#even wang whose face is shadowed

[koshka-sova]

sui siblings in 2024

since the latest sui event in CN gave us not one or two, but THREE sui sprites, i wanted to see what they were like placed together.

placement based on the wars of ruin pv:

some notes:

jie, the 5th sister and deceased calligraphy sibling, is without any image. i wonder if we'll even know what she looked like...

three other siblings seem to be known, if just by their association. the law sister seems to be mentioned in IW. another brother associated with medicine (mentioned in WB), and the 12th sibling, the cooking brother. mentioned in nian's dialogue

[eilzie-fics]

Efflorescence, pt. 1 | Dynasty Warriors Origins

Diao Chan X Ziluan

Rating: T

Angst, Character-focused, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,343

Prized flower of the Han court; the jade peony which bloom shames the moon into hiding. Diao Chan has many names. She treads across courts and palaces with the grace of a prodigious dancer. She smiles to captivate, molds herself into a sword so beautiful and sharp that rulers and tyrants would spill blood just to wield her. But the flower that blooms in the night has a secret; a wish that keeps her heart beating: that one day, it could grow to reach the stars that have illuminated her in the darkest hours.

The candle was nearly spent. Its small flame flickered against the warped wood of the chamber wall, throwing shadows too large for the dim and small space that Minister Wang Yun had booked under a different name to be used as his adopted daughter pleased.

Diao Chan was sitting beside the only table in the room, her wrist cradled on the ebony surface, the silk of her sleeve tied up to her elbow. The cloth she had been pressing against her purple skin was now cool, the bruise underneath had finished leaking blood into its third hour. It throbbed in time with her slowing pulse--a sharp, steady cadence that was not unlike her own heartbeat.

She eyed a small ointment box she had stashed in one of the room's drawers. Here, she could keep things like these private, knowing there would be no prying eyes or inspections. This was, after all, one of the hideouts Minister Wang Yun had arranged for her to use. "Resting places," he had called them, though none truly were. Each one was hidden in the most secure or illustrious inns, tucked away on brothels' second floors, or repurposed from what had been empty storage rooms of forgotten shrines.

The inn chamber she was in was a part of a winehouse. It smelled of stale rice, dried fruits, and jasmine. It had a lock, and the windows did not face the street. Those were enough for her.

With some reluctance, Diao Chan reached for the ointment box and opened it. The heavy, pungent smell of the pale green liquid inside of the box immediately told her that it would more than hurt when applied to her throbbing wrist.

It had been a jagged point of a golden ring. A noble her father had approached in order to secure a connection to a faction who had direct ties with one of the ruling Han officials. The ring had caught her just beneath the joint. Whether it had been a careless grip borne out of too much wine, or a calculated one to remind her of the power of the ring bearer, she could not say. The noble, well past his fifties and wrinkled with stress, had only smiled when he had grabbed her wrist, his ink-stained fingers coiling around her with a certainty of an owner.

'Tis was a small price--and pain--to pay for peace; a sure thing in the role that she played: an obedient daughter, a courtesan and dancer too alluring to not be paraded in front of the powerful, a weapon.

Diao Chan was used to hiding in layers of performance. She had, after all, been trained how to smile and bow at just the right angle, to disarm with politeness and flattery. What unsettled her now was how easily it had happened. and how little she had felt in that moment.

Sure, there was the unmistakable sting of physical pain. But her heart and mind felt as if they had been shrouded in a heavy fog, barely registering things until they were minutes too late. She had merely smiled back at the noble, an assuring one--a smile that spoke what most men would want to hear: "I'm yours, Your Lordship."

Now, alone in the quiet room with only a candle to accompany her, she finally breathed. Breathed, and thought:

I don't even know whose dream I am anymore.

Before her musings could go on any further, the sliding door to her inn chamber slid opened slowly, almost soundless safe for a swishing sound.

Her breath caught at the prospect of having been found. No one should have been able to trace this place, Wang Yun had made sure of it. All the bookings to rooms like these had used many different fictitious names, and brokered by people whose trade was in secret as much as it in public services.

Diao Chan stood up, readying herself to either force a retreat or come up with yet another pretense.

The familiar figure draped in black and shadows that emerged from behind the door was not someone whom she needed to escape from or fo, though.

Standing quietly as if asking for her permission to enter the room was the Wanderer whom she had only had the luxury to know in the past few months. "Ziluan," she breathed his name with a relief.

He stood there just behind thr threshold, looking unwilling to take more than the space offered to him. His dark cloak was loose around his shoulders, and his hair cast a shadow across his face. And yet, she coyld see the quiet sharpness in his eyes: alert, heavy with thoughts she knew he was reluctant to voice as those blue orbs narrowed upon her half-bandaged wrist.

Diao Chan stepped back, the hand that was injured instinctively covered the one that she had yet to fully tend to. "You shouldn't be here."

"...I know," he replied.

"How did you find me?" Her voice remained level, but she felt as if the walls and the flickering candle were listening on them.

Ziluan's gaze flicked slightly to her wrist, to the edges of cloth she had not tied. "You left early," he said, finally. "From the hall. As soon as you were dismissed, you walked away not with the other dancers to the backroom. And too fast."

She had, indeed. In her haste to hide her bleeding wrist then, she had covered it with a dancing fan and the end of her long sleeve, walking too briskly for someone who had meant to float. Diao Chan had no reply at that, so she merely looked away.

"I see more than I remember," he added after a pause.

"And so, you followed me?"

"Yes."

Ziluan stepped forward then, closing the door behind him without a sound. Slow, measured steps--steps one would take when one was approaching a wounded gazelle. He stopped just when he was close enough that she could smell the travel-dust in his garb. He stood still for a moment, waiting for her, perhaps.

"I thought you were avoiding me," she said, softer now, as though speaking might unmake the quiet that had settled in.

That had always been how they were designed to act in public. In Wang Yun's residence, they could become colleagues, friends even. But in the palace lights and court halls, they were supposed to be strangers who happened to serve one master. She was a jade-adorned blade, who was meant to be paraded alone, separate from all others. Any forms of association, even one that was miniscule enough, would jeopardize her status and symbol as 'Diao Chan.'

Ziluan did not answer right away. His gaze scanned the room first before it landed back on her. "Something... just looked wrong."

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "Everything always looks wrong if you have the eyes to spot it. Yours have always been exceptional. You just never say it."

He did not smile back. Instead, gently, he reached for her wounded wrist.

She flinched at the ghost of his touch, and he stopped. "I won't hurt you," he said, not with offense.

"...I know."

"Let me help."

There was a moment where she almost refused, where her pride, or her ingrained training, or her wariness rose like a tide to pull her away. But something else—something smaller, quieter—made her extend her hand.

He took it, and beckoned for her to sit down.

His fingers were steady as he unwrapped the cloth. He didn’t speak as he examined the bruise, didn’t ask who, or how, or why. She wondered if it was because he knew—or because he did not need to.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

No was almost at the tip of the tongue, complete with a neutral smile she had practiced for as long as she could remember. But to her own surprise, she managed a small, wordless nod.

Ziluan said nothing. His hands moved again, dipping into his satchel for salve. It smelled faintly of mint and something bitter. "A friend gave me this," he said as he dipped a finger to coat it with the medicine. He gestured with his chin towards the opened box of balm she had prepared on the table. "He vows it's three times more effective than what most people have."

“That is very confident of him,” she said.

The dry jest earned a very small curve at one end of his lips. “I envy such people.”

She blinked at him, unsure how to respond. Ziluan rarely talked about his feelings, or himself for that matter. Having little to no memories of his past, the Wanderer was mostly an observer. The most they had ever talked about was things around them, happenings in their world, and Wang Yun's vision of the future. He had never disclosed his own vision nor personal thoughts, she realized.

It's not that he does not want to, she thought as understanding dawned slowly within her. It's more like he cannot afford to.

And that... That looked to much like her own story it almost hurt.

The silence that followed was only broken by rustles of bandage-work and slight creaking sounds the wind made against the old building. Ziluan finished tending her wound, and in the dimming candlelight and through heavy eyelids, she saw him retracting his hands, resting them atop his knees.

"You need rest." It was as much as a statement as it was an observation. A thought to swat away those kind words surfaced like an old habit. But she chose, willingly this time, to ignore it. Today had been quite a whirlwind. And for the first time in weeks, she felt something loosen in her chest.

The only thing she remembered thinking of before falling into a dreamless sleep was how his hands had moved with a care she had not known in many years. Not since girlhood, not since before names became masks, and touch became currency.

In her defense, she had not meant to fall asleep.

At first, it had only been her eyelids--heavy, reluctant... Then, her breath: lengthening, slowing down. The sound of cloth rustling became distant, then indistinct, then gone. Then, the rest of her and the world pulled back.

Now that she was blinking sleep out of her system, the room was still. A blue shadow clung to the corners of the ceiling, unlit by the lone candle that now was merely a stub of wax, having been snuffed out some time ago. Her body was warm beneath a blanket that had not been there before, the mattress beneath her shifting slightly as she rolled to one side. It was a thin, pitiful thing compared to the plush and luxurious set that the palace offered. But now in this moment, it felt softer than any surface she had known. Kinder, almost.

Her wrist was wrapped in clean linen, more securely this time. Her robe still clung to her shoulders, untouched. And most of all, there was no scent of perfume or wine or such on the air, no trace of someone else having stayed beside her.

He was gone.

Diao Chan stayed in bed for a few more moments than she should, staring at the wood beams above her, tracing the split lines in the ceiling where water had once leaked through. Her hand, the one that was injured, rested against her chest, palm open, fingers slack.

It was such a small thing, she thought, to be clothed, tended, and left alone.

And yet—her throat tightened.

She had been carried. She knew it. Her body had not moved from where he had been tending her on the floor. Ziluan must have lifted her, quietly, without waking her, and laid her in the only bed the chamber had. No words. No suggestion. No grasping.

She touched the bandage with her opposite hand. It felt snug, warm still from his touch even though she knew he must have led hours ago.

He may have watched her fall asleep. He may have simply watched, and not taken.

He had watched and chosen distance.

She turned her face into the pillow and exhaled, feeling her heart thudding heavily against her ribcage.

"Why now?" she murmured to the dark. “Why you?”

Outside, the sky had not yet begun to shift, but she could feel the weight of dawn pressing just beyond the walls. Her time was running thin.

She sat up, slowly, her limbs reluctant to go back into a world filled with base desires, lies, and deceit. Every movement reminded her that the warmth she’d felt had not been a dream. It lingered in the way the blanket held her shape, in the faint scent of dust and iron that he left behind.

She moved to the basin to wash her face. Cold water, sharper than memory. She did not bother to look into the mirror. Mirrors had never been kind to her.

Her fingers paused at her collar. Still buttoned. Still hers.

Had we met in another time... in another life...

She smiled—just for a breath—then wiped it away with the same hand.

There were bells in the distance. Palace bells. A reminder that the woman in this chamber would have to once again don many masks and pretend.

Another smile was back in place. A sweet one, one she knew not many people would be able to refuse, one that was filled with poisoned honey. She was the butterfly of the Han court, now. She was Diao Chan.

But as she opened the door and stepped into the gray pre-dawn, something in her moved slower, steadier. The wound was now only a dull ache, no longer throbbing like how it had been the night before. But another wound was also slowly healing, as if a bleeding part of her that she had not known existed had also been carefully wrapped, stitched up by kindness and compassion she had forgotten could exist in her world.

[tlanwen]

lines, lines it’s all lines. but what if you cross it over into a loop. and now you’re stuck.

meta dump on sideblog, sorry, but im still not over the phone-ringing-as-psychological-torture bit in episode 6. Like its been So long since i’ve watched a show that’s been so narratively compact and well put-together.

>here we are, In laying himself bare in front of Wang telling him about the time his father confessed to him, and how following that key point in his life he decidedly put an end to their communication- he let his phone ring incessantly into the night but would not pick up (because of course, we can’t have In doing anything that might benefit himself and no one else in a situation. he has to be the martyr).

and here we are again! 20 years later- wang confessing to him (while adopting his own father’s voice in order to speak to in, to //get// to him in at his most vulnerable ((this child is a victim but a victim that loooves to play with fire. oh my god is he ever culpable in the All of it at this very moment. the double take i did when he referred to himself as siam. fuck me till next tuesday that was Hard to swallow)), in shuts down, and on cue- the phone rings. and it rings, and just like two decades ago, In just lets it ring.

such a good way to cut to one of the main points of this show- these people have been stuck in a time loop for the past 20 years and they’ve dragged wang into it as well. It is decidedly difficult (if not impossible) to move on from something you never talk about.

Mol won’t talk about siam and sees too much of him in her son (remember the talk in episode 1/2? her frustration at seeing something in wang, just beneath the surface, the same thing she never fully understood in siam??), ergo Wang can’t hear about his father, leaving him effectively parentless because let’s face it mol is more of a “friend” to wang than a parent (ooh the pent up resentment he has towards mol. i haven’t seen this in a show like. ever, maybe. the low-key & at times unexplainable outbursts of frustration with his mother that she can’t understand. this child is angry that you are only his friend. kids don’t need a friend, they need a parent.), and now that Inthawut is in the picture Wang has once again kind of taken on the role of his father in this weird off way. with neither of them, he isn’t allowed to be himself, he’s ended up being this fuzzy disfigured shadow of his dad (that he didn’t even know! none of these people truly knew the man whose absence stopped their lives dead in its tracks! mol certainly didn’t because siam hid it from her, in ran away when siam chose to show himself for who he really was, and wang didn’t even get the chance! im going insane.)

i love it i love it so much when showrunners trust their audience and their show-watching abilities. it’s like, hey, we know you’re watching a show and maybe you’re invested in these characters as if they’re real people- but here’s an element/callback to something we’ve fit underneath the surface of this piece of media; this thing that you are watching, it is a story after all- do you remember?

n it’s like yes yes i Do remember!! i See!

i dont know how to finish this off in a cohesive way but- i may have been spoiled by many recent dramas having happy and satisfying endings but it hit me when i finished ep. 6 that this one very much. might not have what one might call a happy ending. it’s still too early for me to call it. That being said, honestly all i can hope for in terms of a //happy ending// for 180d is both in and mol recognizing and wanting wang, as he is, not the idea of siam in his place. he deserves that at least, and all three of these people deserve to exit the loop they’ve been walking for far too long, even if it means some lines uncrossing

[drwcn]

《Without Envy》- concubine/sleeper agent!wwx & prince!lwj

[story board 1]  [story board 2]  [story board 3]  [story board 4]  [story board 5]  [story board 6]

snippets (non-chrono): [1]

snippet #2  →

Wei Wuxian was absolutely rubbish at being a servant, anyone could tell you that. Without mentioning that he was the antithesis of subservient, just the manner in which he was raised did not prepare him for the bullshit of becoming Lan Wangji’s personal attendant. 

Wen Ruohan fed him, clothed him, taught him and trained him, but no skills that was imbued into his young mind had anything to do with waiting at another’s hand and foot. Wen Ruohan had high expectations and accepted nothing short of perfection which Wei Wuxian delivered on all fronts, but at the end of the day, there were servants tending to Wei Wuxian at Nevernight. His maids tidied his room, his footmen delivered his messages, and Nevernight’s cooks were charmed and bribed into preparing his favourite dishes. 

Even at Jiang-fu, after he cheated and lied and manipulated his way past their defenses, he was quickly embraced by the inner family. Well... okay, Madam Yu was still a little frosty, but she gave him a red-pouch filled with silver coins at New Year, so he’d say he had made significant progress.

Long story short: Wei Wuxian may not be a prince, but he certainly was no street rat.

So, this getting up at the ass crack of dawn business was definitely going to be a problem

Though, never let it be said that he, Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, shirked from a challenge. Since he entered Hanguang-fu, he had been planning to make an impression on Lan Wangji, and what an impression it would be if he could meet Lan Wangji’s every need on the very first day. 

Thus, Wei Wuxian planned, he plotted, he delineated a plan that was foolproof. He had whipped up a modified time tracker that made use of the normal sand mechanism and added an additional function which would trickle a bell when the sand ran out. 

Lan Wangji liked to take a morning bath, according to the servants. Wei Wuxian aimed to rise early enough to heat the bath, prep Lan Wangji’s court robes and have his breakfast waiting on the table by the time the man was cleaned and dressed. Yes... all of this would work out swimmingly. 

 Except of course, Wei Wuxian did not anticipate that Lan Wangji was a complete freak of nature. 

In the courtyard outside of his bedchamber, half hidden in the silent greyness of the moments before dawn, Lan Wangji wielded his bichen through a series of  formations. 

Wei Wuxian stumbled at the round archway, freezing in surprise at seeing his mark already awake. He didn’t like being caught off guard; it didn’t make for a very long lifespan as a spy. 

Lan Wangji was dressed down in only a course white linen robe and grey trousers. Wei Wuxian watched him carefully, observing his movements as he swept across the courtyard, rapid and fluid, like torrents over rocky river beds. 

Perfectly balanced. Impressive. Silent and still, he stood on the sideline, analyzing the prince’s footwork, taking apart his idiosyncrasies,  and memorizing his signature. Unlike so many of their contemporaries whose swordsmanship was more flashy than functional, Wei Wuxian could tell that Gusu’s Hanguang-wang trained to win, to disarm, to kill. 

Lan Wangji...what an opponent you will be. He hid a smirk. Suibian was tucked away in a compartment beneath his floorboard, and a wild part of him itched to take it out and try it on his mark. Lan Wangji would not be an easy foe to defeat, but Wei Wuxian did not care about that; his heart picked up speed just imagining it. 

It helped that Lan Wangji was also undeniably beautiful. 

One day, your Bichen will have to contend with my Suibian - 

OW!

A sudden smack up the back of his head broke Wei Wuxian out of his ruminations. The sudden assault triggered the defensive part of his psyche, which at its core was that of an assassin, and he whipped around in a split second, without taking care to guard his expression. 

Yue-gongong, Lan Wangji’s eunuch and the second superintendent of the prince’s court jolted in surprise, taken aback by the hardness in this servant boy’s face and the heat in his eyes.    

Realizing his slip up, Wei Wuxian immediately slapped on a sheepish smile. “Ah, Yue-gongong, you scared me, haha! I - I -” 

“You lazy ox!’ Easily fooled, the eunuch immediately went back to berating him angrily. “Waking up so late and leaving dianxia without anyone to aid him! Heaven knows why dianxia would favour you to be his attendant!” 

He smacked Wei Wuxian twice with handle-end of the horsetail whisk that high-ranking eunuchs carried. 

When the time comes, I’m gutting you first. Thought Wei Wuxian as he shrank back pitifully in accordance with his continued pretense of being a helpless twink. 

“Yue-gongong.” Lan Wangji’s smooth baritone voice cut through the eunuch’s banshi-esque screech. “That’s enough. It’s Wei Ying’s first day. Do not blame him.” 

Yue-gonggong shot Wei Wuxian one last glare and backed off. “Yes dianxia.” 

“You’re dismissed for now.”  “Yes dianxia.” The eunuch bowed and retreated back to his duties elsehwere.

Wei Wuxian quickly got on his knees and thanked Lan Wangji, “Dianxia, A-Xian - uhm, Wei Ying - Wei Ying apologizes for being tardy. I will go boil water for your bath right away!” 

“No need,” replied Lan Wangji. “I take my morning baths cold.” 

Cold....bath??? Is this another weird Lan practice? 

Growing up under Wen Ruohan’s guidance, Wei Wuxian was raised to think that Gusu Lans were a sentimental bunch, too emotional to be fit for ruling because they could not put the needs of the country before their own. Wei Wuxian knew of the reputation of Gusu’a previous emperor, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji’s father, who still lived yet had shirked from his responsibility to the throne. He was not the only emperor in history to have lost a dear love, but the the death of his empress had caused him to lose all motivation for ruling, the duty of which he had pushed onto his oldest son. 

Perhaps if Wei Wuxian had been raised by Jiang Fengmian, he would appreciate the depth of taishang-huang’s love for his empress, but the current Wei Wuxian, trained and molded by Wen Ruohan, could not muster up any respect this sentimental fool. A part of him had hoped that Lan Xichen would be different, that he could show Wen Ruohan he was a worthy equal, that Wen Ruohan’s ambition could be culled if only Gusu’s Emperor was just as strong...

 ...but Lan Xichen was just as weak; refusing to provide heirs for the crown after Nie Mingjue passed. 

“Come, stand.” A shadow appeared over him. Wei Wuxian slowly raised his head to see Lan Wangji standing before him with an outstretched hand. “Rise, Wei Ying.”  

Wei Wuxian stared at that outstretched hand, calloused along the palm and along the finger tips: the hand of a musician and a warrior. How strange indeed. Yet, when he dared reach out to it with one of his own and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, he found that Lan Wangji’s grip was warm and gentle. 

Sentimentality is the death of power. 

He swallowed despite himself. 

“Thank you, dianxia.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t particularly enjoy being a spy, but Wen Ruohan was like a father to him, and he believed in him and in the better future that Wen Ruohan could provide to Gusu if he were to rule.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know it then, but slowly, he would be proven wrong.

[aroaessidhe]

She Who Became The Sun character descriptions

for fanart! my full book character description database in linked in my pinned post

please note this is mostly in the form of copypasted paragraphs so may contain spoilers!

Zhu

"wide forehead and none of the roundness that makes children adorable, she had the mandibular look of a brown locust" "She took off her skirt and put on Chongba’s knee-length robe and trousers; untied her hair buns so her hair fell loose like a boy’s; and finally took the amulet from his throat and fastened it around her own" [wooden Buddhist amulet around his neck, glows gold in candlelight]

monk robes: their trousers and undershirts, then peasant-style short inner robes, then over them the wide-sleeved gray monastic robes,

She was smaller than the boys, but the enveloping robes made her otherwise identical. She touched her newly shaved head. Her hair was too short to even have a nap; it was as unfriendly to her fingers as a scrubbing brush.

later: She was wearing only her short inner robe and trousers, and now the Abbot draped the seven-panel robe over her shoulders. It was heavier than the novice robes

triangular silhouette

grid of 12 ordination scars on head

The black scholar-style hat she had worn for the wedding matched Chen’s perfectly, so that together they resembled a classic image of master and disciple.

She was wearing her usual combination of armor over old gray robes,

Xu Da

An older boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen, to Zhu’s starved eyes he seemed outlandishly robust: almost too tall and healthy to be real. His features were as harmonious as if they had been placed there by a sympathetic deity, rather than simply thrown down in a jumble from Heaven like everyone else

Already twenty-one, he had matured into a strapping young man whose shaved head only highlighted the clean planes of his face. His ordination last autumn was still recent enough that Zhu found it odd to see him in a fully ordained monk’s seven-panel robe instead of the simpler novice robes, his scalp marked with ordination scars

His cheekbones stood out more sharply, and there was a new shadow in his eyes. His grown-out hair puffed around his head like the fur of a Tibetan temple dog. Out of his gray robes, which were the only clothes Zhu had ever seen him in, he seemed like a different person.

Under the downwards slope of his eyebrows, his right eyelid creased a little more than the left. His hair, in the awkward stage between shaved and long enough to tie up, gave him a disreputable look

Esen

The warm spring wind swept his loosened hair to the side like a flag

His deep outdoors tan concealed his naturally ruddy, fair-skinned steppe complexion, but his chest, visible through the gap in his robe, gleamed ivory in the firelight.

Tall and muscular, with a neat well-shaped mouth under his beard, he was so perfect an example of a Mongol warrior that he resembled the hagiographic portraits of the great khans even more than the real men themselves had.

Esen emerged from his ger in his ceremonial armor. His cape was silver fur, which flattered his browned skin. His beard had been trimmed so the column of his throat stood clear and smooth.

jade beads in his hair clicked

Esen’s familiar face, lined unfamiliarly with the pain he himself had put there. He saw the smoothness where the beard of Esen’s upper lip failed to meet his beard below, his strong neck with its fluttering heartbeat. The generous and well-shaped lips.

Esen, Ouyang and Wang-

The Prince of Henan swept across the courtyard and up the steps of the Great Shrine Hall. The lush fur of his cape rippled and flexed like a live animal. A plume of white horsehair bucked at his helmet. He was trailed by three radiant youths. Bareheaded, their alien braids tossed in the wind. Two wore armor, and the third a gown of such gloriously shimmering magnolia purple that Zhu’s first thought was that it was made of butterfly wings. “That must be the Prince’s heir, Lord Esen,” Xu Da said, of the taller armored figure. “So the one in purple is Lord Wang, the younger son.

Ouyang

[his] face, as bright and delicate as a polished abalone shell, brought to life every description of beauty that Zhu had ever read in poetry. And yet—even as Zhu saw beauty, she felt the lack of something the eye wanted. There was no femininity in that lovely face at all. Instead there was only the hard, haughty superiority that was somehow unmistakably that of a young man.

Ouyang had a vain streak when it came to armor: the mirror plates he favored were uniquely recognizable, a bold declaration of his status as a feared general of the Yuan.

He had been a youth then, probably younger than Zhu was now. Those years should have turned a youth into a man, but now Zhu had the impression of seeing an echo made flesh: someone as slight and beautiful as he had been all that time ago. Only his girl’s face had lost its pure loveliness to become something more unsettling: a sharp, eerie beauty held in as high a tension as the finest tempered steel. Instead of a normal soldier’s leather armor, the general wore metal. His circular chest plate was a darkly glimmering mirror. On each side of his head his hair was braided into the thin loops of a Mongol warrior. As he came closer Zhu saw he was actually of Nanren blood.

"She saw him in silhouette: black hair and black armor against a night sky. Behind him were the dark shapes of his ghosts, and behind them: the stars."

Lord Wang

hands tucked fastidiously into his sleeves. A clot of stillness amidst the chaos, watching. As was his habit, the other had set himself apart: his fussy silk dress was as vivid as a persimmon on a snowy branch. Instead of Mongol braids, he wore a topknot. His only concession to proper Mongol fashions was a sable cloak, and perhaps even that was only a concession to the cold. As Ouyang and Esen dismounted and entered the courtyard, the Prince of Henan’s second son gave his brother one of his slow, catlike smiles. Blood ran strange in the half-breeds. Despite his narrow Mongol eyes, Lord Wang Baoxiang had the slender face and long nose of the vanished aristocrats of Khinsai, the southern city once called imperial Lin’an

Ma

smooth golden tone of her skin was only more luminous in contrast to a small dark mole high on her forehead. Her hair fell as straight and shining as black clouds. Perhaps her looks missed the Nanren standards of classic beauty, but in her face there was such a depth of raw and innocent emotion that Zhu’s eye was drawn as if to the scene of an accident

her hair fell in two shining sheets around her face. Through it Zhu glimpsed her high nomad cheekbones, and the floating eyebrows signifying future happiness that every mother wanted their daughters to have

perfect willow-leaf eyes

it was true, though, that male clothing did nothing to hide her feminine shape. With her sturdy thighs and rounded hips, nobody was ever going to compose a poem comparing her to a slender willow, or a gracefully bending blade of grass

"Ma was wearing red, the color of what had been ended so that Zhu could build the new. ��Her gold-embroidered sleeves draped nearly to the ground. Her upswept hair, as high again as her head, was crowned with hanging silk ribbons and golden threads that swayed as she walked. In silence she made her way between the bodies prostrated on the stone. Her skirts flowed behind her like a river of blood. At the foot of the stairs, Ma knelt. She was all smoothness and softness in the pool of her madder-dyed silk—"

Ma took off her veil. Her dangling hairpin decorations chimed softly against each other as she sat next to Zhu on the bed.

----

a few minor characters also in my database!

[besanii]

Hi! if you'd like, I'd love to see number 6 (lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up) for your SM verse. Thanks!

Shattered Mirrors 58

Lan Wangji is standing by the window behind the desk, one arm tucked against the small of his back, the other resting by his side, when Wen Yuan enters the study. He turns as Wen Yuan gets to his knees and clasps his hands before him in a bow.

“Hanguang-wangye, you sent for me?”

“Wen Yuan.” Lan Wangji motions for him to rise. “I hear you are lodging at an inn in the city.”

Wen Yuan obediently rises to his feet and keeps his eyes lowered respectfully, though the smile on his face is warm and easy.

“Wangye heard correctly,” he replies. “It is only a modest inn, but it is clean and its furnishings sturdy. It is more than adequate.”

“That is good to hear.” After a pause, he adds: “There are rooms available here, if you do not mind that we are lacking in preparation. I’m sure Wei Ying would be pleased to have you stay here with us.”

Wen Yuan bows.

“Thank you, Wangye, for the generous offer,” he says. “But I do not wish to intrude. I am only here to deliver the antidote and call upon a few business associates, and then I will be on my way.”

“You do not plan to stay?” Lan Wangji asks, surprised.

Wen Yuan shakes his head and smiles.

“The nature of my business means I am constantly travelling,” he explains. “It’s the only life I’ve known—to be honest, Wangye, I’m not sure I would be suited to staying in one place for an extended period of time.”

To a man like Lan Wangji, whose identity is so deeply rooted in his nation, his people, the thought of not having a place to call home is unfathomable. Even during the years at war, when he had been constantly travelling along the front lines, Caiyi and Gusu had always lingered in the back of his mind, a constant, comforting promise. He remembers with a pang of guilt that Wen Yuan has not had a place to call home since he was very young.

“If your mind is made up on the matter, then I will not press the issue,” he says with a nod. Wen Yuan bows in thanks. “However, please know that the doors of Hanguang-wang-fu will always be open to you, should you wish to stay.”

“Wangye is too generous,” Wen Yuan murmurs. “This one is undeserving.”

There is something about the way he smiles—polite, detached, almost secretive—that stirs a faint sense of recognition in the recesses of Lan Wangji’s mind.

“Wen Yuan,” he begins, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “Have we met before?”

Wen Yuan’s smile grows wider, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“Does Wangye not remember?” he asks, the playfulness in his voice so similar to Wei Wuxian that Lan Wangji is reminded that this young man was practically raised under his husband’s wing. “This one was fortunate enough to meet Hanguang-wang when he was still Er-dianxia, near Jiangling.”

Jiangling. He had been stationed there for a while during the war, when they had been preparing to march on the Qishan Wen stronghold in Yiling. It was there they had received much-needed support from General Ouyang in Baling, enough to turn the tides of the stalemate they had been locked in for the better part of three months. They had discovered Wen Chao there, rotting away in his own filth, barely alive and out of his wits.

It was also there that he had received the first news of Wei Wuxian in over a year, a cryptic message delivered by a boy, along with a note—

“It was you,” he realises. “You were the messenger.”

Wen Yuan bows. “I was.”

The air rushes from Lan Wangji’s lungs and he steadies himself against the back of the chair. It was Wen Yuan, all those years ago, sent to him by a mysterious ally, who had also brought General Ouyang to their cause. And then General Ouyang had delivered them Wen Chao, the crucial element they needed to turn the tide of the war.

“And your master…” Lan Wangji looks up at him for confirmation, half-afraid of the answer. “Who is your master?”

Wen Yuan keeps smiling.

“I think Wangye already knows,” he says.

——

Wei Wuxian is asleep when he returns to their rooms, curled up under the covers as the warm afternoon sunlight spills in through the window by their bed. He has been sleeping poorly, plagued by nightmares and lingering pains from his illness—although the antidote has helped ease the latter quite significantly—and Lan Wangji is loathe to wake him. But the enormity of the new information fills him, threatening to burst out of his chest at the very sight of Wei Wuxian, alive and well before him, after so many years.

He sits down on the edge of the bed beside Wei Wuxian’s head and watches the rise and fall of his chest, soft and deep in slumber.

All these years he had gone without knowing what had happened to Wei Wuxian after he left Gusu, not knowing where he was after the fall of Yunmeng, if he was safe or captured or even dead. He had spent all these years desperately searching for Wei Wuxian, vowing to care for and protect him, to shield him from any further harm—when in fact, it had been Wei Wuxian who had protected him from the shadows this whole time.

He brushes back a lock of hair from his forehead gently, leans down to brush a tender kiss over his lips, and feels Wei Wuxian stir.

“Lan Zhan?” he mumbles, instinctively turning into his touch, eyes still closed.

Lan Wangji laughs softly, his eyes stinging.

“Yes, love,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and peers at him blearily, still clouded with sleep.

“What’s happening?” he asks. “What time is it?”

“Nothing, everything is fine,” Lan Wangji assures him. He presses another kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

“Mm,” Wei Wuxian hums, letting his eyes drift closed again. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He climbs under the covers and arranges them so Wei Wuxian is nestled in his arms, head pillowed on his chest, over his heart, warm and pliant and alive—

He pulls him a little closer, holds him a little tighter, presses his lips to the top of his head as the tears start to fall.

“Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Thank you, Wei Ying.”

--

Master Post on sidebar

ko-fi link on sidebar

[kolachess]

Ghostman’s Backstory

 Who is Ghostman?

First, you very likely have no idea who I’m talking about. Ghostman, as Wu Xie dubs him ‘鬼影’, is a character that shows up in Volume 8 (the last volume, and in drama-speak it means the events right after Ultimate Note) briefly to impart a lot of insightful explanations on Wu Xie (and we the audience). 

This does mean this will be a lot of spoilers then and quite lengthy. I’ll usually tag these with posts spoilers, but I’m using a cut this time too.

When does he first appear?

So technically, he’s made an ‘appearance’ earlier, as the mysterious figure stalking them around Banai, and the person who tried to steal the box containing the iron block from Xiaoge when they first visited his former residence.

Although described as ‘collapsed’ or ‘sloped’ shoulders, this should not be confused with the ‘collapsed shouldered’ figure standing behind a screen Wu Xie saw in the old photograph that led them to Banai in the first place (that was later unveiled to be an iron figurine (Vol 6, Ch. 35)). (However, there does seem to be another mention of the photo that may contradict this... so idk. It’s all Wu Xie hypothesizing anyway.) 

What does he look like?

From Wu Xie’s description in the novel:

His whole body was like a mass of wax that had quickly melted at first. All the skin was mottled with holes, but the melting process seemed to have stopped abruptly. His shoulders were practically nonexistent, his hands hung on both sides of his body, and all the flesh and skin on his shoulders were wrapped around his body. I could even see the joints through the thin skin covering his shoulder bones. His whole face had been melted and his hair was so long and unkempt that it was practically knotted together.

When and why does he approach Wu Xie?

He approaches Wu Xie (and Pangzi technically) as they are about to enter the mountain to find Zhang Family Ancestral Manor and save Xiaoge. 

Recap: A long-range authentication system was set up for the manor in Sichuan, which is where Wu Xie’s team operated. After they messed up a password though, they lost contact with Xiaoge and Pangzi’s team in Banai. Wu Xie then rushed over to perform a rescue operation, and for reasons, had to utilize his Sanshu’s identity to do so (so he’s posing as his Sanshu). Pangzi managed to make it out somehow, and now they’re both trying to get back in.

Ghostman approaches Wu Xie because he recognized Wu Sanxing and was curious what he was doing back here. Hence, he finally shows up and asks Wu Xie to follow him (Vol 8, Ch. 31).

Who is he really and what is his story?

It turns out his name is ‘Zhang Qiling’ (though presumably no meaningful connection to THE Zhang family). Thirty years prior, he was part of the  ‘archaeology team’ of Chen Wenjin that came to Banai. 

He joined the team because he was part of the result of a nation-wide search for people named ‘Zhang Qiling’, and was the only one who remained by some qualifications (Vol 8, Ch. 36). He doesn’t know the significance of the name, however.

Although an archaeology team nominally, their real task was to bring a coffin into the mountain (Vol 8, Ch.35-6). What this is, he has no idea. But he says they were all deceived, and only three people probably knew the real situation.

When they went into the mountain and finally reached the building, the miluotuos (rock beings that preyed on humans and were attracted to their warmth) had been hot on their heels, even if they couldn’t immediately breach the alkali barrier. This concentration of Miluotuos triggered the Manor’s defense mechanism - a spray of alkali mist that kills / scares them off, but also liquefied the team. Those in the building were instantly liquefied, and Ghostman was fortunately in the tunnel and only got lightly exposed, and he still became the way he is today (Vol 8, Ch. 35)

He only survived all these years thanks to the help of Panma. And since then, he’s been raising lynxes and keeping people from approaching all these years. If they did get too close, he’d kill them, because it was better they died by his hands than inside that terrible place and feed more miluotuos.

He asks ‘Sanshu’ what he’s doing back here and if he knew things would happen the way they did back then, and if that was why Sanshu did not join their group. He also wants to know who is ‘in charge’ now and if Sanshu agrees now that the ‘secret’ should never be revealed.

What all did they learn from him?

Since Wu Xie was posing as Sanshu and didn’t have his actual memories, he had to tread very carefully on how to answer / ask follow-up questions.

The origin of the qilin tattoo

The Yao people in the area would tattoo a qilin tattoo on their best hunters when they come of age. It turns out the reason it took the shape of the qilin it is today was because a Han tattoo master had come through around Ming or Qing dynasties (1300s - 1900s) to teach here and decided to modify / improve it. 

Now as to where the original tattoo came from... it was deemed a necessary thing for hunters who hunted deep in Yangjiao Mountain, which to the people was a very unique place. They’d forgotten the reason though, and only carried it out of tradition.

Eventually, Ghostman’s team chased down enough clues to realize it was a very precise topographical map of the mountain. It mapped the route to the Yao ancient road. The Yao people spent a lot of time trying to figure out what special thing was at the end of the route, and Ghostman’s team similarly presumed this special thing must be the Manor. But then they realized it was a closed loop. (Vol 8, Ch. 34)

Miluotuos and secrets of the mountain

The path that wound around complicatedly was in fact more of a ‘fence’ to keep the miluotuos at bay. Miluotuo actually means ‘old grandmother’ and refers to the whole mountain. Technically the rock people are the miluotuo’s shadows.

The miluotuos eat people by trapping them inside the rock they secrete, which is why when Wu Xie and co. got stuck in the cave from the siphon, they couldn’t find any entrance. And since the miluotuos are everywhere in the mountain, it’s like the entire mountain is jelly with shifting passages.

And as I mentioned above, miluotuos are attracted to heat and while trapped in the walls, could break through if attracted enough. Hence, the Manor has a defense mechanism of misting alkali, which would force them to retreat. (Vol 8, Ch. 34)

Thousand year plan

The Zhang family had actually planned to move the Manor to this area nearly a thousand years ago. Two points - 1) the vegetation around this mountain was of especially good wood for construction. And there was a great fire in Ming dynasty (1300s-1600s) that conveniently wiped out the original vegetation. 2) To transport this lumber down, they formed a deep vertical hole all the way to the bottom of the underground cave. They did this simply by placing a copper ball at the entrance of the cave, and let thousands of years of rain slowly wash away the stone since water would pool at the bottom of the ball. (Vol 8, Ch. 33)

Others

There was a ‘Chen Qing’ group that was Sanshu’s faction, presumably led by a ‘Lao Yu’.

There’s a secret in the mountain that should not be revealed to the outside world. And they’re very close to losing the ‘key to all the secrets’ presumably because Xiaoge got trapped inside.

Notable questions / implications:

What is the significance of the five pointed star that he tosses ‘Sanshu’? (Vol 8, Ch. 32)

Whose coffin was carried into the Manor? (Vol 8, Ch. 35-6) 

Some netizens have hypothesized this to be Wang Canghai, but who knows.

What is the ‘secret’ that must not be known by the outside world? (Vol 8, Ch. 35) 

I want to say that while this might be related to the Zhang family secret / gate, it’s not quite it. Otherwise Ghostman would probably know what Zhang Qiling meant?

What’s the ‘only key’ that will soon be lost? (Vol 8, Ch. 36)

Again, maybe he’s referring to Xiaoge, but then why would he not know the importance of Zhang Qiling?

Why does Wu Xie feel like he recognizes Ghostman? What’s his relation to Wu Xie? “As he spoke, he regained his composure. Although his whole face was melted, I suddenly had a thought—I seemed to recognize him.He wasn’t in that photo and didn’t have the kind of relationship I thought he did with Uncle Three. As I was thinking this, I immediately broke out in a cold sweat. I had met him before, but where? Who was he?” (Vol 8, Ch. 35) 

Only ‘three’ people probably knew the full truth of the situation. Assuming Chen Wenjin and Huo Ling were two, who was the third? And was this before or after the ‘replacement’, so were these even the real Chen Wenjin and Huo Ling?

Why did they conduct a nation-wide search for Zhang Qiling? (Did they actually care to find their patriarch for once?)

[volkswagonblues]

2020 in review - my fave books I read this year:

[some of them are published this year, others I read for the first time this year]

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith

Okay, so this was straight up the funniest fucking book I’ve read this year. I’ve been meaning to read this book for a long time, and I picked up a copy at a free library and was instantly hooked. It was issued to American soldiers in WW2 and apparently it was like, the most popular paperback ever, and if Betty Smith was a man then she would have gone down in lit history as a “humorist” and a “great American novelist”, etc. etc. This books is SUCH a bawdy picaresque of Depression-era Brooklyn. It’s packed with such sharp insights about immigration and poverty, but it’s also filled with so many delicious minutiae about the early 20th c. There’s a whole sketch when Johnny takes a bunch of kids fishing in a tuxedo (he has never fished before) that begins with an anecdote about a kid who was breastfed until he was 6 and ended with a rotten fish exploding on a train and ugh – fantastic. 

Exhalation: Stories by Ted Chiang

This is like Black Mirror if the writers had a single thought process other than “how do we tell you that phone are bad hur hur”. One novella in it, "The Lifecycle of Software Objects", was astounding to read. It’s about a group of software programmers who raise AI lifeforms in a virtual MMORPG setting, and as the AI lifeforms grow up they become...beings who are not human, but not animal either. And their carers genuinely love them and are fighting to bring them up as best as they could, just like any normal parent would with their human children. It’s tender and thought provoking and it’s so, so smart about humans and our capacity to love. Fuck black mirror, read this instead.

Upstream by Mary Oliver

“The clock! That twelve-figured moon skull, that white spider belly! How serenely the hands move with their filigree pointers, and how steadily! Twelve hours, and twelve hours, and begin again! Eat, speak, sleep, cross a street, wash a dish! The clock is still ticking. All its vistas are just so broad—are regular. (Notice that word.) Every day, twelve little bins in which to order disorderly life, and even more disorderly thought. The town’s clock cries out, and the face on every wrist hums or shines; the world keeps pace with itself. Another day is passing, a regular and ordinary day. (Notice that word also.)”

Stargazing by Jen Wang

this is the cutest and most heart-wrenching comic ever. that is all

The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel

TREMENDOUS. The last third, after Cromwell gets shut in the Tower of London – I couldn’t put it down. I read a lot of good books, but only now and then I read a genius book. The way that Mantel uses the flexibility of prose to convey Cromwell’s consciousness, the way the prose moves back and forwards through time and memory and through the rich texture of Cromwell’s senses, the way the story engages with myth and history and the very idea of England as a nation. ARGH. This whole trilogy changed the way I understood literature.

Saqiyuq by Nancy Wachowich, in collaboration with Apphia Agalakti Awa, Rhoda Kaukjak Katsak, and Sandra Pikujak Katsak

it’s an oral history recorded by a sociologist who traveled to Nunavut. She interviewed three generations of the same family: the grandmother, the mother, and the granddaughter. It’s a portrait of a people whose life has gone through a sea change in the last century. And the rhythm of the language in the first section, the interviews with the grandmother, is so hypnotic and readable, I felt like I’m in the room. In the very beginning of the book she tells you a story about how she accidentally shot her half-brother because they were playing with her father’s rifle, and the intensity of the story (which is just her life!) does not let up from there

Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq

“There is a siren that sounds in our small town to announce the curfew. At noon and at 10 p.m. Every time the siren sounds all the sled dogs howl, and I imagine that they think there is a large, loud god dog that rules the land howling. I equate this with religion. A short-sighted and desperate attempt for humans to create reason and order in a universe we can't possibly comprehend. The simple truth is that we are simply an expression of the energy of the sun. We are the glorious manifestation of the power of the universe.”

The Shadow King by Maaza Mengiste

hey you ever want to read about Mussolini's 1935 invasion of Ethiopia, but like, with heavy thematic reference to Homer’s The Iliad? You want to read some of the most polished, crafted prose of your life? You want to think about war and womenhood and the violence inherent in everyday acts for 500 pages? Of course you do 

[otonymous]

Afterglow (Jackson Wang - NSFW)

Description: Breakups lead to make-ups...and make-up sex in an alleyway Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: public sex, angst, breakups Word Count: 2748 words (~ 14 mins of smut, angst and fluff-lite™️) AO3: read here Author’s Notes: This story is a BIG milestone for me, because it's the first time I've written about a man who exists outside the two-dimensional plane 😆 The thirst was undeniable ever since I saw Jackson’s Bottle Cap Challenge video, then he dropped the fly Kinjaz dance moves in his Titanic MV, and this story has been slowly brewing ever since.

I found it challenging to write about a living human being, and I strove to be as respectful as possible in the process of crafting this story.  That being said, happy reading and hope you all enjoy it! 🥰

Disclaimer: This is purely an exercise in creativity.  Unfortunate though it is, I do not know Jackson Wang in real life lol

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you know about me?”

The slight tremble in his voice.  A hint of panic.

You squinted as the headlights of a passing car caught the diamonds in his wristwatch, dazzling and disorienting in the dark as light reflected in your vision, and then…over as soon as it began.  The magic of the moment so terribly brief.

And as neon street signs threw electric shadows in the alleyway where you found yourself unable to look Jackson in the eye, the heat of a Hong Kong summer had never felt more oppressive.

Brown eyes no longer crinkled at their corners as they so often did before the cameras, their depths set instead on scrutinizing your features, looking for cracks in the wall you swore would never fall.

Because falling for him never should have been an option.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, right?  That I’m just another pretty face looking to play around?”

English bleeds seamlessly into Cantonese, Jackson’s voice rising in the deserted corridor where he had chased after you when you left him at the food stall on the corner — the place where you finally mustered up the courage to drive the blade into your heart even as you broke his with a single word:

“Goodbye.”

He hadn’t even finished his lo mein.

“Keep your voice down, Jackson.  You don’t want to attract attention—”

“DON’T TREAT ME LIKE A CHILD!”

The desperate echo of his outburst left him feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.  Eyes following your gaze as it dropped to the ground, Jackson Wang had never felt so small.

The sound of his breath fills your ears, shaky and shallow and accompanied by the drip of an air conditioner nearby — pace steady like a clock to mark the passage of time the two of you no longer had.

He covered his face, tapered fingers dragging from forehead to chin as his throat bobbed, choking on all the words he couldn’t afford to say aloud.

Because in that moment, Jackson hated it all — everything he had ever worked for.  The recognition.  The fame.  Schedules packed with recording, shoots and interviews that it wasn’t until the car ride home that he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun.

And in the mire of those lost days, he despised himself.  Hated the way he wished your time would stop too, just so he could share in every missed moment:

Your breath on his skin as you blew out the candles on a cake, warmth gentle like extinguished flame.

The laughter that shook your body till you doubled over, the most beautiful music to his ears.

Tears that rolled down your cheeks to reflect silver moonlight, stealing in through half-drawn curtains while the world outside slept.

Jackson Wang wanted it all.  Selfish though it was, he couldn't help it.  Because all he ever wanted was to give you everything.  But now, in the tremble of capable hands, he felt you slip through his fingers like grains of sand, scattered by the winds of a fate he was powerless against.

Powerless.  Hadn’t he sworn he would never allow himself to feel this way again?  

His hands curl into tight fists.

“Jackson, we…we just…don’t belong together.”  The words felt foreign on your tongue.  Faint, as if you yourself didn’t care to hear them.

“You and I both know full well that’s bullshit,” he scoffs, pulling off his black cap to run a hand through hair dyed chestnut brown.

And you remember.

Remembered the way he did the same in a flustered apology when he first bumped into you that fated day, eyes wide to see your skewer of curried fish balls drop to roll away on the sloped pavement.

Remembered being simultaneously fascinated and frightened by a smile as bright as the sun.  And suddenly, the way he artlessly thrust an egg tart into your hand in exchange for your lost snack made you shy.

Recalled the silk of his hair, wound between your fingers as they anchored to tug and pull with every movement of his body within yours, each wave of ecstasy overwhelming and absolute.

And suddenly, you are nauseous at the thought of never again hearing him whisper your name -- deep voice laced with fatigue on the other end of the line, or husky with lust as he trailed kisses down your neck.  But you swallow hard and sweep the thoughts away, preparing to twist the knife in a bid to be kind.

“All the things I want, Jackson…you cannot give me."  

Liar.

The words wooden in your ear, you wondered if Jackson, too, picked up on the charade.  But the quiet shudder that leaves his lips tells you otherwise.   Strangely detached, as if your consciousness had transcended your body to hover over the scene of a crime, you continue, eyes on the ground as you pantomimed the lies rehearsed since the day you decided to let the love of your life go.

“I want someone whose hand I can hold in public without it becoming front page news.  Someone who can be there, who doesn’t need to hop on a plane when I need him to just…hold me.  Texting and FaceTime, it’s not enough for me anymore.  Being with you, Jackson, it’s…too hard…”

Hypnotized by the rise and fall of his chest, you trail off as he steps closer, the yellow Batman logo on his black tee looking more faded than the last time you saw him in it — one month and three days ago.  The last time he came home.  The last time he was close enough to touch.

The first time you really saw what was happening to Jackson Wang.

For the truth lay in the violet circles beneath gentle eyes, in the tired rasp of his voice.  All those times he fought exhaustion to hear you tell him about your day at the end of his.  The way he’d apologize profusely for falling asleep mid-conversation the morning after while drinking that awful chicken breast shake he still couldn’t quite get used to.  The red-eye flights taken to surprise you on a whim.  The guilt you knew he still carried for missing kisses under mistletoes and summers spent on tour.

“Time.  Just give me a bit more time and I’ll give you everything.  Please.  That’s all I’m asking for.”  

Jackson’s voice is quiet.  Pleading.  You would’ve given him the world had he wanted it, but it still wouldn’t change the fact that your lives never should have crossed.  Jackson burned bright, a shooting star meant to blaze new trails.  And exhilarating thought it was to have momentarily basked in the warmth of his fire, you knew he couldn’t afford to be weighed down by anything — or anyone — in the pursuit of his dreams.

Love shouldn’t be a burden.

So you remain silent, sorrow heavy on your tongue as you fight the sting in your eyes that threatens to give you away.

“Look at me?”

Jackson’s breath, warm and soft at the crown of your head, sets your pulse on fire.  And on reflex, your trembling hand flies to your chest, fingering the delicate chain of the necklace he himself had put on you so many months ago until you remembered that this, too, was to be returned.

Voice thick with emotion, Jackson whispers again: “Please, look at me.”

And when those large hands cradle your jaw to gently tilt, the angles of his handsome face finally come into view, blurred through tears spilling past lashes as your traitorous body revolts — every nerve, every inch of skin screaming out for the touch of his lips.

Those lips.  

Plush pink and soft satin, how often had they pressed against yours, hot and insistent to leave you breathless in the ardour of his kiss?  Even now, with your lies breaking your heart and his, they moved to caress the apples of your cheeks, infinitely tender as he tasted the salt of every bitter tear shed.

“I love you.  Please…please, don’t go.”

Confession laid at the corner of your lips, his hands wrap around your waist to pull you flush against his body, Jackson willing his embrace to express the depths of his sincerity in a rare moment where he found himself speechless.

And there, melting into the searing heat of his chest against yours, you curse your lack of resolve as it crumbles — the cracks in the wall you said would never fall deepening with every sweep of his tongue along the seam of your lips, begging for entry.  Begging for your reconsideration.

So you relent, and the ecstatic shudder that shakes him to taste your mouth at last makes you weak.  But before you can drop, the arms around you tighten — strong and supportive like Jackson himself, constant even as his kiss deepened, greedy for more, more, more.

For when it came to you, Jackson was insatiable.

“This is yours,”  he says, breathless when he finally pulls away, lips kiss-swollen and cheeks pink under fluorescent blue lights, his hand covering yours to pull it beneath his shirt, wandering the crests and dips of that defined torso and crossing the broad smoothness of his chest until finally coming to rest above his heart, beating steady just left of centre.

“No matter what happens, this will always belong to you.  Always. ��Me and you…together…we’ll figure something out.  We can make it work.  So don’t give up on us, because I’ll never give up on you.  Okay?”

In the gravity of those big brown eyes, shining with determination and sharp with intent, you couldn’t help but concede, nodding as a wide smile transformed his face and you were once again bathed in light, heart warmed in the afterglow of his indomitable spirit even as your “Yes” is swallowed up by another kiss, hungrier than the last.

And suddenly, you are ravenous for the man, yielding to the honesty of your body as your tongue slides past open lips to explore that talented mouth, fingers gripping the muscles beneath his shirt — hard lines and solid planes all at once new and familiar and so exciting.

Exciting, like the way Jackson loved to take you - wherever and whenever desire struck, desperate to make the most of whatever time the two of you had together.  And when you felt the wall, cool and solid behind your back, the grind of his sturdy thigh between your legs left no question as to what you were in for.

So after a cursory glance down the alleyway confirmed you were still alone, Jackson trains that burning gaze onto you, lids heavy with lust as his eyes study yours before dropping to your mouth, and then…slowly…down to your chest, entranced to watch it heave beneath your top.  And when he sees the diamond pendant he chose for you adorning the skin above the swell of your breasts, his tongue sweeps out to wet that lower lip before it disappears behind the bite of perfect teeth.

Hands drag down your waist and hips, patiently tracing your curves even as the mouth on your neck burned kisses into skin — lips and teeth and tongue fervent as Jackson sought to mark you as his own for the world to see.

And when those long, tapered fingers linger at your knee to draw slow circles before wandering past the hem of your skirt, he angles his beautiful face, the register of his voice deep and low when he whispers in your ear, “Do you think of me when you wear that necklace?”

You nod, finding it altogether too difficult to speak with the way his hand caressed your thighs, fingertips following a gradient of heat as they moved along sensitive skin, inching closer and closer to silk that grew increasingly moist with each press of his muscular leg against your pussy.

“Good girl,” Jackson says as he sucks your lobe into his mouth - hot and wet — and you are further rewarded with a low hiss of pleasure when you reach to palm his cock through his pants, already impossibly hard and intimidatingly large.  The thought of him in you, sliding slick and thrusting fast to stretch you to the limits of your capacity, sent another surge of moisture to your core, Jackson smiling to feel the intensity of your response through drenched fabric.

“I think of you too…”

Your man continues, hand tracing the outline of your slit.

“…Wearing my necklace…”

Thumb hooks silk aside.

“…While touching yourself.”

You gasp.  Finally, fingers on bare skin.  Index and middle dragging from end to end to gather your arousal before skirting slick circles about your clit.  And when you feel two fingers, then three, penetrate to curl and press in torturous repetition, your head falls back as your legs shake, inviting the kiss of his lips on the notch of your neck.

Eyes blown wide with desire lock on your own as Jackson finally pulls his hand away — shiny with arousal even in the dimly lit passageway.  And as he brings it up to his face and yours in some obscene exhibition, your core twitches again to see him taste you, pink tongue running the length of each digit to catch every last drop before those lips wrap around his ring, sucking the remnants of your juices from a bed of diamonds.

“Delicious.  You always taste so sweet.  But right now - "

Your hands leave the bulge of his erection to unbutton his pants, trembling slightly in haste and excitement when you pull down his fly.  And when you finally release that cock — hot and hard — the movement of your fingers pumping slowly along its length steals the words from Jackson’s mouth.  

So you speak on both your behalves when you say,  

“I need you to fuck me.  Right now.”

Breath hitching in his throat at your command, the feral spark in Jackson's eye makes you bite your lip before it is promptly sucked into his mouth, your boyfriend kissing you deeply to silence every scream for discretion’s sake, the way he liked to do when fucking in public.

So you throw your arms around his neck, moaning against his lips as Jackson effortlessly lifts to slowly lower you onto his cock…stretching deeper and deeper until you swear you feel him at the pit of your stomach.  And when he begins to thrust in earnest — biceps bulging as he wraps your legs about his waist to dive hard and fast — the wet sounds of flesh hitting flesh add to the electric hum in the darkness.

Beads of sweat rolling from forehead to chin drip from Jackson's face to the skin of your chest, tracing between the swell of your breasts in the humid night to add to the primal urgency in the swing of his hips.  And when he shifts to hit that spot — smiling, as if proving that he had the totality of your body mapped in his mind — you lose your senses in yet another consuming release, convulsing in his arms until his own is drawn out, depositing hot and deep within you.

And when you finally descend from the clouds, the frantic rhythm in your chest slowing in time to his…you believe.  Believe in the honesty of your bodies and the attachment in your hearts.  Believe in Jackson’s words when he says that together, love will always find a way.  

So you bask in the afterglow of Jackson's affection...warm, bright and magical like the man himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[orsuliya]

And we’re back in Ci’an Temple Daddy Wang’s Evil Lair!

Not longer having to deal with idiotic Ma Imperials in person was clearly the best possible prescription for Daddy Wang. He’s just chilling with this sage yet supremely smug look on his face, laughing at Ma idiocy all day long. Yes, literally laughing. Cackling even. And since there’s no shortage of Ma idiocy these days courtesy of Zitan, Daddy Wang is a pretty happy guy.

He’s the smartest person in this city and he knows it! Luckily for us he’s not shy about showing off his brains. He totally should write for a tabloid; Miracle Baby could be his his copy editor.

So, hot off the press:

Su Jin’er is a snake who lies-lies-lies and no Guifei at all, just a pale shadow of Awu;

Song Huaien is a total sucker who can be tricked into thinking he’s better than Xiao Qi and all thanks to the Wangs and their amazing generosity;

Zitan is a loser whose great tragic romance will lead to his own downfall and also a damn fool, but that’s not news;

the capital is such a rotten place that even Hulan is a safer vacay destination these days.

Don’t know about you, but I’d subscribe in a second!

[eatprayworm]

rongzhi drabble, now with more monster cuddles

gentle footsteps beside the bed stir wang zhi from his sleep. he cracks his eyes open to see a looming shadow approach him; the faint moonlight reflects off large, unblinking eyes like a cat, peering down at him. wang zhi just huffs.

“you’re home late,” he mumbles, sleep clinging to his voice and the corners of his eyes. it’s not quite accusatory, but not quite just a mere observation either.

in front of him, ding rong is still, hands folded properly in front of him. the bedroom carries the smell of earth and something sweeter, which did not linger before.  

“there were setbacks,” ding rong says. there’s a flick of a forked tongue as he continues, “all taken care of.”

wang zhi grunts in acknowledgement. he doesn’t know what setbacks involve, but ding rong does not seem concerned so neither is wang zhi. he knows more than anyone how ding rong handles setbacks; wang zhi has seen the shadows of his claws and hungry, gaping maw.

“come to bed,” wang zhi says, and even when his tone is rough from sleep, there is no mistaking the command.

ding rong’s quiet, but no less obedient: he works on removing robes (wang zhi thinks he catches the sharp stink of old blood, but he’s not sure whose it belongs to), putting them away with the tidy efficiency that wang zhi expects from him. once he’s changed, he starts working on his hair; long fingers untangling the braid, combing through the strands in slow, even motions. wang zhi watches in fascination, as he does every time he can witness ding rong engage in this nighttime ritual.

(wang zhi insists ding rong gets properly undressed and ready for sleep each time they share a bed, which is more often than not these days. ding rong resisted at first, as he occasionally does when presented with a new human custom that seems illogical to him. but this, like many things, he will do for wang zhi, for his special human.)

wang zhi can barely make out the sight of ding rong combing out the rest of his hair, but the sight and soft fluttering sound of fingers through hair is soothing beyond measure. occasionally he encounters a snaggle, but he takes the time to untangle the best he can (he will agree to the ritual of bedtime clothes and bedtime hair, but he has no needs for combs when his fingers and claws are far more dexterous.)

another minute of combing later, and fingers shorten (claws have been withdrawn, wang zhi knows), as  he’s sweeping his long hair upward, tying it up in a loose bun. when he’s finished, he looks back to wang zhi with a plain look: satisfied?

wang zhi smiles in response. ding rong can see in the dark, perhaps better than he can see in the light, and so this is all he needs to do.

(he loves ding rong’s inhumanity. he loves the ways his inhumanity fights for him, fucks him, assists him, and he’d never try to rid ding rong of any of it. but something about this, seeing his bare face, the long hair tied into a gentle, domestic design - the simple illusion of humanity, all for wang zhi’s sake, makes something warm burn in his chest.)

“come here,” he says, tongue burning with remnants of those embers in his chest.

there’s no hesitation, no reluctance: just ding rong carefully climbing over wang zhi and on to the other side of the bed, which shakes as ding rong collapses without grace. wang zhi turns to face him, finding ding rong meeting him halfway, a large arm slinking around him to pull him in close, until wang zhi is properly tucked beneath his chin. wang zhi sighs, all but smashes his face into the warmth of ding rong’s throat, which begins to pleasantly vibrate at the touch. purring gives way to quiet little clicks and chirps, and they deepen when wang zhi snorts a pleased little laugh and maneuvers one of his legs in between ding rong’s long, long ones. over the years, wang zhi has catalogued ding rong’s language, every odd click and song of his throat and tongue, and though he does not know the words behind them, he knows the emotions; he knows ding rong is happy.

the warmth from earlier burns into a spiral, an all consuming flame that scorches wang zhi (they are here, together, happy), and all wang zhi can do is swing an arm of his own around ding rong’s back and cling. he caresses the knobs of his spine until the bone shifts under the attention, rippling like water beneath his fingers, rising to meet him.

he wants to say something, thinks they have carved out a space that would fit the perfect words. but ding rong’s double heartbeat and purring is the best lullaby wang zhi knows, and just as lips brush the crown of his head, he’s drifted to sleep.

[zagtoondaily]

The following information was released in TF1′s press release packet from yesterday’s conference. The following excerpts are translations of information regarding ZAG IPs.

GHOSTFORCE

Liv, Andy and Mike, three *middle schoolers, form a secret team of superheroes to chase ghosts in New York: the Ghost Force! For every mission, they transform into Myst, Fury, and Krush, heroes whose super powers are charged by ghost energy. They pursue ghosts around town to get them out of harm’s way and capture them.

It was originally Miss Jones who founded the Ghost Force. This brilliant scientist uncovered the mysteries of ghost matter and is doing everything to better identify ghosts and prevent them from doing harm. Thanks to her know-how, she even created a fourth member, an AI fueled by ghost energy: Glowboo!

When they appear, ghosts can be funny, or even cute. But they feed on the fear of New Yorkers until they take their most threatening form and rampage all over the city...Fortunately, the Ghost Force is there to stop them before things get out of hand!

But despite their superhero-led lives, Liv, Andy, and Mike remain normal *middle schoolers. Between two missions to save New York, they must also face their normal adolescent problems...

Production: Zagtoon | Format: 56x13′, 4 specials of 26′ | Audience: 5 - 9 years | Genre: comedy, adventure, action

MIRACULOUS: ADVENTURES OF LADYBUG & CAT NOIR - SEASON 4

Not only is Marinette Ladybug, the superheroine who protects Paris from attacks by villains, but now is the keeper of the Miraculous. This means hiding not only her secret identity, but also the existence of 16 rather turbulent magical creatures, the Kwami! Suffice to say that Marinette is under a lot of pressure, not to mention her life at school and her emotional turmoil! This leaves her with even less time to tell Adrien her feelings...

Marinette will therefore have to redouble her inventiveness to protect her secrets and Ladybug will have to get even stronger to go against an increasingly formidable adversary, **Shadow Moth, who can now fuse the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculous! Fortunately, Ladybug can always count on Cat Noir and also new superhero allies!

Production: Zag and ON Kids & Family | Format: 26x22’ | Audience: 6 - 10 years | Genre: action, adventure

MIRACULOUS WORLD: NEW YORK: THE UNITED HEROES

For Franco-American Friendship Week, Marinette and her class are going to New York, THE city of superheroes! It’s the perfect opportunity to spend more time with her friends but also Adrien. In fact, Adrien is travelling with his father, Gabriel Agreste, who is particularly interested in the opening exhibition of a precious necklace bearing an eagle’s claw...a jewel that could be endowed with powers coveted by Hawk Moth...Ladybug and Cat Noir may be need to ally with American superheroes to defend New York from their enemy.

Length: 52 minutes

MIRACULOUS WORLD: SHANGHAI: LADY DRAGON

To join Adrien in Shanghai, Marinette goes to visit her uncle Wang who is celebrating his birthday. But as soon as she arrives in China, she gets her bag stolen with Tikki who allows her to become Ladybug in secret! Deprived and alone in the huge city, Marinette accepts the help of a very resourceful young girl, Fei. The two girls will befriend each other and discover the existence of a new magical jewel, the Prodigious, that Papillon, who is also in Shanghai, has been seeking for a long time…

Length: 52 minutes

MIRACULOUS licenses 

Playset with mask, wig, wings, Ladybug earrings, Tikki toy, and yoyo that stores water temperature-controlled color-changing Akuma

Marinette’s Room Playhouse

MIRACULOUS letterset

MIRACULOUS first aid kit

MIRACULOUS Chrono - a time-based wire trap game

MIRACULOUS Ladybug: The Musical Show - premiering in France on Dec 20, 2020 at Dôme de Paris – Palais des Sport. Touring in France in 2021

*Due to differences in education levels between the U.S. and France, the protagonists of Ghostforce may be in high school

**French: Papillombre, this is likely a portmanteau of "Papillon" (Butterfly) and "ombre" (Shadow). Hawk Moth is called "Le Papillon" in the French dub so the English version will likely be Shadow Moth, keeping in line with Scarlet Moth.

[floriandeschamps]

Not until things have escalated: A Self Para.

The rays of the sun shone in verticals through the tall windows of the Headmaster’s office, shading whatever the light touched a warm orange hue. A cup of tea poised on a saucer of the same colour sat on the gleaming surface of the great mahogany desk, and from it wafted the scents of citrus. The lighting coupled with the olfactory experience worked together to create a cozy ambiance in the room, which was a stark contrast to the demeanor of both the Headmaster and Arthur Astor. The former was seated behind his desk, an illustration of patronizing superiority, and whose features did not waver from indifference as if he was far above wasting a Monday to interrogate a bunch of ne’er-do-wells. Founding father, Arthur Astor, remained on his feet. He stood a small distance behind the Headmaster in his perpetually creaseless suit, his glowering profile accentuated by the shadows cast by the windows. He had been facing them when Florian walked in, and only turned once he was settled across the desk from the two men. Arthur Astor’s stormy eyes now rested on the Deschamps boy. If people could emit coldness, Florian thought, they certainly would. 

Where, exactly, were you the evening of the play?

“In the Alpha Theater, Sir. That was, after all, where the play was being held. But if you want me to be more specific. I got dismissed from my last lecture at around 5:30, then I headed to my room in the Hannibal building afterwards to get some shut-eye and freshen up. Woke up shortly past 6, got ready, then arrived at the venue well before-- Sir? Yes, I was there for the entire play. Great performances, as expected. I’d like to give the nod to the people responsible for the whole thing. It was definitely a level up from the predictable annual dinner. Tradition is tradition, but that’s not an excuse for us to be living in the past.”

Is there anyone who can corroborate your story for you?

“Well, let’s see... I was with Ms. Veronica Park throughout the whole play and Mr. Daniel Choi, although I didn’t see him, was supposed to be with us. Yes, Ms. Park of Machiavelli House, but we lost each other while making our way to the East Wing. There I ran into a number of people. You won’t be asking to see the two of them, I hope. What would that say about the school’s administration, to be questioning such prime students?”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t expect me to remember them all, Sir. Mr. Haldar, Mr. Wang, Ms. Kensington, and Ms. Kensington. Ms. Amano, and... Ms. Fitzgerald, I want to say, but that might have been a different night. A few of them vouched for me? How flattering. Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m popular, Sir. It’s a small school; not that hard to know a lot of people.”

What did you do in response to the incident?

“What any other starving student did: sought dinner elsewhere. Mainly the mess hall, Sir. I was concerned at first of course, when I saw the dining hall, but the faculty and guards had everything under control and were making us leave the room. So I simply followed their instructions. It was late and I hadn’t eaten anything all evening. And, well, it was pretty obvious that the promised dinner wouldn’t be happening anymore.”

Did you witness anything worth noting during that evening?

“No, Sir, I can’t say I did. I wasn’t aware that I had to be on my guard. It was supposed to be a night of entertainment and socializing. I did spot a couple of students carrying suspicious-looking metal flasks, but that’s hardly of any concern to you right now, I’m sure.”

Tell us everything you know about the Arsonists.

“My guesses are as good as yours, Sir. They are very resourceful though, we gotta give them that. While I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Sir, I understand that you’re looking into the students, but what about the faculty and the teachers? Whoever these ‘Arsonists’ are, they seem to know the ins and outs of the school very well. Might be worth looking into.”

“And with all due respect, Sir, Mr. Astor. This whole investigation is a little overdue. The Siobhan Dunne Hall, the vandalism, the robberies. They’ve been going on long before what happened Friday night, but the administration did nothing. Not until things have escalated. You’ll have to forgive me, Sir, I guess I just don’t see the point. I mean, why not just continue turning a blind eye? You’ve done it before.”

“It was a pleasure, Sir. Mr. Astor. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any more help. Have a good rest of your day.”

[thescarletofarose]

The Consequences of His Actions

Chapter Eleven

Marinette paced back and forth on her balcony, running her hands through her hair and sighing every couple laps. Tikki watched her holder with worried eyes from the side. 

“Marinette,” she said, “you need to calm down. We still have time.”

“He should be back by now.” Marinette gripped the railing of her balcony, her eyes searching the night for a familiar swift shadow. A pair of friendly green eyes. A mop of tussled blonde hair. Seconds passed in silence. Marinette turned away and beelined for the hatch. “We’re leaving. It’s been almost an hour. She’s probably already there with my mother, and I–”

“Marinette!” Tikki flew in front of the door, blocking the girl’s out-stretched hand. Her voice was firm as she scolded the distressed heroine. “Have more faith in your partner. Has Chat Noir ever failed you before?”

Marinette’s voice was quiet as she said, “No…” 

“No. He hasn’t. So why would you doubt him now?” 

All energy left Marinette in a huff and she plopped to the ground, dropping her head into her hands. Tikki softened upon seeing her defeated face and placed a paw on the girl’s leg. “We’ll get through this, Marinette, but Chat Noir is right. You need to be calm in order for that to happen.”

A loud bang startled the two as the balcony door flew open. A head of black hair popped up, and Tikki disappeared behind Marinette’s back. Before Marinette could register the person, warm arms embraced her tightly. It was only when the person spoke did Marinette realize who it was holding her. 

“I can’t believe it was you. All this time, it’s been you.”

Marinette tentatively placed an arm on their back. “Mom?”

Sabine pulled back, her eyes glistening with tears. She gently cupped Marinette’s cheek and regarded her in wonder. “My girl,” she said. “My brave Marinette.”

The corners of Marinette’s eyes stung. She sniffed back the rush of emotions and squeaked out, “Mom, you’re okay. How–?”

Suddenly Sabine’s face darkened and she stood, pulling Marinette up with her. “We need to go,” she said, turning back to the hatch, and started climbing down. “Quick. Pack a bag with only what you need. I’m going to wake up Tom and do the same.”

She glanced up, the lower half of her body submerged out of sight, and said, “Leave the earrings.”

Marinette’s hands flew to her ears as she stuttered for a response, but her mother had already disappeared into the bedroom. Marinette scrambled after her with Tikki in tow. “Wait, wait, wait. You know?”

“Yes, I know.” Sabine pulled a backpack out of Marinette’s trunk and placed it on her chaise longue, muttering as she moved, “Gina is currently out of town, but I’m sure she has a spare key. What if she doesn’t? There’s Tom’s dad, but he might turn us away. No, he likes Marinette. If it’s to keep her safe, he’ll help us.” She stopped and ran a hand over her face. “He knows where he lives.”

“What’s going on?” Marinette grabbed her mother’s hand, mind bursting with a thousand questions. “How did you escape?”

Sabine gazed at Marinette, lost in her own world and traced her fingers over her daughter’s bangs. “It should be fine for only one night, right?”

“Did Chat Noir bring you back?” Marinette asked. The thought lodged in her brain, and she felt a sense of calm as suddenly everything made sense. She turned back towards the balcony, a smile creeping across her face. “No wonder he was so late. He saved her. Chat Noir–”

“Stay away from him!” Sabine grabbed Marinette by the shoulders and whipped her around. Her eyes were wide, frantic, and her voice shook as she begged, “Don’t go looking for him. Please. I can’t let him find you.”

“Marinette searched her mother’s frightened face, as a ball formed in the pit of her stomach. Her hands shook as she loosened her mother’s grip, but her voice remained calm. “Mom, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“I…” Sabine glanced over Marinette’s shoulder and made eye contact with Tikki. The Kwami had a look of realization on her face, and her eyes were sorrowful as she nodded her head, urging the woman to tell the truth. Tears streamed down Sabine’s cheeks as she spoke, “It’s all my fault. Because of me, his parents ended up in possession of the Miraculouses and he… he....”

Sabine sucked in a shaky breath. “Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir, and he’s taken all three of the Miraculouses.”

Marinette stumbled back and onto her chaise. Her face slackened as the words sunk in, and her heart thundered within her chest. Sabine kneeled in front of Marinette and took both of her hands in her own. 

“He’s coming after you. He told me to tell you to meet him where it all began, so he could take your Miraculous. I won’t let that happen,” Sabine said. “We’ll hide the Miraculous and flee. Start over, leaving this behind.”

Her finger grazed one of the earrings, startling Marinette who could only stare, disconcerted. Marinette licked her dry lips, realizing after a moment that her mother was waiting for a response. 

“Yeah, okay,” she numbly said, needing a moment to collect her thoughts, “let’s pack.”

Sabine pursed her lips together, her face softening in relief. She squeezed Marinette’s hands once more and stood. Marinette gave her a weak smile and gestured to the bag next to her.

“I’ll get my things. You go get dad.”

Sabine nodded and quickly left. Tikki hovered in front of Marinette, her eyes searching her holder’s face. 

“What are you thinking, Marinette?” she asked, her voice low and calm. “Are you really going to run?”

Marinette raised a hand to her ear and tenderly touched the earring. “No, Tikki,” she said. “Running away won’t fix anything.”

Marinette took a deep breath, making up her mind. She spoke firmly and with confidence. “Never did I think I would have to fight Chat Noir, and to find out he’s Adrien–” She clenched her fist. “I don’t know why he’s after my Miraculous, but I won’t know until I ask him.”

“There is no good reason to make the wish, Marinette. The sacrifice is never worth it.”

“I know,” Marinette said quietly. “Which is why we’re going to pay The Guardian a visit. Tikki, transform me!”

Satisfied to have the Marinette she knows back, Tikki whisked into her holder’s earring, transforming her into Paris’s beloved black-spotted heroine. Ladybug exited the room onto the balcony. Her yo-yo swung in circles ready for use, but she hesitated. Her eyes cast one last glance around her. Despite the tumultuous emotions raging inside of her and the increasingly dire situation, the night was quiet. Peacefully unaware. Ladybug exhaled, steeling her nerves. As she swung away and through the sleeping city, her heart called out a silent plea.

Ladybug landed with the silent grace of a feline in front of a an apartment complex tucked between two buildings. Habit had her checking the surrounding area, but she quickly remembered with a pang in her chest that her current adversary already knew her identity. Tucking her yo-yo to her side, Ladybug approached the dimly lit building. Despite the late time, she knew he would be awake. 

Ladybug knocked on Master Wang Fu’s door and patiently waited. The door was opened by a familiar elderly man whose eyes widened upon seeing Marinette transformed. He wordlessly stepped back, allowing Ladybug to enter the room. 

“Adrien Agreste has the Miraculouses,” Ladybug said as Fu settled into a comfortable sitting position. Ladybug sat across from him, her face and tone serious. Fu didn’t say anything, prompting the young heroine to continue speaking as he picked up his tea cup. “He freed my mother, but something happened during that time. He’s after my Miraculous now. He said to meet him where it all began.”

“Your school,” Fu stated. He sipped the hot liquid.

“Yes.”

“And you plan to meet him.”

Ladybug looked down at her hands. “Yes.”

Fu let out a deep sigh and set the cup down. “It seems my mistake has finally reached its climax.”

Ladybug frowned. “Master?”

Fu looked up as if recalling a distant and painful memory. “When I was just a boy, about your age, I accidentally created a monster that destroyed everything… and everyone. I alone escaped with the last Miraculous box. But during my escape, I lost the Grimoire and both the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculouses. I don’t know how, but they ended up in the hands of Hawk Moth, Mayura, and Ananta Haine, and now Chat Noir has them both.”

Wang Fu stood with a grunt and held out his hand. “I will not make another mistake. Chat Noir must not get your Miraculous, and you are far too close to him for this battle. I will take back your Miraculous and find a way to solve this problem myself.”

Ladybug jumped up. “I won’t let you do this alone! When you chose me as Ladybug, you placed your trust in me. I’m asking you to do the same today.”

Fu wanted to smile and express how proud he was of his charge, but he didn’t. He gazed up at Marinette with a somber expression. “You’re aware of what you’ll have to do when you win, right?”

Ladybug clenched her fists to drown out the pain in her heart, but her voice never wavered as she said, “I am.”

Fu nodded and approached the phonograph. He keyed in the code and it unlocked, exposing the Miraculous box. He grabbed it and presented it to Marinette. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, pick an ally you can trust to fight alongside you in the battle. Choose wisely.”

Marinette stared at the box for a moment in consideration before picking up the Bee Miraculous.

“Are you sure that is a wise choice, Marinette? Chloe has shown to be–” Fu asked.

Ladybug attached the hairclip to the side of her head. “I don’t plan to bring others into this fight.”

“You can’t do that! Merging the Miraculouses will give you too much power; it could make you lose your mind.”

“Don’t worry, Master.” Ladybug smiled and glanced at the Miraculous around Fu’s wrist. “I’m only evening out the playing field.”

Fu followed her gaze and placed a hesitant hand over the bracelet. “Are you sure about this?”

“Adrien wants to meet me where it all began. There has to be a reason for that, and I believe it’s because he doesn’t want to fight me.” Ladybug held out her hand. “I can change his mind, but in order to do that, he has to know that I didn’t turn on him.”

“I chose you and Adrien, holders so young, because I wanted you to grow with your Miraculouses.” Fu took off the bracelet and handed it over. “I believe in you.”

Ladybug graciously accepted the Miraculous. “Thank you, Master. I won’t let you down.”

[zirroxas]

So I Found All the Characters With Unique Backstories

Spent some time rooting around in the files to figure out which characters the game actually gave unique background descriptions to. There’s 94 in total. There’s something around 750 historical characters in the game, but only these comes with unique backstories. 

Some of them are quite hilarious. 

cai mao  -- Competent Sailor  -- "Cai Mao is adept of naval combat, and a budding admiral." cao ang  -- Prince Min  -- "Cao Ang's fate is to one day be prince of the House of Cao, be it in life or in death." cao cao  -- Strategic Mastermind  -- "The wily Cao Cao sees opportunity in the hardships of others, skewing things to his advantage." cao pi  -- Political Animal  -- "In war, you can only be killed once, but in politics, many times.""""" cao ren  -- Brave Hunter  -- "The skills of a fearless outdoorsman --horse-riding, archery, and hunting --make Cao Ren a valued battlefield ally." chen gong  -- Master Magistrate  -- "Chen Gong knows that even great men are imperfect, and righteousness is often not immediately obvious." cheng pu  -- Bandit Killer  -- 'The General of the Household Who Defeats Bandits' is living proof that bravery can overcome adversity. dian wei  -- Brute of Unmatched Power  -- "Such prowess! This is old Elai again!""""" dong zhuo  -- Cruel Tyrant  -- "Consumed by his hunger for power, Dong Zhuo's despotism knows no bounds." fa zheng  -- Vindictive Strategist  -- "The intelligent and vengeful Fa Zheng should not be crossed, lest you become the target of his deadly schemes." gan ning  -- Pirate of the Bells  -- "Cao Cao may have Zhang Liao, but I have Gan Ning! Thus we are evenly matched.""""" gao gan  -- Loyal Nephew  -- "Ever the rebel, Gao Gan's true allegiances shall only die when he does." gong du  -- Master of the Land  -- "Far from being just a heartless bandit, Gong Du is a principled soldier of honour." gongsun du  -- the Warlike  -- "In war, Gongsun Du does what is required of him; he revels in bloodshed and conquest." gongsun zan  -- The Iron Fist General  -- "Defence of the frontiers requires more than just the resources of a warlord, but also a merciless attitude." guan yu  -- God of War  -- "A famed warrior and righteous slayer of all who dare oppose him, Guan Yu's deification is already assured." guo jia  -- Astute Advisor  -- Guo Jia is a confidant of unparalleled foresight --to ignore his counsel is to invite failure and defeat. han fu  -- Diligent Agriculturalist  -- "Using his ability to manage food supplies with tireless efficiency, Han Fu is a most valuable logistician." han sui  -- Tireless Insurgent  -- "Insurrection is in Han Sui's blood. To him, subservience cannot be permanent." he man  -- The Most Powerful  -- "I am He Man, the devil who shoots across the sky! Who dares challenge me\?""""" he yi  -- Leader of the People  -- "With unwavering faith, He Yi inspires others to follow in his righteous footsteps." hua xiong  -- Fierce Beast  -- "With a head shaped like a leopard's and ape-like shoulders, Hua Xiong's ferocity is matched by his appearance." huang gai  -- Unreadable Warrior  -- His outward demeanour belies his real allegiances --Huang Gai truly is the very definition of inscrutability. huang shao  -- Wielder of the Heavenly Way  -- "All uprisings, no matter how widespread, stand little chance of success without strong leadership." huang zhong  -- of the Ageless Strength  -- "The venerable Huang Zhong, to whom age is just a number, is frequently underestimated in battle." huang zu  -- Ranged Ambusher  -- "Huang Zu likes to start offensives on the front foot, from a safe distance and out of sight." huangfu song  -- Aged General  -- "In the brutal business of war, there is no better teacher than experience." jia long  -- Short-sighted Peacekeeper  -- "Jia Long may dedicate much time to forethought, yet still lacks caution now and then." jia xu  -- The Blade in the Dark  -- Decisions made in secret can have the deadliest outcomes. jiang wei  -- Budding Commander  -- "Known for being an expert general despite his inexperience, Jiang Wei has a precocious talent for war." kong rong  -- Master Scholar  -- "Kong Rong claims descent from the great Confucius himself, attested to by his remarkable wit and scholarly fame." kong zhou  -- Pure Conversationalist  -- "A master at the art of Qingtan, Kong Zhou utilises discussion and debate as a means of intellectual self-improvement." lady sun  -- The Rising Sun  -- "As surely as the sun rises, the Lady will always endeavour to get her way." li ru  -- Vicious Shadow  -- Behind every despot's schemes is the intellect of a consummate strategist. ling tong  -- Daring Errant  -- "For some men, war is a chance to prove one's self and seek adventure." liu bei  -- Virtuous Idealist  -- "Despite having come from modest beginnings, the blood of ancient Han emperors flows through Liu Bei's veins." liu biao  -- Gentleman of the Han  -- "A man seldom ruffled, Liu Biao demonstrates his aristocratic pedigree through stable officiality." liu dai  -- Generous Attendant  -- "In spite of the harsh realities of palace life, Liu Dai conducts himself according to his nature: with kindness and benevolence." liu xie  -- Former Emperor  -- "While no longer leading their people, they still strive to bring peace to the land." liu yan  -- Opportunistic Ruler  -- "Some men just want to watch the world burn, while others use the opportunities placed before them." liu yao  -- Welcoming Magistrate  -- "Liu Yao appears to be a 'yes' man, but is nevertheless known for his staunch incorruptibility." liu yu  -- Prosperous Trader  -- Liu Yu's rapport with foreigners and minorities has enabled him to amass considerable wealth from trade. liu zhang  -- Proponent of Peace  -- "A timid and suspicious noble, Liu Zhang displays a willingness to avoid war, even if that means surrender." lu bu  -- Warrior Without Equal  -- "With unpredictable loyalty and unsurpassed martial skill, Lü Bu is the most dangerous warrior beneath the heavens." lu fan  -- Go Master  -- Go is not just an abstract game of strategy --it is a measure of one's aptitude in tactical forethought. lu meng  -- Late Scholar  -- "Despite becoming literate late on in his career, Lü Meng has proved himself a most able scholar." lu su  -- Charitable Envoy  -- "Ever the philanthropic diplomat, Lu Su's affluence empowers his charitable nature." lu xun  -- Scholar General  -- "Equal parts brains and brawn, Lu Xun can oversee both civil and military matters." ma chao  -- Most-brilliant Warrior  -- "With a complexion like jade and eyes like shooting stars, Ma Chao is a warrior truly brilliant in appearance." ma dai  -- Fraternal Warrior  -- There are few things more important to Ma Dai than bloodline and family. ma teng  -- Protector of the West  -- "Ma Teng may treat his friends well, but he remains merciless with the Han's enemies." mi zhu  -- Dependable Administrator  -- "In these interesting times of fluctuating allegiances, the steadfast loyalty of Mi Zhu can always be relied upon." pang de  -- White Horse General  -- "Pang De is an unrelenting force, whose avowed enemies know they must face him sooner or later." pang tong  -- Fledgling Phoenix  -- "Having risen from the ashes of obscurity, the 'Crown of Learned Men' is an advisor of the highest esteem." pei yuanshao  -- Virtuous Outrider  -- "Whether in charge of brigands or soldiers, one must lead by example, always riding at the head of the host." shi xie  -- King Shi  -- "With his long and distinguished record of sophisticated service, Shi Xie is destined for stately eminence." sima yi  -- Silver Eminence  -- "If you cannot fight, defend. If you cannot defend, flee. If you cannot flee, surrender. If you cannot surrender, die!""""" sun ce  -- The Little Conqueror  -- "Sun Ce has been likened to the warrior-kings of old, with an aptitude for military leadership that belies his youth." sun jian  -- Tiger of Jiangdong  -- "Claiming ancestry with the renowned military strategist Sun Tzu, the fearless Sun Jian has war flowing through his veins." sun qian  -- Upstanding Loyalist  -- Sun Qian's word is an unwavering bond. sun quan  -- Emerald-eyed Administrator  -- "Striking looks and a sturdy frame betokens Sun Quan's great nobility, heroism and longevity." taishi ci  -- of Exceptional Dexterity  -- "From horse-riding to archery, Taishi Ci excels in all manner of physical pursuits." tao qian  -- of the Sincere Jurisdiction  -- "Tao Qian may be a highly influential and ambitious figure, but expansionism is not on his personal agenda." wang lang  -- Ardent Educator  -- "A keen imparter of knowledge, even when it is neither wanted nor welcome." wang xiu  -- The Righteous Hero  -- "Never can it be said that Wang Xiu was ever disloyal, dishonourable or unwilling to come to the aid of those he serves." wei yan  -- Disobedient Tiger  -- "For the distrustful Wei Yan, a violent betrayal always simmers below the surface." wen chou  -- Fierce Firebrand  -- "If only Wen Chou were here, I'd have nothing to fear!""""" xiahou dun  -- Hotheaded Officer  -- Those who know Xiahou Dun know not to get on his bad side. xiahou dun 2  -- The One-eyed Exile  -- "You really don't want to know what he did with his eye after losing it to that arrow...""""" xiahou yuan  -- Maker of Ways  -- "When it comes to military logistics, where there's a will, Xiahou Yuan has a way." xu chu  -- Tiger Fool  -- "Xu Chu is a man of simple thoughts and principles, but an impressive warrior who fights with a bestial rage." xu huang  -- Guardian of the Gates  -- "When assigned to guardianship, Xu Huang is an immovable sentinel, requiring a tremendous effort to bypass." xu shu  -- Disguised Diplomat  -- "His body may be in one place, but his heart is in quite another." xun you  -- Gentleman Attendant  -- "A member of the learned scholar-gentry, Xun You is a profound thinker of great insight." xun yu  -- Hegemon's Aide  -- "Here comes my Zifang!""""" yan liang  -- Valiant Vanguard  -- "A foremost general of considerable military prowess, the gutsy Yan Liang is unmatched among ordinary warriors." yu jin  -- Enforcer of the Law  -- "As an imperious, by-the-book disciplinarian, Yu Jin rules his subordinates with fear and drilled-in obedience." yuan shao  -- Preeminent Commander  -- "Yuan Shao's astuteness, dignity and arrogance are the mark of his ancestors, many of whom served emperors past." yuan shu  -- Ambitious Powermonger  -- Yuan Shu is an ambitious but overconfident individual --time will tell whether such qualities shall trip him or aid his desires. yue jin  -- The Lion of Yangping  -- "What Yue Jin lacks in stature he makes up for in fierceness, fearlessness, and deadliness with his bow." zhang chao  -- Flowing Calligrapher  -- Such graceful skills with ink and brush are the mark a man of great education and scholarly puissance. zhang fei  -- Drunken Brawler  -- "Hold my wine...""""" zhang he  -- Courageous General  -- Zhang He's fearlessness enables him to retain his composure when having to adapt to unfavourable situations. zhang kai  -- Slayer of Tyrants  -- "The unjust rulers of the old regime shall perish.""""" zhang liao  -- The Heavenly Dragon General  -- "The model of professionalism and organisation, Zhang Liao has heavenly leadership skills." zhang lu  -- Celestial Master  -- "Just as water penetrates mountains, Zhang Lu always seeks to overcome hardness by his own accord." zhang yan  -- King of Black Mountain  -- "With his scores of followers, the bandit leader known as 'Flying Swallow' wields the influence of a king." zhang yang  -- Ignored Warlord  -- What is the fate of he who is forsaken and unjustly distrusted by his fellow warlords\? Only heaven knows. zhao yun  -- Light in the Dark  -- "In the darkest times of war, the auras of the most resplendent warriors gleam brightest." zheng jiang  -- Bandit Queen  -- "Hell-bent on plunder, Zheng Jiang goes to unspeakable lengths to obtain her loot." zhou tai  -- Man of Many Scars  -- "His scar-riddled skin is a canvas of stories, telling of countless bloody battles past." zhou yu  -- Melodic Strategist  -- "If there is a mistake in the tune, Zhou Yu will look up.""""" zhuge jin  -- Bookish Scholar  -- "Having studied history and poetry in years past, Zhuge Jin is a man who appreciates scholarship." zhuge liang  -- Sleeping Dragon  -- "A peerless genius and insightful strategist, there are few situations that Zhuge Liang's astute intellect cannot overcome."

[malsperanza]

Hidden Blade - Tony Leung, Wang Yibo

Hidden Blade / Nameless - no spoilers Since other threads on this movie are very spoilery, and it's a film that you do not want to be spoiled for, here's a post without spoilers. Hidden Blade is very good and well worth watching, even if you're not usually interested in war stories or modern-era films. It's historical enough to be tinged with an epic quality (the moment of China's desperate struggle against the Japanese invasion) and the kind of melancholic emotional tone that Cdramas often do so well. If you come for the Tony Leung or the Wang Yibo, you won't be disappointed, but there's a lot more to like too. I wish the English release had kept the original title - Nameless, or Anonymous, instead of a title that sounds like a Hong Kong 1965 kung fu movie. This is nominally a WWII spy thriller, but it's much more a psychological portrait of people intertwined among complicated political and personal loyalties. The director, who also wrote the screenplay, keeps his secrets close to his chest and takes the story step by step through its mysteries in a fragmented way that switches from flashbacks to flash-forwards. This takes a little getting used to. It's a beautiful -looking film, shot with a lot of style and atmosphere. With the exception of one weak performance, the acting is riveting. Tony Leung is never less than deeply absorbing to watch. The more he withholds, the more he gives. Wang Yibo will not surprise anyone who admired him in The Untamed, but he has more scope here for ambiguity and shades of gray. (And if anyone wondered if he could do a fight scene in modern terms, the answer is yes.) I like this director's style. It's not exactly subtle - he uses mirrors every chance he gets to play up the duality of characters and their uncertain identities (along with the use of dual languages). But it works here and doesn't seem gimmicky. The dim, period color palette is poetic. The very conscious use of light and shadow also looked beautiful and made sense for the story. The director borrows from film noir, up to and including the way fedora hats cast shadows on faces. But he also borrows from other cinematic languages, especially Zentropa (Lars von Trier's dark-poetry movie about Germany at the end of WWII) and Andrei Tarkovsky's apocalyptic films. --- The rest of this is some tips for western viewers: If, like me, you're relying on the translated subtitles, there are a few things useful to know. (First, though: shoutout to a real film production that allows the actors to keep their own voices, and whose translation subtitles make sense and are in natural English. I weep for the poor titling in Cdrama series, knowing how much we lose.) ~ The story takes place in several different parts of China, not always made clear except that the dialogue occasionally switches from Mandarin to Cantonese or Shanghainese. I would love it if a native speaker could list the scenes where this happens, as I could only sort of pick up a few of the moments. On top of that, whole very important scenes are in Japanese, with both Japanese and Chinese actors. It may not be all that easy for western viewers to hear this at first, so listen for Japanese and be alert to it from the start. It's meaningful for the story. (Shoutout to Wang Yibo, who delivers a crucial scene in Japanese. I know he's fluent in Korean, not so sure about Japanese, though - and his performance in that scene is emotionally powerful, nuanced, with amazing vocal rhythm. It's pretty amazing. The always-astonishing Tony Leung also has major moments in Japanese - but I expect brilliance from him in any case.) ~ If you don't know much about the part of WWII that involved China and Japan, it's helpful to have a little context, as the movie assumes familiarity and doesn't use bad exposition to explain the background. I'm only giving bare bones as needed for the movie - and oversimplifying a lot. Japan invaded China in 1937, before the European part of WWII started. The invasion was extraordinarily brutal. An estimated 20 million civilians died. The Japanese occupied eastern China and installed a puppet government under Wang Jingwei. The main characters work for this Japanese-controlled regime. Meanwhile, north of China, by the 1930s the Soviet Union had expanded and spread communism all the way east. Prior to the Japanese invasion, China was in a civil war between the Chinese nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek and the communists under Mao Zedong. Both groups allied long enough during WWII to eventually repel Japan before resuming their war. So there are 3 different political entities vying for control of China. In all of this, the territory of Manchuria was particularly contested. Japan had invaded and occupied it in 1931, and wanted it as a buffer against the USSR, and for other reasons. Knowing these basic facts can help orient the film's story. I've seen some pretty stupid reviews in the US that call this movie "propaganda for the CCP." I'll just say this: If all the Hollywood WWII movies from The Longest Day to Saving Private Ryan are "propaganda for the USA" then maybe that's a legit pov. Whatever opinions any of us may hold about the Chinese government today (no doubt there are many different views here), the resistance to the Japanese invasion between 1931 and 1945 was heroic and patriotic. Anyway, the movie is findable on Youtube and I think Bilibili in some regions. Go watch it.