I call upon the fan fic writing gods to bless you with the perseverance to finish one of your unfinished drafts. 

May your fingers dance along the letters upon your device with ease, may the devil of distraction stay far from you, and may your work not need much editing.

I pass this blessing upon every fan fic writer out there.

If you want a really good example of how the “curing the crippled character” trope is beautifully subverted, look no further than the first season of The Dragon Prince (not so coincidentally written by some of the same people who wrote the legendary Toph Beifong):

In the middle of the season, the main characters rush to find a cure for the sacred dragon egg (which had been dropped in icy water). They come across a young girl with a pet wolf, who tells the story of how she found the pup in a trap and how the local veterinarian had to amputate her leg:

Her father responds to this with typical eugenics-based ‘advice’:

So she runs away to keep the village from killing her pet and meets an elf:

One magical spell later, we see that the wolf now has four legs:

So you’ve got this whole tragedy model of disability going, you’ve got the eugenics, you’ve got the magical cure, you’ve got the happy villagers, you’ve got the main characters saying, “Hooray, magical healer, let’s go!”

And it takes several episodes, all of which feature the wolf walking around, running, jumping, etc. for them to finally find this elf, only to reveal:

The whole show threw out an UNO reverse card and revealed that the only magic that needed to be done was an illusion to convince everyone that she was no longer ‘broken’ and thus was worthy of life. Incredible! I mean, the story comes at the worst time because the egg that contains the dragon prince is about to die so they need a healer, but what a story!

Incidentally, The Dragon Prince also features the love of my life:

(The show actually hired ASL interpreters to help with the accuracy.)

The third season comes out next weekend, and will undoubtedly feature more disabled characters with great representation, more nonwhite characters, more LGBT characters, my aforementioned wife, and just a great story/atmosphere in general. If you’ve got Netflix, check it out!

If you haven’t seen it, you are absolutely missing out.

Can’t risk it

This is the Cassowary of Creativity

It just kicked the everloving shit out of the duck for threatening you, and wishes you a good, creative day. You are Safe Now.

this is the idea chicken

she lays an idea egg every day whether you use it or not

idea eggs will be plentiful for you because the world is a vast and fascinating source of ideas and you don’t need luck or blog voodoo to have them for breakfast every morning

Now I want to reblog this post due to the great pictures below. Kick ass, my feathered friend.

Myths, Creatures, and Folklore

Want to create a religion for your fictional world? Here are some references and resources!

General:

Africa:

The Americas:

Asia:

Europe:

Middle East:

Oceania:

Creating a Fantasy Religion:

Some superstitions:

Read More

Here, I have some more:

Africa:

The Americas:

Asia:

Europe:

Oceanic:

General:

Reblogging because wow. What a resource.

This just hit me. I’m so Southern my family has a matriarch and no one in the family knows for sure how old she is. We all also got into a heated debate about the existence of her glass eye (still not confirmed). She’s in her 90s- we think- beat cancer, outlived two husbands, had seven children and has outlived three of them, survived The Great Depression, and either her dad or her grandfather was a full blooded Cherokee Indian… possibly the tribe’s leader but no one really knows for sure.

She also once lit into my dad’s school bus driver, cussing him black and blue about how he treated the kids and didn’t realize she had a butcher’s knife in her hand until he RAN away. She didn’t have any more trouble out of him.

…I wish to know how and why this just occured to you, please

I had an eloquent reason but really what it boils down to is I think Mamaw is a cryptid. The running joke in the family is that Mamaw will be at the end of the world with the twinkies and the cockroaches.

I’m not sure it’s a joke anymore, I think it’s a premonition.

Two years ago one of my cousins wanted to bring her wife to thanksgiving and Joe was all “ew no way” and Mamaw stood her ass up and said “Who the hell do you think you are, saying who is and isn’t welcome in my house? This ain’t your house- you get out! I say who is welcome and YOU is not welcome. Now SCAT!” while slapping at him and then sat back down and asked my cousin if her wife ate catfish. Joe tried to come back in and she popped the tennis balls off her walker and threw them at him until he left

No matter how old Mamaw gets, her hair is still solid black. She still hasn’t gone gray and she’s never once died her hair. Her kids all have heads full of gray hair, and my father- her grandson- is starting to go gray. Mamaw? Nothing. I swear she looks exactly the same as she did when I was a kid.

Mamaw got Covid-19. She presented with symptoms and was rushed to the ER with a dangerously high fever and next to no oxygen. The doctors took note of her age (she’s apparently 93 as best she can guess) and her vitals and, well, Mamaw wasn’t gonna make it past Monday.

By Sunday night the fever was gone and she was complaining that the hospital didn’t get WWE and she was gonna “miss my wrasslin shows!”.

She was home and completely fine by Tuesday. By Wednesday she was calling up the anti-maskers in our family just to call them idiots and hang up.

bro i dont think you’re Mamaw is human

#she sounds like the type that#they have a saying about:#she won’t die until God and the devil come to an agreement about who has to take her

Did you say angst?

Read some angsty klance fics

Poor boys <3

!PART 2 HERE!

Space

Missed

Lance isn’t the best or brightest. He isn’t the funniest or most likeable. Lance doesn’t command attention, he has to fight for it.

Lance’s friends are geniuses. Top of the class, prodigies.

Despite this, Lance knows he is loved. Lance loves his friends. And he knows they love him just as much as he loves them. He is needed. 

19,072 words    AO3

Talk It Out

Keith had noticed for quite some time now that Lance wasn’t being his usual self. He had waited for someone else to say something and approach Lance about it - but no one ever did. So once they got Shiro back, he decided that he wouldn’t wait any longer and make him talk.

Lance doesn’t want to talk about it. At all. Not with Keith, not with anyone else. But somehow, one way or another, Keith gets him to open up. And Lance’s reward? A new boyfriend.

10,955 words  AO3

Keep reading

Do you ever think Jiang Cheng looks at Lan Zhan and hates that he’s everything he was supposed to be for his brother? 

Jiang Cheng was the one who chased dogs away from a scared Wei Ying. But now it’s Lan Zhan who’s name Wei Ying calls out when he sees a dog. 

It was Jiang Cheng who Wei Ying confided in, trusted with his life. But now it’s Lan Zhan who knows every little detail about Wei Ying, knows what he’s thinking just by looking at him, knows when he’s hurt. 

It was Jiang Cheng who Wei Ying would stubbornly bother, would act out and make jokes with. But now it’s Lan Zhan who gets to hear Wei Ying’s relentless banter. It’s Lan Wangji who gets to hear him laugh. 

It was Jiang Cheng who would protect Wei Ying, did everything he could to make sure he was never unfairly punished no matter how much they fought.

But now it’s Lan Zhan who puts Wei Ying first. Would go against his Sect, his family, his morals, everything for Wei Ying. It’s Lan Zhan who Wei Ying trusts without any doubts.

It’s Lan Wangji who is everything he was supposed to be for Wei Ying. 

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

Gonna try it. Need me some good luck.

“Stop causing trouble”

Professor Lan and His animagus boyfriend

With glasses?

On a scale of “weird flex, but okay” to RUDE, how acceptable is it to pop up out of nowhere, reblog someone’s artwork with added fic and then piss off into the ether, because, uh…

-

Lan Zhan finds the rabbit in the winter.

Fur pitch-black against the snow, it huddles in a pitiful, bedraggled ball at the edge of the Gusu Academy’s herb garden when Lan Zhan calls Jin Rulan’s fat, spoiled familiar to heel, and continues to cower even after Fairy has trotted reluctantly away to sit by Lan Zhan’s side.

Lan Zhan initially intends to leave it, to hold Fairy just long enough to let the rabbit run back into the night where it belongs, but when it uncurls and limps forward, red splatters drip onto the ground behind it.

There is no matching stain on Fairy’s muzzle, so it is not a harm that Gusu is directly responsible for, but - to save the animal from Jin Rulan’s dog just to leave it to die in the cold would not be a mercy.

Slowly, carefully, Lan Zhan scoops it up and tucks it into the front of his robe, where it can share his body heat. He expects it to struggle, and so is pleasantly surprised when it calms immediately and begins to nose around in his clothing.

“Be still,” he tells it mildly, and, whistling for Fairy to follow, heads back up the hill, towards the light of the main hall.

Keep reading

do u ever think about how lan wangji and jiang yanli would’ve been the softest siblings-in-law who would cook for wei ying together 😭😭

Wow this hit me hard.

Lan Wangji was a tall man.  Only a little taller than her brothers, but the way he stood, the perfectly straight line of his spine and neck, made him seem tall enough to touch the clouds.

Jiang Yanli supposed he had often enough.

Standing beside him made her feel small in a way A-Cheng and A-Xian didn’t.   When he wasn’t standing behind her with his weight shifted and his hip cocked with a glare that dared the whole world to try to upset her, A-Cheng was leaning forward, body curving in a way that would be looming if not for the gentle look on his face.  A-Xian bounced and danced, always bending down to her eye level and twisting to face her like a flower arching toward the sun.

Lan Wangji stood, mountainous, his head only tipping down a fraction, strange gold eyes sifted down to meet hers through long lashes to meet her gaze squarely.

“Lotus pork rib soup?” she repeated, tipping her chin up a little higher and considering lifting herself on the balls of her feet so he would not be looking so very far down at her.

“Mn.  For Wei Ying.”

Jiang Yanli lifted one hand to hide her smile behind her sleeve. 

Cute.  How cute!

“Of course A-Ji, I would be happy to teach you!”  Lan Wangji blinked at the endearment, but followed with a biddable “mn” behind her as she lead the way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was empty.  Though they did have cooks for special occasions, Jiang sect had long taken pride in self sufficiency.  They cooked their own daily meals and brewed their own tea.   From disciples taking turns in the larger kitchens of the barracks, to the Jiang clan themselves.  Jiang Yanli listed off the vegetables they would need to chop as she reached for an apron, then paused and turned back to Lan Wangji as she realized she was getting ahead of herself.

To her surprise, he easily reached for an apron - indisputably A-Xian’s by the embroidered doodle of Wei WuXian holding a steaming pot - and tied it on over his immaculately white robes and headed for the baskets of fresh lotus pods and vegetables.   Jiang Yanli had to press her lips together hard not to laugh, and was surprised to see him select the correct knife and begin to chop them into precise slices.

So she wouldn’t be teaching him to cook, only the recipei.

“A-Ji, you’re so skillful, do you cook often?”

“Mn.  Everyday.  For Wei Ying.”

Jiang Yanli’s eyebrows rose.  “Oh?  I thought only servants cooked in Cloud Recesses.”  She was sure she’d heard Wei WuXian grumbling about some rule about leaving to a tradesman his own skill that got him in trouble when he’d tried his hand a carpentry when the Wen’s houses were being built on the outskirts of Caiyi.  Or was that he’d gotten banned from the kitchens for burning every delicate Lan mouth with a bit of spice?

 “I like to make him meals.  They make him happy.”  Lan Wangji’s voice was even.  A simple, irrefutable statement.  As had been his unexpected love confession during a visit to Yiling that had begun to clear the darkness from Wei WuXian’s eyes and paved the way for him to leave the Burial Mounds at last.

“Mm, food always makes A-Xian happy.” Jiang Yanli craned her neck to look up at him until he turned toward her and held out a bowl of sliced lotus roots.  “But I think you make him happiest of all.  Thank you.”

Lan Wangji’s ears reddened and he ducked his head slightly.  “No thanks needed.”  He didn’t shuffle in place or clear his throat awkwardly, but managed to convey the same pleased embarrassment she so enjoyed teasing out of her brothers.

“What is the next step?” he asked after a minute.

“Well, first-” Jiang Yanli couldn’t stop smiling as she taught Lan Wangji how to make Wei WuXian’s favorite soup.  As they fell into a rhythm, she began to hum softly, a song her father had always favored when he was in a bright mood.  It made her think of good days. 

To her surprise, a deep voice joined hers, effortlessly taking up an accompanying tune that did not drown her softer, higher pitch, but complimented it.  The soft, faint smile on Lan Wangji’s face was an even greater surprise.

Oh A-Xian!  she thought happily, how lucky you are! 

Jiang Yanli spent the rest of the morning in a kitchen full of sunlight and song and taught her brother-in-law to make all of Wei WuXian’s favorite Yunmeng meals.  The pleased look warming that normally jade-still face as he hefted a heavily laden tray filled her heart with affection.

As Lan Wangji headed to the rooms he shared with her brother, intent on waking his husband with breakfast and a heart full of love, Jiang Yanli set her feet toward the ancestor hall.  She would offer incense and thanks for such a lovely brother-in-law.

 Lan Xichen asked only one question when Wangji returned to the Cloud Recesses with a boy in his arms, whip wounds reopened and dripping blood onto floor of the Jingshi.  

“Who is this?”

“Lan Yuan.”  And that was all he needed to say.  

Xichen took a look at A-Yuan’s clothes, saw white lined with burning red, and left. When he returned, he brought with him medicine, a set of small white robes for Lan Yuan to change into – and a small white ribbon.

His brother’s hold on the child had tightened when he had landed and seen Xichen waiting for him, just slightly enough that even Xichen might not have noticed.  For a moment, the weight that had been sitting in his chest since Wanji’s punishment had seemed to grow impossibly heavier.  If this was what Wangji needed– and Xichen would hardly turn down a sick child, the boy clearly had a fever–and since when had there been children in the Burial Grounds– what had they done–

Xichen took a breath. Let it out. In again, sandalwood curling into his lungs as he helped Wangji heal the child. And out, throat closing when he saw how Wangji always kept himself between Lan Yuan and Lan Xichen.

…

It wasn’t difficult to ensure that Lan Yuan had a place in the Cloud Recesses. The elders were still recovering, and Uncle was busy soothing any feathers that remained ruffled after Wangji’s punishment.  No one saw Wangji leave for the Burial Grounds and return with a child.  No one saw those robes but Xichen, and those were long gone. He had made sure to watch until it was all ashes, edges burning up with real flames.  A-Yuan remained in the Jingshi, recovering side by side with Wangji, and no one intruded there except for Xichen until a whole two months after the child’s arrival.

Uncle stepped into the room, saw A-Yuan asleep in Wangji’s arms, opened his mouth, saw the look on Xichen’s face and closed his mouth. Xichen burned in defiant shame.

Uncle asked the same question as Xichen had, and Xichen closed his eyes, hoping fervently he hadn’t used the same tone as his Uncle when he’d first seen A-Yuan.

“Who is this?”

Words seem to have failed his brother in answering the question this time, so he answered instead.

“My nephew.” And, as Uncle took a look at Wangji’s expression, that was all he needed to say.

…

Four years now, and Wangji sat in a field with A-Yuan, the boy sitting in perfect poise but vibrating slightly as a bunny hopped closer.  Xichen walked closer, and hid his hurt with a gentle smile that A-Yuan returned, as Wangji immediately scooped his son into his arms.  A-Yuan was almost seven now, and the elders, long resigned to his presence, had begun murmuring about starting his lessons.  It would be unseemly for Hanguang-jun’s son to develop a core late, they whispered into Xichen’s ears, the boy needs to leave his father’s side someday.

Xichen would have preferred his Uncle taking the responsibility of having this conversation with Wangji.  After all, he had been their best teacher, and if it was about lessons for little A-Yuan, it would be more appropriate for a mentor than the Sect Leader to begin the discussion.  A quiet thought whispered in Xichen’s mind that he wanted Uncle to speak to Wangji about this instead of him because Wangji always kept A-Yuan in his sight when Xichen visited, and Xichen couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of the singed bridge between them crumbling completely if he was the one who told Wangji he needed to hand over his child.

Xichen breathed and quieted his thoughts. He had to do this. Wangji didn’t let Uncle anywhere near A-Yuan, so they’d hardly be able to have the conversation in the first place. He had to do this.

…

Wangji refused at first.  He insisted that he would personally teach A-Yuan. When Xichen spoke about the need of children to form friendships, he looked pointedly at Xichen.

“Wangji, I mean friends of his own age.  This isn’t something you can do for him.”

Wangji stubbornly held his silence, and Xichen reached his limit.

He scooped up A-Yuan who had been sitting quietly between them, working on his writing, and started walking out the door. A-Yuan gasped slightly in shock before settling into his arms, looking back for his father immediately, even as he rested his chin on his uncle’s shoulder.  As he heard Wangji spring to his feet and hurry after him, Xichen begged any god that might be listening that he wouldn’t hear Bichen unsheathing, because from the way Wangji’s breath caught when he picked up the boy, Xichen thought there was a very real chance they might come to blows.

And Xichen loved his brother, and he understood why Wangji watched him like a hawk when he spoke to or held his nephew, understood why Wangji refused to let A-Yuan out of his sight, because he’d felt that same instinct when he’d returned home after the burning of the Cloud Recesses, and seen Wangji waiting, injured and grieving and stronger than he’d ever been – but somehow smaller too, almost as small as the boy waiting in front of a door that would never open again.  Xichen understood. He did. But it couldn’t continue.

Wangji caught up and stepped in front of him, reaching for A-Yuan. Xichen held tight and met his eyes.

“What do you think I will do, Wangji? Take him outside and leave him in an alley in town?” Xichen asked, heart in his throat. For the first time, he couldn’t foretell what his brother would answer. A-Yuan blinked at him, like Xichen had made a joke and he didn’t quite understand the punchline.

Wangji looked away, and no. They had to resolve this now. Xichen stepped to the side and caught his eyes again.

“Brother. Answer me. What do you think I will do to my nephew? What do you think I will allow to be done to my nephew?”

Wangji didn’t answer but shame swept through his eyes and Xichen waited. A breeze sighed through the magnolia tree nearby. A-Yuan squirmed in his hold, but stayed quiet, sensing the tense air.

His brother eventually, reluctantly, replied. He managed to whisper out “Wen” before his voice failed him again.

“Yes, he was. He is. But he’s also Lan now, and the young Lan disciples will start their training soon. What else?”

“Uncle-” And Xichen had been raised better than to interrupt someone speaking, especially his brother who struggled with words to begin with, but he’d had enough.

“Uncle will teach A-Yuan as he would any other disciple or he will answer to the Sect Leader. What else.”

“Wei Ying.”

And Xichen sighed, because here was the crux of the matter. They had taken Wei Wuxian from Wangji, or more accurately, dragged Wangji away from Wei Wuxian, and so they might take A-Yuan too. For existing when the world wanted to wipe out all traces that they had ever been hurt by the Wens, and for being someone Wei Wuxian had spit in the face of the cultivational world for. They gloated now of their power, but what was their power if they couldn’t destroy the memory of their fear and humiliation at Wei Wuxian’s hands?

But Xichen had tried, in his own way, to show Wangji his regret and shame for his part in Wangji’s loss.  He had snuck A-Yuan candy when Uncle was looking away, had helped the child learn to read music sheets when Wangji’s explanations failed, had listened intently to his quiet but excited voice when he gushed about his father’s rabbits, had honored Wangji’s unspoken insistence that Xichen remain in sight if he picked up A-Yuan.  At first, for Wangji’s sake, then for A-Yuan’s, because, really, the boy was so, so easy to love. Xichen had hoped his affection would speak for itself, and Wangji would see that he’d suffer nearly as much as his brother if anything were to happen to his nephew. It seemed he’d failed.  

So he caught Wangji’s eyes again, held them for a long moment, allowing his love for his family to shine through clearly, trusting that Wangji could see it, before he put A-Yuan back into his brother’s arms and asked him one question. One.

“Who is he?”                

“…Lan Yuan.”

Xichen walked away.

And a few weeks later, when Xichen saw Lan Yuan sitting in class, trying to protect his scroll from Jingyi’s wildly waving brush, he smiled, because that was all he had needed to say.

—–

figuring out how to say “he” without it getting confusing about which person I was talking about was ridiculously difficult. enjoy the run on sentences 😂

Recently, I've been coming across a lot of Qiongqi Path AU fics in which Jin Zixun succeeds or WWX dies in Jin Zixuan's place...　

(′～`；）

One more?

*****

Jin ZiXuan’s back hit the ground hard enough he bounced.    A flick of Qi that burned his lungs but let him breath in a gulp of air easily, a trick he’d learned quickly during the Sunshot Campaign after the first time the breath had been knocked out of him and left him a hairs-breadth from skewered, and he was rolling back to his feet.

“Wei Wu-”

Shock froze him half-way through rising, a strange tingling feeling starting up in the tips of his fingers and rising up his arms so they hung numbly at his sides.  Wei WuXian’s arms were still extended from where he’d shoved him.  The desperation in his face faded into something like relief, eyes drooping as blood began to dribbled down from his mouth.  A ringing started up in Jin ZiXuan’s hears as Wei WuXian staggered once, then stood straight and tall.  The same Yunmeng Pride that bit at Jiang Wanyin and had tempered his wife into a quietly resolute woman drawing him up despite the damage to his body.

Wen Ning’s arm was buried to the elbow through his chest.  Punched through between two ribs on one side, the fingers of his hand were flattened into a blade extending out the other.

With a crunch, a wet squelch and a hiss of air escaping shredded lung, he wrenched his arm back out.

Wei WuXian died standing up. 

The light in his eyes flickered out and his fingers went slack.  A bell hit the ground at his feet with a crystal chime that jolted Jin ZiXuan back to himself.  His legs shook under him as he rose to his full height.

“W-Wei-” he was cut off by an arrow with Jin clan fletching skimming over his shoulder and lodging into Wei WuXian’s throat, the force toppling him backwards.

“Good Riddance!” Jin ZiXuan sneered and spat a gop of saliva that struck Wei WuXian’s hand with a wet slap.   Then he turned and raised his fists at the surrounding.  “Wei WuXian is dead!  Who would dare say our Jin clan is one of many when we alone had the strength to defeat the Yiling Patriarch?”

As a cheer broke out, Jin ZiXuan took a step toward him in hot rage that barely covered the sick twist of his belly.  A-Li.  A-Ling.  The beloved little brother and uncle he knew would have dotted endlessly struck down on a path paved with his own invitation.  By his own clan.  How would he tell A-Li?  How would he tell Jiang Wanyin?  He wasn’t stupid, no falling out would make Wei WuXian’s murderer a mortal enemy of the Jiang Sect.

He got as far as wrenching Jin ZiXun around, but the snarling demand of what he thought he’d been doing was drowned out by a horrified shout.

“Wei Ying!” 

Lan Wangji dropped from the sky on Bichen like a god descending heaven, boots not even stirring a cloud of dust though they hit the ground hard before he began running.   Jin ZiXuan watched in shock as he dropped to his knees beside Wei WuXian’s body, trembling hands hovering over him as a naked expression of anguish contorted his face as he took in the ghastly wounds.

“Wei Ying?” he whispered, but Wei WuXian’s corpse did not answer.

With a hitched breath like a sob, he lifted him up and gathered him close, face pressing into the messy fall of Wei WuXian’s hair as his hands crumbled blood-soaked black fabric.

Other voices began calling out.  Cultivators from Carp Tower who’d followed Lan Wangji’s desperate rush to Qiongqi Path, not knowing why, but certain that anything that caused Hanguang-Jun to run in such panic must be an emergency.   Cries of shock and “murder!” and angry defenses from Jin ZiXun and his three hundred men.  Three hundred men.  The number resonated in his mind, outrageous, even as he couldn’t tear his eyes from Lan Wangji’s grief-stricken face.   Spots of red like fallen rose petals bloomed on his robes that had fallen around him and Wei WuXian like drifts of snow, then melted together in a wetly gleaming stain.

Behind him the crowd surged, becoming frenzied with hysteria as Jin ZiXun’s robes were pulled aside and revealed his curse still in effect.  Absolving Wei WuXian of guilt too late and sparking declarations of war and frantic denials of guilt and blame.

As screams of pain and panic started up around them - the Ghost General, frozen in place until then, striking out in defense of his dead master when too many drew too close - Jin ZiXuan did not react.  The Ghost General shifted around him like rotting water around a stone.  Obeying Wei WuXian’s last screamed command of “No!  Not him!” even in this mindless destructive state.

Louder than all of it was Lan Wangji’s last whisper of “Wei Ying.”

In slow motion, he toppled over, his arms never releasing Wei WuXian from that gentle cradle.

In the days that followed, Jin ZiXuan floundered to sooth his wifes tears while scrambling to save some tattered face for his sect (betrayers of hospitality!  Foul murders who lure men to their deaths with invitations to celebrate the one month of a child!  Disgraceful!).

Weathered the accusations of murder in his own name.

The doubt that lingered over his denial of involvement in Wei WuXian’s death was so much easier to bear than his declaration of innocence for the murder of Lan Wangji.

He would never forget the look on Lan Xichen’s face, the raw pain at speaking something that should never be said, but unable to keep silent knowing it would damn an innocent man.

“We of the Lan clan, like our founder Lan An, have hearts that are moved deeply, but only once in a lifetime.   Wangji...my brother...W-Wangji’s heart was moved for Wei WuXian long ago.  There have been many that bear the death of their beloved and live on with a hole in their heart, but just as many are unable to survive it.  To see it...to see Wei WuXian die...Wangji has always loved deeper than anyone else I’ve known.  It was too much for him to see Wei WuXian suffer such a terrible death and he followed him.”

motherfuck the pain tho

Don’t you wish we could go back to how things were?

write for the audience you want, not the one you’re afraid of

Oh, snap.