I see. ( Land, arid, stripped of humidity, of plumpness, of joy. What lingers is this: the grotesque consumption that follows plague and locusts, a gauntness so exaggerated it is a violence more than a sum of lines. Ecology tortured.
Wangji watches the grounds, the tremors and reconfigurations of his footing trailing bright, stark shadows under an absent, pale sun. What they know, he knows: that the Motherless leave their gift of decay in passing, but they cannot say if the effect is staggered or immediate, that they assume the speed of the creature's advance. In truth, they have no notion; the Motherless may yet pivot suddenly, or plunge.
They assume it will hold true to the patterns of its progress already observed. Wiser men than Lan Wangji have shed their life's last red on more sensible soothsaying. And why surrender their advantage? )
Gaze upon it. Direct me.
( Cut of Lan Wangji's glance is a fresh, biting black blade, stabbing where Stephen Strange is soft, where the Motherless might seek to noose him: watching Stephen's throat, his belly, his thi —
...his thighs, as a strange dolloping mass trickles down, leaving its shimmied trail. Lan Wangji does not intend to stare (stares). Does not mean to cast judgement on the natural response of a man facing horror. Then calmly, in the manner of any father who once raised a young son, he murmurs: )
You have wetted yourself. ( Control yourself, man. This threat too shall pass. And unflinching: ) Wanda need not know.
( Comrades in arms do not unstitch the belly of each other's secrets and lay them bare before the bitter, fawn heavens. )
no subject
I see. ( Land, arid, stripped of humidity, of plumpness, of joy. What lingers is this: the grotesque consumption that follows plague and locusts, a gauntness so exaggerated it is a violence more than a sum of lines. Ecology tortured.
Wangji watches the grounds, the tremors and reconfigurations of his footing trailing bright, stark shadows under an absent, pale sun. What they know, he knows: that the Motherless leave their gift of decay in passing, but they cannot say if the effect is staggered or immediate, that they assume the speed of the creature's advance. In truth, they have no notion; the Motherless may yet pivot suddenly, or plunge.
They assume it will hold true to the patterns of its progress already observed. Wiser men than Lan Wangji have shed their life's last red on more sensible soothsaying. And why surrender their advantage? )
Gaze upon it. Direct me.
( Cut of Lan Wangji's glance is a fresh, biting black blade, stabbing where Stephen Strange is soft, where the Motherless might seek to noose him: watching Stephen's throat, his belly, his thi —
...his thighs, as a strange dolloping mass trickles down, leaving its shimmied trail. Lan Wangji does not intend to stare (stares). Does not mean to cast judgement on the natural response of a man facing horror. Then calmly, in the manner of any father who once raised a young son, he murmurs: )
You have wetted yourself. ( Control yourself, man. This threat too shall pass. And unflinching: ) Wanda need not know.
( Comrades in arms do not unstitch the belly of each other's secrets and lay them bare before the bitter, fawn heavens. )