New story! #songxuexiao archiveofourown.org/works/83584141

Xue Yang wants to hiss at him. He wants to hiss at him all his spitting resentment of the world that has only and ever ground him into its dirt. But instead he looks up into his eyes with all the desperation he feels—to live, only to live—in his own. “Yes,” he says. “Please help me.”

He’s dressed in the tatters of something ridiculous, part leather, part lace. He’s cold. He’s sober. He’s starving. He’s free. A vision in white is bending over him. “Hello,” the vision says. “You look cold and hungry. Would you like to come with me?”

not knowing what but sheer survival instinct guided his drugged steps until he rolled safely onto solid ground. And then he ran. He’s spent the last four days coming off whatever cocktail the whoremaster kept him pumped full of to keep him pliant and compliant.

#songxuexiao #caveatlector

Xue Yang is on the streets again. For the first time in his life it’s better to be homeless and starving than where and what he was before. He escaped from hell—where he was before—his room in a stable of whores—out the literal window,

poor lwj #ZhanCheng #湛澄

New story! #chengxian archiveofourown.org/works/83015541

One morning jiang cheng woke up to his husband looking like a tiny noodley dragon 🍜 🐉

#mdzs #xicheng

#zhancheng #xicheng

It's done! archiveofourown.org/works/74070356

New story! #zhancheng #divorcefic archiveofourown.org/works/82219916

This is wonderfully expressed, and hit hard because that's the way I feel about my fics. Each one is a love letter and a love supplication!

“With my whole being I choose to believe, rather, in this world, the demonstrable world. By virtue of being all that exists, it is noble. By choosing it—by believing in it—by devoting ourselves to it—this noble world—we come to love it. (tbc!)

“if truly there existed a better world which for its own secret reasons chose to veil from us its perfect face, its perfect form? No. With my whole being: no. We couldn’t survive it.

“They make the world we breathe in, walk in, live in, love in. They suffice to explain it. They have to. How else would we be able to bear it? Its imperfections? How could we possibly survive it—this manifestly flawed, absurd, and ugly world—

“But: no. With my whole being: no. When I am myself, in possession of my right mind, I do not have it so, and I *will* not have it so. The truth is that I believe in no such light, in no such world beyond this world. What I believe in is the material and its epiphenomena.

“Where we who behold it are made perfect in the very act of beholding it, because such is the way of light, to irradiate all that loves it, which is only all that sees it, which is only all that is?

“there *is* one, is there not? In the limbic, the oldest, the shared part of our being we all believe in it, do we not? A world where the Absolute reigns supreme and goes unveiled? Where its perfection is eternally visible to the naked eye that aches for it?

“Yet out of bed I had my doubts. There is a way he has, a trick, a grace, in certain moments, in certain lights, of looking like he sees a world beyond this world, better than this world. And when I see him gazing upon it, that other, better world, I find myself thinking to myself:

“In bed I had it: his whole being.

“he gave himself to me with a whorish eagerness that belied all his pride. It enflamed me, so that I fucked him all the harder, all the better. I fucked him with my whole being. He came for me, spurting and screaming on my cock, with his whole being.

“to be one in which he deserved, as he saw it, to have me. When finally he led me to the king’s bedchamber—when at last he let me carry him like a bride across its threshold, and lay him down with infinite tenderness onto its lavishly canopied bed—

“Then into the training hall, where he strengthened his wits and built up his defenses against his family; into the kitchens, where he cooked up his bon mots and plans for the future in which I figured; into the chapel, where he entreated until he envisioned the universe

“whether between himself and something outside himself or between different parts of his mind or psyche or soul or another’s, and learned to balance the scales to competence, when he could achieve it, or to best effort, when he couldn’t.

“Then into the throne room, a refuge since childhood to which when wronged in the outer world he retreated, to be lord and master of reality and to rewrite reality. As he grew it came to be the place where, king and arbiter, he weighed competing interests,

“for whatever more he might allow himself to allow me—and then by stages to its inner chambers. He guided me into the great hall, where in his imagination he banqueted those he admired in the outer world. Our admirations are telling of ourselves. His told me of him.

“beautifully, poignantly, courageously, he willed himself to let down his guard. To let me in. He let me in, first to the anteroom of his castle—cognizant of the honor he was bestowing on me I waited there with all my patience and interest and affection

“of the high, fine soul behind the pride, itself the high and fine and fiery thing that had caught my attention in the first place. And for what he slowly did in response to my attention—my patience—my interest—and—in time—my affection—I came to seek him out, of my own initiative:

“to opportunities that brought him and me together. It was more, too, than his stern beauty and his exquisite allure, which as our interactions accumulated came to enchant me to distraction. No. Most of all, best of all, it was the glimpses that accrued to my eyes and to my mind

“It manifested as outrage, his pride: he outraged himself when he blushed to lay eyes on me. Instant lust I was used to inspiring; not, however, breathtaking and icy rudeness in reaction. Yet it was more than the novelty of it that prompted me to say yes, when they came,