabric as it seeps out of their back.

Despite his own pain, Lan Zhan drags himself closer to the other man. Lan Zhan can see blood on the guqin strings as it drips down onto the instrument itself from the player’s fingers. The player means to strike the chords again, to ask another question, and Lan Zhan has no choice but to watch as his fingers, bloody and raw, fumble against the strings and refuse to work. The pain is twinned into Lan Zhan’s own body, but he refuses to let himself flinch.

“Why doesn’t he answer?” The guqin player whispers to himself and Lan Zhan has no choice but to watch as his head falls forward into his hands, his loose hair forming a weak shield around him, a shield without a single hope of keeping the world away from him.

Emotion rises like flood water and threatens to drown Lan Zhan in grief and anger and despair. It leaves him gasping for air, his own bloody fingers pressing against his throat. He never bleeds within his own dreams, it never feels as real as it does now. Lan Zhan wants it to stop. He wants this dream to fall apart like it should have so long ago, but he’s pinned in place as the guqin player turns to face him. 

His own face, stained with tears and steeped in desperation, stares hard at Lan Zhan. The wounds on his back burn with triple the pain from before, as if the simple movement of turning had ripped scabs open. Lan Zhan feels his own shirt sticking to the sensitive skin of his back as the blood soaks in and he crumples onto hands and knees. 

Tears gather in Lan Zhan’s eyes and an animal, choked noise falls from his open mouth as the guqin player, as Hanguang-jun stands. It isn’t without effort or pain, Lan Zhan can feel all of it ripping through his body, it keeps him down on the porch while Hanguang-jun hangs over him. His bloody fingertips twist into the light fabric of his sleeves. Tears roll down his face and onto Lan Zhan’s hair. Hanguang-jun wants him to sit up so he doesn’t have to try to bend or kneel, Lan Zhan knows it without the words having to be said, but he can’t make himself move, not until the latest wave of pain leaves him and Lan Zhan can force himself to sit back on his knees. Tears cling to Lan Zhan’s cheeks and drip down his chin, onto his balled, bloody fists.

“You have him.” Hanguang-jun’s voice shakes as he speaks, though it isn’t with rage. It might be envy, it might be with a desperate kind of need that Lan Zhan has never felt before. Lan Zhan can see all of it as Hanguang-jun collapses onto his knees in front of him, “You have Wei Ying and you must keep him.” Another wave of pain washes over the both of them, but only Lan Zhan lurches forward, his hands out to catch himself as Hanguang-jun disappears from view. 

Looking up isn’t an option as that same foggy, thick whiteness begins to circle Lan Zhan’s vision. “I could not stand at his side.” Hanguang-jun confesses, his voice growing distant and Lan Zhan knows that he’s moving back to the guqin where it sits on its stand. Lan Zhan can feel the ache in his fingers as Hanguang-jun settles himself into playing the same set of chords again and again, praying for an answer he knows will never come.

The dream finally breaks, leaving Lan Zhan gasping and snatching at Wei Ying’s wrist as he tries to lay a washcloth over Lan Zhan’s brow. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t mean to dig his nails in as hard as he does, he knows he’s drawn blood without having to look, but Wei Ying doesn’t shake him off, nor does he scold him. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, sweetheart, it’s just me.” Wei Ying’s free hand comes up to press against Lan Zhan’s cheek. Compared to the heat wrapping around Lan Zhan, Wei Ying’s touch feels cool for the very first time and just as soothing as it usually is. 

Lan Zhan can’t help but shiver as he leans into that hand and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels Wei Ying dragging the washcloth down one side of his face and then down his neck, but the cold water doesn’t feel the same as Wei Ying’s touch. It isn’t as nice, and Lan Zhan isn’t nearly as frantic for it. He feels every bit like a frenzied, touch starved animal.

It takes Lan Zhan too long to realize that they aren’t sitting in the kitchen anymore, and a moment longer still to realize that Wei Ying must have gathered him up in his arms and carried him up the stairs. He could have taken Lan Zhan to the couch, he could have just as easily draped a blanket over him and slid a pillow under his head in the living room, but Wei Ying had laid him down in bed, their bed, probably as gently as he could.

“What were you dreaming about?” Wei Ying keeps his voice careful and measured, finally prying both his hands away from where Lan Zhan had trapped them. Childishly, Lan Zhan hangs onto Wei Ying by either side of his shirt while Wei Ying washes his face for him. “You were crying and everything. I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn’t budge.” A drop of water trails down Wei Ying’s forearm as he rings out the cloth and brings it back to Lan Zhan’s throat, washing him clean again and again.

Lan Zhan wants nothing more than to hide himself against Wei Ying’s chest. He wants to be small. He wants to be small enough to hide away from everything. 

He stops Wei Ying from dipping the cloth back into the water by taking it and the bowl of water and setting them on the floor next to the bed. “I want Wei Ying to touch me first.” Lan Zhan says plainly. Bracing his hands on Wei Ying’s shoulders, Lan Zhan invites himself into Wei Ying’s lap, straddling him and enjoying the electricity that shoots up and down his back as Wei Ying sets his hands on his hips. His thumbs slide underneath Lan Zhan’s untucked shirt, and Lan Zhan would do anything for more, but he forces himself to settle.

“I’m touching you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says once they’re both settled. Lan Zhan lets himself frame Wei Ying’s face with his hands. His heart stutters in his chest. This is what love feels like. Lan Zhan knows that much to be true. He’s known it since he was fifteen. He’s known it since Wei Ying challenged everything he knew about the world.

Lan Zhan doesn’t stop himself from kissing Wei Ying. He doesn’t stop himself from letting his hands drift down to his chest, until they both sit on top of his heart. He knows he needs to answer Wei Ying’s question, but when Wei Ying kisses him back, Lan Zhan can only whimper into his mouth.

Does Wei Ying know?

Does Wei Ying understand that he came into Lan Zhan’s life and flipped the world upside down from the moment they met? Does Wei Ying know that he’s had Lan Zhan’s heart since the lantern ceremony?

Wei Ying’s arms wrap heavily around his middle, trapping Lan Zhan against him. They kiss until they leave each other gasping, until Lan Zhan’s mind has started to go hazy with a lack of oxygen. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pants against Lan Zhan’s lips, “tell me before I lose it.” Wei Ying’s hair falls into his eyes and Lan Zhan brushes it away, his heart slamming against his chest. 

Against weariness that haunts him like another ghost, Lan Zhan finds he wants to tell Wei Ying.

He wants to tell him everything.

He wants to breathe life to secrets that he’d kept since he was younger, since his mother held him against her and told him that it was her fault. She’d murmured the truth into his ears that it was all her fault that he was so sensitive to the spirits that reached for him. But Lan Zhan couldn’t hate her for it.

He couldn’t ever hate her for it. 

Carefully, Lan Zhan brings two fingers to Wei Ying’s lips to trace the outer shape of them while he grasps for the words. The truth seems to weigh hundreds of pounds, but Lan Zhan forces them forward like shy children. “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan starts simply, “And Wei Ying is Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch.” Wei Ying blinks at Lan Zhan patiently, waiting for new information, for something he hadn’t already told Lan Zhan himself.

Lan Zhan doesn’t shy away when Wei Ying tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, something serious settling into his eyes. “But I am Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, and Huanguang-jun.” Lan Zhan thinks about catching Wei Ying’s hand and kissing his knuckles, but he stops himself, clasping his own hands between the two of them, as if in prayer, as if he were a prisoner. 

“Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch were married.” Lan Zhan breathes the confession softly, but he still feels Wei Ying tense with disbelief beneath him. 

“The Yiling Patriarch died in Nightless City, Lan Zhan, his fierce corpses ripped him to shreds.” Wei Ying repeats the facts they were taught by their elders, from textbooks, from dusty, crumbling first hand accounts. “None of the major sects practice ghost marriages, how could they have gotten married?” Wei Ying’s tone is gentle and his questions are genuine, but Lan Zhan still feels himself flinch and move away from him, though it isn’t far, and he’s still perched on Wei Ying’s lap. 

He feels Wei Ying’s hand on his arm, to keep him from going any further, but Lan Zhan can’t make himself look into Wei Ying’s eyes again. His stomach twists and he swallows thickly as he slips off of Wei Ying’s lap and onto the bed next to him. Lan Zhan doesn’t shake Wei Ying off, but he doesn’t allow their knees to touch either. His shoulders are nearing his ears as he forces himself to keep talking, even though every word makes his throat burn.

“I arranged for my cousin to send me everything he could find in our database about the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun.” Lan Zhan explains and Wei Ying turns towards him with his whole body, his free hand reaching for Lan Zhan but stopping midair when Lan Zhan doesn’t turn to meet him halfway. Out of the corner of his eye Lan Zhan watches that same hand drop away weakly in time with the other one that had been holding onto his arm. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying starts, but Lan Zhan gathers himself up on the bed, his arms locking his legs against his chest.

“There was a record of marriage between Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch, but it was dated long after the Yiling Patriarch’s death.”

Suddenly, Lan Zhan feels as though he’s used three year’s worth of words all at once to try and explain himself, but he isn’t sure if it was worth it. He isn’t sure, even as Wei Ying reaches for him again, both of his hands pulling at Lan Zhan’s arms.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, don’t hide from me,” Wei Ying begs, driving an arrow through Lan Zhan’s heart as he screws his eyes shut, “I can’t take it when you hide from me.”

Things had been going well. Very well. And where were those things going now? Lan Zhan doesn’t know, but he knows he feels doubt clawing at him. He knows he hears Wei Ying calling his name, but he can’t make himself answer. He wants to curl into a tighter ball. He wants to disappear. Wei Ying is still pulling at him, though, trying to coax Lan Zhan out of himself and then trying something more than whining when it doesn’t work. 

This isn’t how adults deal with disagreements and conflict, Lan Zhan knows this, but he’s still shocked when Wei Ying finally manages to pry one of his arms away from his face. He can’t hope to stop the way he blinks at him like an owl before frustration takes root. The look of boyish triumph on Wei Ying’s face is short lived as Lan Zhan starts to struggle, fighting to bring part of his shield back to himself.

Wei Ying calls out to him again, and this time, Lan Zhan grunts his name at him in return, finally loosening his other arm to fight back against Wei Ying’s onslaught. 

“Lan Zhan, listen,” Wei Ying starts, pulling against Lan Zhan’s hands to try and get close to him again, but he puts too much of his weight into it, and they both lose their balance and fall off the bed and onto the floor. One of them, Lan Zhan isn’t sure who, knocks the bowl of water over. They both end up soaked and panting on the floor, but even that is used to Wei Ying’s advantage. 

His hands lock tight around Lan Zhan’s wrists and his hips sit heavily down Lan Zhan’s thighs, keeping him right where Wei Ying wants him, his hair fanned out underneath him.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Lan Zhan.” Playfulness still lurks in the depths of Wei Ying’s eyes, but there’s hurt and frustration there too and Lan Zhan feels himself trying to look away, only for Wei Ying’s grip to shift both of his wrists into one hand so the other can take him by the jaw. Under any other circumstances, it would make Lan Zhan blush, but he can’t muster it now. “You saw the files, I didn’t, and then you fainted, sweetheart.” The gentleness in Wei Ying’s voice makes Lan Zhan squirm underneath him, even as Wei Ying leans down and kisses both of his cheeks.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes, his feet kick, but Wei Ying is unrelenting. Wei Ying’s thumb presses against his bottom lip and if he were better behaved, Lan Zhan might’ve kissed it in a simpering kind of apology. But he isn’t better behaved, and when he bites down on Wei Ying’s thumb, Wei Ying only smiles down at him, his eyes softening just a little. 

The hand on Lan Zhan’s jaw turns gentler still, the press of it doing less to hold him in place and doing more to comfort him as Wei Ying turns his knuckles against Lan Zhan’s cheek, stroking in a way that makes Lan Zhan feel far more settled than such a simple action should. “You’re so stubborn, Lan Zhan, you still haven’t told me what you were dreaming about that made you cry.” Finally, finally, Wei Ying lets go of his wrists, but he doesn’t give Lan Zhan the satisfaction of pushing him off. Wei Ying’s kisses land against his cheeks like tears of his own as he keeps talking. “Don’t you know how much I’d do just to keep you from crying like that again, Lan Zhan?”

“I…” Lan Zhan has to work to breathe, his arms aching to cling to Wei Ying’s shoulders, but Lan Zhan doesn’t allow himself the comfort. “I met him, I met Hanguang-jun and he was injured.” Lan Zhan explains, he doesn’t want to recall the pain, but it’s unavoidable, just like the way he digs his fingers into Wei Ying’s shoulders, “His back and fingers were bleeding, and I felt it.”

“Bleeding like how I found you in the basement?” Wei Ying asks and Lan Zhan nods against his shoulder, hiding his face from view. Wei Ying doesn’t need to see him like that. In truth, Hanguang-jun’s injuries were far worse, but Wei Ying doesn’t need to know that they’d undoubtedly been caused by the clan’s discipline whip. Something deep seated and instinctual within Lan Zhan knows that it would only serve to make Wei Ying angry for him. “Oh, sweetheart, Lan Zhan, I’m-”

“No apologies.” Lan Zhan cuts Wei Ying off, shaking his head hard enough that Wei Ying cradles it as gently as he can, his lips landing against the top of Lan Zhan’s head. 

Lan Zhan isn’t sure how long they lay there like that, with Wei Ying on top of him, carding his fingers through his hair, but he knows that Wei Ying’s weight on top of him is soothing, that it smooths more rough, uneven edges than Lan Zhan can name. Wei Ying makes it easier to breathe and Lan Zhan wants to tell him, but can’t bring himself to break the silence. Instead, he makes himself show it. He kisses Wei Ying’s throat, his shoulder, underneath his chin, anywhere Lan Zhan can drag his mouth without having to pull himself from his hiding place is kissed and every now and again, Wei Ying answers him with his own kiss.

They need to get up. They need to clean up whatever water didn’t soak into their clothes, but even when Wei Ying sits up, dragging Lan Zhan out of his hiding place, neither of them make a further move away from each other. “You started something earlier, you know that, Lan Zhan?” Lan Zhan knows that Wei Ying doesn’t mean the disagreement, nor does he mean the struggle. He knows exactly what Wei Ying means, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give in and answer the way he knows Wei Ying wants him to. “I just wanna know whether you’re gonna finish what you started this time.”

It’s bait.

Lan Zhan knows that Wei Ying is baiting him, but he still sits up, crowding closer and closer to Wei Ying until their noses and foreheads meet. In truth, he isn’t sure if he can finish what he started earlier. He wants to. He wants to so badly it makes his neck and ears feel warm, but when it comes to trying, Lan Zhan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth just thinking about it. 

“I am…” Lan Zhan starts and then stops, his lips parting, “I have tried with two others, but it was not enjoyable.” Lan Zhan confesses softly, allowing Wei Ying to take hold of his hand when he reaches for him. It gives him a reason to wind Wei Ying’s fingers between his own. “I want… it… to be enjoyable when I am with Wei Ying, but I am not sure how.” His face is inescapably, undeniably red and Lan Zhan knows it. His first two attempts had been utter embarrassments. 

It doesn’t help that Lan Zhan has always been a romantic about this sort of thing, a hopeless one at that. He wanted it to be special, for the act of it to feel heady and significant, but the first time had fallen flat on its face, with the boy rutting against Lan Zhan’s thigh and demanding that Lan Zhan call him gege. 

The second time… The memory of it alone makes Lan Zhan cringe. He isn’t sure if it even counts if he fled the scene through the backdoor after having excused himself to the bathroom. 

Neither of those boys had been Wei Ying. They weren’t the ones Lan Zhan pictured on top of him, with his sure, warm hands. He’s spent far, far too much time building it up in his head, what if the reality can’t live up to the dream? Or worse, what if Lan Zhan himself is the problem? What if he’s the one who’s been doing it so wrong for so long?

Lan Zhan doesn’t expect Wei Ying to laugh, nor does he expect the way Wei Ying’s hands circle his face while he’s still laughing. Lan Zhan wants to be indignant, he wants to huff and shove Wei Ying away, but Wei Ying holds him fast. There’s the old feeling, the feeling that Lan Zhan has told someone too much about himself, but Wei Ying doesn’t look annoyed, he almost looks charmed as he crashes his lips roughly against Lan Zhan’s jawline. 

“You’ve been putting me off for this long because some other guys didn’t know how to take care of you?” The amusement still hasn’t faded from Wei Ying’s face, but he still drags Lan Zhan back into his lap, his arms possessively tight around him. “My poor Lan Zhan has been depriving himself.” Lan Zhan longs to bite Wei Ying again, but holds himself back, crossing his arms over his chest instead.

“Don’t be mad, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying kisses his arm now, because Lan Zhan turns his face away from him. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise.” Wei Ying doesn’t stop himself from pressing a line of kisses to Lan Zhan’s arm, starting at his shoulder, all the way down to the back of his hand and then back up again. It threatens to melt Lan Zhan where he sits, but Lan Zhan hangs onto it like a cat with a fish. 

“I’m kind of glad neither of them could get the job done.” Wei Ying mumbles, wedging himself underneath Lan Zhan’s arm to kiss the hollow of Lan Zhan’s throat and nose at his pulse, one right after the other. 

“Wei Ying is glad I’ve only had bad sex up until now?” Lan Zhan asks incredulously, feeling himself beginning to thaw despite his best efforts. Looking at Wei Ying is where he makes his mistake, there’s a starved, burning kind of look staring back at him. It makes Lan Zhan shiver where he sits, even as Wei Ying raises their hands to kiss the back of Lan Zhan’s again. 

“Of course I am, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say, “I can make it perfect for you this time, just like you wanted.” The devil is in Wei Ying’s grin. It should scare Lan Zhan. It should make his legs snap shut.

It shouldn’t make him want to push Wei Ying down onto the floor and put him to the test. 

“Give me a few days, Lan Zhan, I wanna take you on a date, I wanna make it count.” That look hasn’t faded from Wei Ying’s eyes, and Lan Zhan still shivers in the face of his grin, but he can’t help but nod, his hand curling underneath Wei Ying’s chin to make Wei Ying look up at him.

“I hope Wei Ying is willing to put in the work. I will not give it to him for free.”

[garden-ghoul]

Happy Gushiwensday Shabbes! Tonight we have two weeks' worth of poem for you, the hefty "Changping Arrowhead Song" of Li He!

The artist's brush paints the Redwater sands in ash and powdered bone while the murky old blood in the soil seeds copper flowers. The gleaming gold white-feathered shafts are long eaten away by the rain and my search finds only broken wolf's teeth still standing upright in the ground. I search the field so long my horse is exhausted; I must ride the other east from the relay station, over rocky fields, to the old wall drowned under wormwood. The wind is ceaseless, the sun's warmth brief, and the stars are dull. Black flags of wet cloud hang in the air and render day night. Souls on one side, spirits on the other, wailing from mouths of wasted flesh--- I promise them an offering of fermented milk and roast mutton when I'm done. For now I search: a wild goose writhing with worms, blighted reeds and bamboo shoots. The wind rises to see off its visitor and my little fire gutters in fear. An ocean overflows my eyes. I search, and find a snapped-off arrowhead. The fractured point is crazed with red, that once cut clean through flesh. A child comes riding south along the old east wall of the city telling me to change my gold for a bamboo shaft.

Plenty of notes and original text under the cut.

长平箭头歌

漆灰骨末丹水沙，凄凄古血生铜花。 白翎金竿雨中尽，直余三脊残狼牙。 我寻平原乘两马，驿东石田蒿坞下。 风长日短星萧萧，黑旗云湿悬空夜。 左魂右魄啼肌瘦，酪瓶倒尽将羊炙。 虫栖雁病芦笋红，回风送客吹阴火。 访古丸澜收断镞，折锋赤璺曾刲肉。 南陌东城马上儿，劝我将金换簝竹。

This one was kind of a lot! As with a lot of Li He's work I prioritized atmosphere, and taking a little longer to finish it let me also do some stuff with nonliteral translations + consonance and mouthfeel. I also did some maybe slightly awkward stuff to ensure that I could get the word "search" in every pair of stanzas to kind of underline that the poet is here aaaaall day long. Here are my notes.

The artist's brush --- this first line has a LOT of words that suggest paint or pigment! 漆 paint 灰 ash or lime 末 powder 丹 cinnabar and 沙 powder again (sand in this case). To me it suggested mixing pigments on a palette, except the pigments are poison ash and bone dust.

Redwater --- it's just called the Cinnabar River (in Shanxi), but I thought "Redwater sands" sounded very nice.

broken wolf's teeth --- Li He goes into more detail about why they're like wolf's teeth; they're serrated! The literal line is a fairly dry description of arrowhead morphology.

drowned under wormwood --- it doesn't say "drowned under" it just says there's wormwood/mugwort growing there, but its habit seems drownsome and I'm goth.

and render day night --- arguably it just says "in the night air" but when I thought about it it didn't make a ton of sense that he would be looking for relics on the battlefield at night so I decided it's a very overcast day.

Souls... spirits --- 魂 is an immortal soul and 魄 is a mortal soul. I'm not an expert on the distinction but it sounds pretty gnarly on the ghost plane around here.

I promise them an offering --- it's not outright stated but heavily implied that this is a food offering for the emaciated dead who haven't received offerings in centuries because their bodies weren't recovered by family.

my little fire gutters in fear --- I'm not super sure about this one. It literally says 吹阴火 blow yin fire, and I don't know how to interpret "yin" here. Laurence had yin fire as "ghost fire" which is cool. I'm playing more in the space of yin as darkness or diminishing, but not in a way that's, like, grammatical.

An ocean overflows my eyes --- 丸澜 is a fun idiom for crying, consisting of 丸 round things [tears] and 澜 swelling water.

crazed with red --- this one puzzles me. We think it's more likely the arrowheads are bronze (maybe the 'copper flowers' mentioned above), not steel, so they wouldn't be rusting, and the red is 璺 cracks, not just dried blood. Maybe blood that has the appearance of cracks? I chose a somewhat nonliteral word for this reason.

change my gold --- otherwise known as "buying." I think the reason he didn't just say "buy" was probably metrical, but I feel like the exchange is kind of striking and wanted to draw attention to it; it has something to say about tourism, the commodification of emotion. It's a pretty striking end for this poem wherein the poet has spent hours listlessly haunting the battlefield with the rest of the ghosts, weeping, and now a kid is trying to sell him souvenirs.

bamboo shaft --- there's some debate about the identity of the souvenirs: are they arrowshafts, or are they offering plates for temple sacrifices of meat? I chose to go with arrowshafts because it feels more... kitschy and pointless.

[parkakeet]

you can tell me your fave in the tags if you like too if it’s not on here but these are just my favorites specifically.

[calamitys-child]

do u have any tattoos

I have 3 tattoos!!! In order I got them:

Simple lineart shark on my left ankle, drawn by my baby sister, tattooed as a memorial piece for a friend who is no longer with us - one of my best memories of him involves him wearing a shark hooded blanket, and it's a reminder that no matter what you think, stopping moving won't actually kill you

Terry Pratchett's 'guarding dark' rune on my left collarbone, referencing a theme in the books Thud and Night Watch that you can only and must only take responsibility for yourself and your own tasks - who watches the watchman? I do that. Put your boots on, and do the job thats in front of you.

An ulnar bone sprouting bamboo shoots on my right forearm following the line of the bone, for the trans rights and general stubborn little bastard determined to fix the world vibes of the Against Me! song Bamboo Bones

I want MANY more, but haven't currently the time or budget for em

[zerogate]

My head was shaved by Master Song Nian at Singapore’s Mahabodhi Monastery on Easter day in 1997. I did sutra studies at Taiwan’s Buddhist Institute. After that, I wanted to experience different forms of Chan practice and I wanted to test myself. So in 1999 and 2000 I went on three-month intensive summer and winter retreats at Korean Son monasteries in Seoul and Gwangju.

Son, the Korean form of Chan or Zen, had a reputation for being very rigorous. That was what I wanted, and I was not disappointed.The daily schedule was brutal. We woke at 3:00 AM and finished at 11:00 PM. We had only fifteen minutes each for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Toilet breaks were five minutes, but the toilet was far from the meditation hall. We had no time, so we just went outside to shoot. For ninety days we did not take a shower. We had a basin of water that was filled from a bamboo pipe that ran down from the mountain and used a towel to scrub ourselves clean.

No break time, no time to relax, no nap after lunch. Sleeping after 11:00. Waking at 3:00. Most of us did not even have a room. We sat in the meditation hall on a folded-up cushions, which were also our beds. Each sitting was at least an hour, and we had to sit in full lotus. No movement was tolerated. If the monitors, who were senior monks, saw us move an inch, they’d hit us with the incense stick. In the morning, after waking, we had to do 108 prostrations in only ten minutes. Up and down, up and down. It looked like we were doing jumping jacks.

The Korean terminology for this kind of intensive retreat is Kyol Che, which means “very tight dharma.” You have to be very fast, very precise, always in the moment. There is no time to think, wander off, and daydream. If you fall behind, you get hit. There is nothing symbolic about these blows. Thwack! You dare not whimper or cringe. They punch and kick you, and you have to bow and gently say, “thank you.” In Korean. And then there is pain, so much pain.

Tears roll down from your eyes the moment you move your legs as you come out of the full lotus. There is so much pain that you don’t know where the pain is coming from. You try to massage your muscles, but it’s not the muscles. The pain goes into the bone. At the end of the day you are so tired you cannot move or stand up. You crawl to bed.

And then the food. Kimchi all the time, kimchi and white rice. The kimchi smelled like rotten eggs. It was repulsive, almost unbearable. It made me gag, and I had to force down every bite. It was the only food, so you either ate it or starved! A piece of tofu was an extravagance. We ate tofu three or four times in ninety days. The rest of the time it was kimchi with black beans and a few sprouts.

For seven days and nights in the middle of the retreat we were subjected to what is called in Chinese yong men jin jing, which translates as “great courageous diligence.” This was an even more intensive practice than your run-of-the-mill Kyol Che. For seven days and nights we were not allowed to lie down. Twenty-four hours of continuous sitting practice for seven straight days. We learned how to sleep while sitting, but when you were caught dozing, you were hit. You learned to sleep without moving.

[...]

Before going into the Son retreat they warned us that it was called the demon training camp. We called it the cave of the tiger. Once you enter the cave of the tiger you can only come out in two ways. One, you die. If it’s summer, they will carry your corpse out of the Son Bang, the Chan Hall. But if you die in the winter, they put you under the table. It is so cold in the unheated hall that your body will not rot. Then they take you out for burial after the retreat is over.

The second way to leave Son Bang is to be verified that you are enlightened. Then you can walk away before the retreat ends. Those are the two acceptable ways to leave the retreat. But sometimes, in the ninety days, the person next to you would disappear. They had escaped. In the middle of night, they had climbed over the monastery’s wall and run away. When that happened their name was published and the whole of Korea knew they had run. For the next three years, that person was blacklisted—banned from the Chan Hall and Chan monasteries in all of Korea.

-- Guo Jun, Essential Chan Buddhism

[kaitohateblog]

Goretober Days 13-16: Insides

Content Warnings: Murder, Robot Gore (with human traits), Blood

“And… cut! That’s the last take! Everyone let’s wrap it all up and get going!”

Once the director finished, everyone rushed to clean up the set. The video for this song was particularly morbid, but a fun shooting for Gackpo. A couple of crew members helped him out of the bathtub of fake blood and to his dressing room. He peeled the soaked button down and slacks off, heavy with synthetic blood. His hair was drenched as well, but that would have to wait until he could shower. For now, he would clean off as much as possible and head home.

His phone lit up with the sound of bamboo dropping in a deer scare. Someone texted him. He tied his hair back, then checked his messages.

Hey, you still at the set? I saw Kaito earlier >_\<

I have this really fun idea !!

Gackpo had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he texted back.

im in my dressing room

tell me rn

He didn’t have to wait long for Una’s response.

Ok, you know how you used an axe in that song? You told me after filming the other day that it was real.

So… what if we. used it. for real ?

LMAO u want me to kill him with it ?

YESS! Exactly!!! It’ll probably scare him since you’re already covered in (fake) blood ^_^

is he still at school ?

yeah, but I could get Miku to talk to him if we need.

yayayay ok ill be there soon

Everyone was still busy cleaning up the set, so they wouldn’t notice Gackpo taking a few things. He changed into a spare costume (it was so annoying getting the blood out of his uniform last time), buttoned the shirt to the top, then slipped out to the props room. There weren’t a bunch of consequences to vocal synths using weapons since injuries could be fixed with a respawn, so the one he used in filming was a real axe. It wasn’t too heavy either, and the department did well with decorating.

After saying goodbye to the crew, Gackpo walked back to school. It wasn’t far from the studio, only 5 or 6 minutes. After all, all of the music videos filmed there were for fellow synthloids. He waved to Gumi and Lily as he walked through the gates. The school was emptying out now, but Una’s voice could be heard over the chatter of students heading home.

On the second floor he saw Kaito’s head, teal twintails, and the top of a bright blue horned hat above the dwindling sea of students. Gackpo ducked into the Kaito Hate Club Clubroom and pulled his phone out to text Una.

haiiiii

im in the clubroom. i will hide behind the door ˸P

Oki doki ;}

Even from inside the clubroom he could hear Una say goodbye to Miku. Una whined about something, then two sets of feet approached.

“Come on! You have to see this!”

“Okay… but I’m not sure about this.”

Una slid the door open, tugged Kaito in, and slid the door closed again.

As if on cue, Gackpo emerged from the shadows and raised the axe. Kaito turned at the last second in horror before the blade crashed down onto him.

The axe went through Kaito’s body, splitting it cleanly in half. In the onslaught, blood sprayed around the room. Now, the blood pooled at the floor and the innards of the two halves were free to see.

The fresh muscle tissue was tender, intertwined with silver wires and multicolored cables. Open veins stained opaline bones with crimson as the blood drained from the still-warm body. His organs were mainly intact, save the cut through the center. If synthloid bodies didn’t despawn after a few hours, the carcass would have been a fine source of grisly samples.

The slice through the brain exposed the internal matter and wires that strung the body together. It was a faded pink, though it too was dyed red with the blood that flowed around it. If Gackpo missed and hit the heart instead, there would have been a chance Kaito could still see through his eyes before he respawned. The damage to the head cut the wires, cutting off his brain activity and vision with it.

His heart beat a few moments before it stopped. It was a duller grey than the wires, more of a brushed steel, but now as useless as the fried cables connected to it. It was a gruesome sight, but after some time the only thing left would be the bloodstains. The blood would be gone after a week at most though— it was just as synthetic as the blood Gackpo sat in earlier.

Una giggled and shook her arms with glee. “That was amazing! Smack in the center!” they shouted. Gackpo wiped the sweat from his brow and laid the axe against a desk stacked with anti-Kaito posters. He smiled as he admired his handiwork.

Kaito would be respawning any minute now, and it wouldn’t be too long until he ended up on the floor of the clubroom again. Another tally for the club’s Kaito Kill Counter.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

i will absolutely jump on this bandwagon, these are some of my “there are always reasons to keep going” songs whenever anyone needs them 🖤🖤🖤