#the elder gays writing

[remembertheplunge]

My name is Lew Wentz.

I am a 69 year old gay criminal defense lawyer. I have been keeping journals for 47 years as of September 14, 2024.. I am writing a book based on the journals.

I came out as a gay man in 1984. I was married to a woman then. I left the marriage after telling her I was gay.

My younger sister, Zoe, who I was very close to, died rather suddenly of pancreatic cancer in May of 2023. She gave me permission to blog the last two weeks of her life. Those blogs run from May 1 to May 14, 2023.

I journaled my journey through the turbulent 1980's and 1990's. During that time, I was pretty vocal about being gay. I volunteered to help people with aids through their illness and death. And, I believe because of this, I was fired from my job as a deputy Public Defender in Modesto California. I also documented the 12 year relationship I had with my partner, Jim, who died in 2009.

I wrote pretty much daily about these events and many others. I never intended for the entries to be made public. But, I now think they should be, as they weave what I believe to be our common story of what it's been like to be out, human and gay in the past four decades.

And, as I journaled, I developed ideas and ways to journal and wrote about them in the journals. I discuss the impact journaling has had on me. And, the amazing revelation reviewing journal entries for the blog and book of just how incredible our lives have been. Memory fades. The journal details do not.

My hope is that , after reading the blogs, and maybe some day the book, you too will become addicted to journaling. Your life on paper will amaze you down the line.

My blog became one and one half years old on August 5, 2024.

[linkedin-offficial]

um um um can I hear about your toxic yaoi… I’ve been very curious but didn’t know if you wanted asks about anything

hi there anon :3 u just opened a massive floodgate. prepare yourself

when ilaw had joined tsadi's army, he came in thinking immensely highly of tsadi. so much so, he slowly developed a crush on him, you could say. they spent so much time together, that it was hard to see them separate.

tsadi picked up on this quite quickly, and ended up using this to his advantage. he flirted with ilaw, in a way where it was hard for ilaw to tell if tsadi felt the same way, or if he was just being extremely friendly. because of this, they grew incredibly close. so much so, that over time tsadi began to question if he was really doing this just to keep ilaw loyal.

in the end, tsadi did end up sacrificing part of himself to save ilaw when their war bound demise inevitably came. and because ilaw had survived just enough to lay dormant for as long as he did, it was only a matter of time before he would find out about all of the things tsadi did, and finally piece together what he did to keep it from him.

and ilaw was furious, to put it mildly. some kept secrets cant ever be forgiven. not even if its one hundred, one thousand, or even one million years later.

[comfortyart]

Happy Valentines from Fortress and Cicero 💖

Drabble beneath cut! 🔪

Crackling fire warmed the hall in the Dawnstar sanctuary, gentle shadows dancing on stone as the roar of the wind blew in the distance. The sound of rock grinding from a mortar and pestle, walls creaking from the brutal winds of the North. Beyond that, the hall was silent. Fortress thumbed through a book that'd been laid in front of him by Nazir, something about ingredients for poisons he was instructed to commit to memory. As useful as it would be, he did wonder where Nazir's confidence came from, ordering the Listener the way he did. Nazir had seethed sarcasm from the day he met him, but he'd always been respectful when it came to who he followed. So when the hell did that change?

Fortress sighed, staring down at the words as they seemed to meld into one big amalgamation, before closing the book promptly. It wasn't like Nazir wasn't respectful, no, but he remembered the redguard’s hesitancy when speaking his mind to his former mistress - a hesitancy long lost when speaking to his current master. Fortress had quietly hoped it spoke well of their intimacy, one formed tightly in their family after suffering significant loss. 

A pit grew in his stomach at the thought. Longing. 

After decimation of their last sanctuary, he'd bonded closely with the family that'd remained, one of those bonds reaching heights beyond imaginable. Though he was grateful for Nazir and Babett, he'd never expected….love, to blossom from the searing loss. 

Gazing at the fire, warmth spread across his face - from the fire, he swore - he decided to go check on the Keeper. He was close, the sound of nightshade being ground in ear shot by the man in question. It was common for Cicero to attend to his duties before bed, Fortress always allowing him space to focus. Though, some days that space proved more difficult, like tonight. He needed to be near him. 

Their time apart was few and far between, practically inseparable.  Their romance had blossomed quickly in their life of no promised tomorrows. Life was short in Skyrim after all, and even shorter when dancing with death. The life of an assassin was messy, at best, so any sense of solace was welcomed without question. Scraping the wooden chair against the rock flooring, Fortress stood with haste as he made way up the stairs to the lofted entrance that held the Night Mother. His steps were silent without effort, an occupational hazard perhaps - though the pause from noise above signaled the perceptive jester knew he was coming. 

Cicero paused as Fortress emerged from the staircase, smiling over to him as he sat on a step up to the sacred coffin. 

"Come to speak to mother, Listener~?" he cooed sweetly. "Did she speak?" he sounded excited, a few beats passing before his grin became sly. "Or are you just looking for an excuse to avoid that book?" he snickered, tone much lower than his previous questions. 

Fortress chuckled, crossing his arms as he made his way over to the platform. It was unfair really, how easy Cicero had come to know him. Knew his thoughts with only a look. He read people easily, his perception as mentioned was unmatched. At times, however, it was incredibly annoying how easily he saw his intentions. 

Cicero laughed, it was written on the dark elf's face that he'd been right with his assumption. Fortress sighed before sitting down beside the Keeper, bracing himself on his hands behind him as he relaxed. Cicero continued with his ingredients, preparing his regular rituals for mother’s keeping. 

"Is it that obvious, then?" the elf murmured. 

"Hmph, Listener, you know Cicero is good, but it doesn't take an alchemist to know you despise the mundane," he mused. 

Fortress made a deep frown. He knew it was true, and maybe that's what bothered him. Glancing up towards the coffin he wondered if mother could hear his thoughts as well, wishing for any sort of contract for an excuse to get out. 

Shifting forward, he nuzzled his nose into the side of Cicero's neck, resting his chin on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around the jester's waist and closed his eyes with a sigh. His blood boiled, running hot as warmth spread throughout his body. This is what he needed, for his senses to be enveloped by the other. Without Cicero by his side, he often felt as if he'd lost a limb. Perhaps it was the wolf inside him, pack mentality had him by the throat - only made worse by the fact he was his mate. 

"It's hard to read when you're in the next room," he hummed. "Couldn't keep away." 

Cicero chuckled again, leaning his head against Fortress'. "Very romantic, Listener -  though I fail to think Nazir will find such nuance in the excuse." 

Fortress let out a huff. "Do you have much left to do?" Cicero hummed thoughtfully, bringing a hand to the one tightly latched onto his waist. 

"No, Cicero is nearly done," he cooed. Fortress pressed a soft kiss to his throat, a sigh of contentment leaving the jester's lips. 

"I was thinking we could partake in a hunt." His voice was warm, emphasis made with a deepened tone that caused the Imperial to shiver. 

Cicero's laugh was much darker, smoother in tone as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Hmmm, Listener, now that sounds romantic."

With a swift movement of his free hand, Fortress tilted Cicero's chin for a chaste yet passionate kiss. Thoughts of important tasks were easily thrown from mind the second their lips touched, fire lit within them in that moment.  

As Fortress pulled away, he stood to offer a hand to Cicero, pulling him to his feet with ease and finesse. Cicero wrapped an arm tightly around the elf’s neck, dragging him down for a much deeper kiss. His free hand still safely grasped around the cup of ground nightshade as he lost himself against his lover. 

They'd both spent their lives entangled in a web of misfortune and lies. Never did they think they'd find another they'd trust so openly, freely - not like this. It was intoxicating, to say the least, a bond bound in more than blood. 

Pulling away just an inch, Fortress held the smaller man tightly by the waist, gazing into his eyes as if they held the answers to the universe. He released his grip when Cicero moved to place the bowl on a table next to the Night Mother’s coffin.

"Mother can wait." Cicero smirked. "Surely helping someone find their way to Sithis is much more important," he laughed, coming over to interlock his fingers tightly between the elf’s. 

"Shall we, Listener?" 

[lil-lesbian-historian]

Fanfiction has ruined some of y’all’s brains so badly. Gaiman said to expect 3 seasons of Good Omens. That’s how much content he has planned for the show - meaning there’s a definite end he’s looking towards.

What did you really think s2 was going to be? The two of them running around and then being at the Ritz just like s1? That’s not an interesting show, it’s just fan service fluff. (Which is obviously fun and all but not something you should base 3 seasons of TV show on)

Gaiman told you what has to happen for Crowley and Aziraphale to be together in the show: Aziraphale has to heal from his past ‘relationship’ to be in a healthy one with Crowley. What Nina says about her and Maggie is not just a character talking to fill up run time, it’s the show saying something too.

TL;DR: Aziraphale is in a toxic relationship with heaven and needs to get out of that mindset before he can be with Crowley. It’s natural story progression and some of y’all have fanfic brainrot where everything must be instantly gratifying.

[stillalittlelostngl]

When gojo said there's no curse more twisted than love and geto asked him to curse him a little at the end

[fruk-choosing-a-username]

i have to write a screenplay about anything for class so of course im writing about oblivion

[skyrimstories]

💞Character Profiles and Introductions 💞

🔥Morwen🔥

💞Details of character arcs, backstories, and growth will be covered in story summeries that will follow this segment 💞

💞Born three years ago on my very first modded PC game, Morwen (and her Siamese cat Brutus) is the original OC of this account. I started her first real story in January 2021. It's been almost three years!

💞A Breton from Evermore in High Rock, Morwen was adopted at a young age by an upper class mage that worked in King Sigmayne's court. Her childhood was beyond difficult. Morwen fled Evermore with her older adopted sister Sarine at age 18.

💞Several years later, Sarine was slain by the Thalmor. Morwen wandered Cyrodiil, working as a thief. Her story in this blog begins as she is just escaping an eight month captivity by sadistic bandits, then fleeing Helgan. She ends up in Whiterun being assisted by the healers there- and thus begins her story in Skyrim.

💞Morwen's relationships: she is married to Kaidan and Rumarin, in a trio once dubbed the "circle of power" by a reader.

💞She has a twin brother named Dunvenn, discovered not until she was 25 years old.

💞Morwen is a natural leader, despite all of her efforts to roll her eyes or shrug her shoulders about being the Dragonborn. At first, her past trauma made her moody and difficult, but over time, Morwen has gracefully accepted the responsibilities of her birthright. An outsider herself, Morwen quickly formed a fellowship, the base being Elysium Estate in Whiterun. She has a house in Riverwood, Leaf Rest, gifted to her by her sister; it is used as a place of rest, love, and escape by the whole crew.

💞 Morwen's trio has four adopted children, housed in Heljarchen Hall in the Pale. This is the family home. Morwen dotes on her family; as someone that experienced love only from one adopted sibling, now gone, she sees her family and friends as a second chance at a happy life.

💞The Dragonborn adores animals. Her cat Brutus seldom leaves her side. Her affinity with horses has been part of her since childhood.

💞Morwen has a special bond with Inigo, covered in a later recap; and Vassago, who is linked to her in a special way.

[remembertheplunge]

More on Mogely

The following are verbal exchanges between Mogely and I while he was visiting at my house. Mogely was his nick name. His real name was Isaiah. (I first discussed Mogely in my 9/4/2024 blog. He was a sometimes  homeless friend)

January 8, 2018

Isaiah to me “You are at the end of your life. You should do what you want” (Isaiah was in his mid to late 20’s. I was 62)

Isaiah to me “You have a nice butt for someone your age. Do you do squats?”

Isaiah “I went to the toilet to brush my teeth. In jail, there is no sink. It was strange brushing my teeth at a sink.” (Re: the bathroom in my house)

Me to Isaiah “I like hearing your jail stories”.

End of entry

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

Cucumber

"Mr Pablo, on behalf of Mr Best, I look forward to the tribunal, because the law is magnificent in this regard. It's not up to us to prove homophobia, it's up to you to prove homophobia does not exist. Best of luck. Thank you." FUCKING YES!!!!! The Smile!

"-UNLESS" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH God I fucking love this show, Cliff, all of it. So fucking good.

[goldie-blues]

I will write when I’m dead but unfortunately I’m already dead inside. Therefore by the transitive property, I must be a good little slop writer and write old man yaoi.

unfortunately, I will write this fic and I am writing this fic are two very different things

[citrine-elephant]

probably said to death but...

struggling to get into my original story, right? i've got the world planned out, basic outline and backstory.

the character i wanted to focus on... is drifting from me a little bit.

... i guess when you've got a world build, you can tunnel into any of your character's heads and write from their perspective, huh? that's what spinoffs are, ain't they lol

[sasquach-scratches]

Me, who never does any writing whatsoever: so anyways while in the shower let's come up with several phrases and euphemisms for queer people in the Elder Scrolls cause modern words are out of place/are missing the context in which they originated and words like "homosexual" are too clinical

[yansurnummu]

Cherry Wine

In which Drals and Azandar have an evening of peace, debate a questionably sweet wine, and talk about their feelings.

Azandar laughed. Drals stared at him, his embarrassment replaced by confusion. “Oh, Drals,” he said, chuckling. “You're as subtle as a minotaur in a teahouse. Even I suspected as much.” Drals pouted at the impish look he was given as Azandar raised his cup to his lips. “Ugh. I'm not good at this shit,” Drals rubbed at his good eye. “I'm… sorry,” Azandar reached out a hand as he moved closer, placing it on Drals’ forearm. “I don't mean to be rude. I–” “No, you're right. It all feels rather juvenile. I'm sorry I said anything.” “Drals,” Azandar gave him a pointed look. “Yes?” “I do feel the same, you know.” “...Oh,” he said breathlessly, finally registering the closeness of the other man. “Oh.” 

(under a readmore because the first line contains minor spoilers for Azandar's companion quest. It gets a little spicy near the end but nothing explicit.)

Drals cast the Fateweaver Key into the ocean, watching it fall down rocky cliffs and disappearing into the waves below. It was done.

He turned back to Azandar. Time stood still for a moment, both of them beginning to process everything. Months of preparation, and everything seemed to compound so quickly.

“Are you hurt? The Adversary put up quite the fight,” Azandar said eventually. Drals scoffed in disbelief.

“I just destroyed your life's work, and you're asking me if I'm alright?” He stepped back from the edge of the cliff, entering Azandar’s space.

“Ah,” a small smile crept back onto his face. “Redirection, I suppose. Nasty habit.”

Drals sighed, clasping a hand over Azandar’s shoulder. 

“Don't I know it,” he said softly.

“I will admit a touch of melancholy. Still… it had to be done,” Azandar raised his eyes to finally look at him. “Thank you, cohort. I don't know what I would have done in your absence.”

Drals swallowed, not knowing how to respond. He wasn't used to being thanked. 

“I'm sure you would have figured something out, given time. You're very clever,” he said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

“I'm not so certain I had much time left at all, with the way things played out,” Azandar shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I’d have been so lucky on my own.”

Drals sat with that for a moment, his hand squeezing gently at Azandar’s shoulder. 

He cared about Azandar. A great deal more than he was used to caring about anyone. To think that it was possible that he was the reason he was still alive was… sobering.

Later, once they had worked to clean up the workshop after the mess the stray fateline had left, they were afforded an evening of quiet.

Drals wasn't really a wine aficionado – or much of a drinker at all, for that matter – but it seemed as good an occasion as any to crack open a bottle he had procured in their travels.

“I know you're not fond of bitter things,” he said as Azandar gave the bottle a skeptical sniff. “So I picked this up when we were in Rawl'kha. Cyrodiilic stuff. Barely tastes like booze.” He dropped to sit beside him on the settee.

“Hm. Very well, I have been persuaded,” he said, grinning. “Tonight, we celebrate!” 

“Indeed,” Drals chuckled, undeniably infected by Azandar’s enthusiasm, as he poured them each a cup of wine. “To our continued collaboration,” he offered, holding up his cup as Azandar picked up his own.

“To our partnership, and friendship,” Azandar smiled, gently clinking his cup into Drals’ before taking a sip. “Oh, that is very sweet!” 

“Yeah,” Drals gave a nervous laugh. “I don't think I'd have more than this, to be honest.”

“I am… undecided,” Azandar hummed, going for another sip. “Perplexed. Mystified. Do people drink this? Regularly? Without headaches?”

“Your hypothesis is as good as mine, I'd imagine. Perhaps it's drunk on special occasions. Like a dessert,” Drals pondered, idly inspecting the bottle for clues.

“Hm, plausible. Or, is one meant to combine it with something else? To add a dash of sweetness to something stronger?” Azandar suggested.

“Could be,” he set the bottle down once more, confident it contained no revelations. “I also have a bottle of flin, if we were to test that theory.”

“No, no, it would have to be a liquor of Cyrodiilic origin, in order to experiment under ideal parameters. If it is meant to be mixed, they must have had something in mind to mix it with.” 

“Hm, you're right. I wonder if the tavern here sells imported spirits.” He left the cup on the table.

“Yes, we will need specimens for further experimentation. However…” Azandar sighed, looking at Drals with a soft smile. “Perhaps we will prepare that for a later date.”

“Agreed,” Drals sunk back into the settee, draping an arm over the back. “I'd say we've suffered enough for one day.”

“Indeed,” Azandar agreed, mirroring Drals, holding the cup of wine under his chin. “I will admit, under further consideration, it has grown on me,” he smiled. “Thank you. It was a thoughtful choice.”

“Oh,” Drals fumbled. “Well,” he chuckled nervously, averting his gaze, feeling almost childish in his oddly uncomfortable giddiness.

“Did I say something wrong?” Azandar asked, frowning.

“No,” Drals said, bringing his eye back to Azandar, scratching the back of his neck. “No, I…” he sighed.

He liked Azandar. He liked him a lot. He felt it getting more and more difficult to deny it.

But what would Drals say? How would he say it? He was so hopelessly, dreadfully bad at these things. He had been away from people for so long, but even before then, he was bad at it. Now he was just worse.

So, why not just say that? Just say what he was feeling? Did it have to be so complicated?

“Embarrassment,” he started, trying to take a page from Azandar’s book. “Infatuation. Affection. I…” he looked up, to see wide brown eyes intently watching him. “I feel things about you I'm not used to feeling. I'm sorry if that's– you don't have to feel the same. I just want you to know.” 

Azandar laughed. Drals stared at him, his embarrassment replaced by confusion.

“Oh, Drals,” he said, chuckling. “You're as subtle as a minotaur in a teahouse. Even I suspected as much.” Drals pouted at the impish look he was given as Azandar raised his cup to his lips.

“Ugh. I'm not good at this shit,” Drals rubbed at his good eye.

“I'm… sorry,” Azandar reached out a hand as he moved closer, placing it on Drals’ forearm. “I don't mean to be rude. I–”

“No, you're right. It all feels rather juvenile. I'm sorry I said anything.”

“Drals,” Azandar gave him a pointed look.

“Yes?”

“I do feel the same, you know.”

“...Oh,” he said breathlessly, finally registering the closeness of the other man. “Oh.” 

“Perhaps it is juvenile,” Azandar smiled, his eyes falling elsewhere. “In the way that I feel childlike joy when I'm around you. You're… well, you're brilliant.”

Drals could only stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded, until he felt like all the pieces clicked into place and he could not hold back any longer.

Azandar made a small, surprised sound as their lips met. He quickly melted into Drals, his hand winding up his arm to rest at the back of his neck, kissing him back eagerly. Drals held his jaw in one hand, savouring the taste of too-sweet wine on Azandar’s lips. It tasted far better like that, he thought; perhaps Azandar’s theory would be proven correct.

He pulled back after a moment, studying Azandar’s face. He was a handsome man. Here, though, he was beautiful, Drals thought, with his eyes dark and lips parted. He couldn't help but feel a pang of loss when he leaned away, setting the cup of wine down next to Drals’ on the table.

But, just as quickly, he returned, stealing Drals’ breath away with the heat of the kiss that followed. Drals wrapped his hands around his waist as Azandar pressed against him, lips hungrily moving against his own. It teetered just on the edge of roughness in a way that made Drals’ pulse race. 

He felt as though months of tension had built up to this one moment, and now his desire came as a flood and all he wanted was more.

He wanted to see more of him, as he kissed and bit Azandar’s skin, pulling open the clasps of his shirt. He wanted to feel more of him, as he pushed him onto his back, groaning as Azandar arched against him, hands tangled in the hair at the base of his skull and pulling him downwards. He wanted to be closer, as he pushed into him, shuddering, the heat and the friction almost enough to be overwhelming. 

He wanted to hear more, as Azandar gasped and moaned and pleaded into his shoulder, the sound perhaps the sweetest thing Drals had ever heard.

[the-cimmerians]

It's 2024. I have been participating in fandom for 40 years. This is a ramble commemorating some history I've experienced along the way.

In 1984, I attended my first convention, and made a beeline for the one long row of covered tables in the Dealer's Room that was, according to the whispered lore of my friends, 'the one'. "um", I said, very suavely and coherently, except for how it was totally the opposite of those things, "I'm here for the... for the, uh. For-"

"Come around here," the man behind the table said with exhausted ennui, so I went around, and he lifted up the table skirt next to him and pointed to rows and rows of boxes underneath the line of tables. "It's all under here."

It was all under there. Along with about five older ladies with glasses, graying hair, cardigans. Flipping through slash zines and chatting in whispered voices like old friends (which of course they were). I noticed one of them had the good sense to be wearing kneepads. I was still too young and ablebodied to need kneepads when crawling on a carpeted floor, but I immediately found her preparedness skills to be both impressive and hot. "You're new," one of the ladies whispered to me--a bit warily, which made sense. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

In the faint light (the kneepads lady had also come prepared with a flashlight, additional practicality hotness points for her) I grabbed a comb-bound book with a heavy line art piece on the cover, featuring a musclebound Captain Kirk getting righteously and enthusiastically plowed by a stern-yet-ebullient Spock. "This," I said, pointing helpfully at the cover, like I was trying to make myself understood in a language I had only the vaguest knowledge of. "I'm here for this."

Outside at the convention, most of the attendees were wearing large homemade circular pins that shrieked 'K/S is BS!!!'1. But underneath the table, we reveled in the forbidden.

***

In 1985, I fell very hard for Starsky & Hutch fandom. Which was simply referred to at the time as 'the other fandom', because there were only two. We were upstarts. Many fannish elders predicted that it was just a phase.

***

The 'circulating library' was a massive stack of barely-legible pages that smelled strongly of mimeograph ink. When you were on the list, you would write stories while you waited for your turn, and when the big box was mailed to you, you would read everything (new finds, old favorites), add your own sloppily-typed or hastily-mimeographed stories, and then mail the whole thing to the next person. For me, at the time, it was an extremely expensive indulgence--but my favorite one.

***

By 1990, slash fandom had grown enough that I no longer knew everyone in it, which was both thrilling and a bit daunting. A young woman at a convention waited for me after a panel I was part of (I think it was 'writing impactful smut' or something like that), and said she had a question she didn't want to ask in a group setting. I'd heard that before. I said that's fine, go ahead and ask; and she came out with: "Why do you have to be gay?"

I blinked. "Is... that a problem?"

She looked annoyed. "Yes, because your stories are on all the recommendation lists and in all the top zines, but if you're gay and I read something you wrote and I get hot from it that makes me gay, and I'm not gay."

"Wow." I grinned, I couldn't help it. It probably made me look very predatory-dyke-about-to-score-a-toaster. Whatever, it was enough to make her back away from me fast.

When I thought about it later that night, I wondered what it would be like not to be the only queer person in slash fandom.

***

By 1997, slash started appearing on the internet. Many fannish elders claimed it was the death knell of slash fandom, or dismissed it as 'just a phase'.

***

Anyway, I wrote all this for myself as a commemoration of sorts, but if you took the time to read it--thank you. Love you, fandom. I always will.

1 In those days, m/m fandom was known as 'slash', which grew from the fannish shorthand where 'K&S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock having adventures or tribulations or what have you, and 'K/S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock getting it on (Kirk divided by Spock or Spock into Kirk--it was mathy fannish humor and I was into it then and I still am now). Slash was decidedly unpopular in the fannish world in 1984, and there was a concerted effort to force slash authors, artists, and fans out of 'mainstream' fannish public life. Hence, under the table.

[kitsunabi]

Tfw you have too much lore at your hands but there is no way to actually put this into the story

[pakhnokh]

Regarding Lan Wangji breaking the rules and bringing alcohol to Wei Wuxian.

This isn't new! He already did it in Arc 1.

In fact, ever since the moment he brought him into the Cloud Recesses, he started bringing him Emperor's Smile from Caiyi, because he wants to make Wei Wuxian as happy and content as much as he can considering all the limitations him and Wei Wuxian had been warned about by the cultivation world.

(Wei Wuxian can't go outside, can't write, can't draw, can't use powers or arts of any kind to anything, can'd have access to books)

We already saw how Lan Wangji broke some of those (like taking him out and bringing him alcohol) and soon we'll see some more hehe~ Just like in the cave where he injured 33 elders, the rules are second to keeping Wei Wuxian well. Same with the pact he made with the cultivation world. He's cautious, but he never meant to imprison Wei Wuxian, he meant to save him and keep him alive and feeling guilty as it is for always rejecting him and not standing by his side as much as he could, he puts Wei Wuxian's well being as a first priority, relying on his high reputation to guard him (but at the same time risking it too).

Wei Wuxian is aware of all that Lan Wangji is doing for him and how it goes against the CR rules and against the pact. Every now and then he mentions it to poke him, sometimes in a passive aggressive way (like, "how come you punished me back then and got mad at me when you do it yourself??") and sometimes really just being surprised at the change Hanguang Jun made.

(Also at this part from Arc 2, PLEASE DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO THE BUNNIES PART, SCRATCH THAT, HE DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT THEM LMAO SORRY, I MISSED THAT DETAIL)

Anyways, yeah, Lan Wangji always keeps Emperor's Smile for Wei Wuxian :D

At the moment of this part, LWJ is on one end very happy to see the progress Wei Wuxian suddenly made at wanting him to stay, but at the same time he's so tired and hurting from his scars that you can see in his entire body language and manner of speech that he's really out of patience he now normally keeps for Wei Wuxian, and kinda really wants to return to the Jingshi.

REALLY THE TIMING OF YOU DECIDING TO GET CLOSER SUCKS, WEI WUXIAN

Really, look how Wei Wuxian is literally allowing himself to sit in front of him now as opposed to arc 1, acting on flirty and HINTING HARD

And Lan Wangji?? SUPPRESSING ALL THE GAY FEELS CAUSE WHAT CHOICE DOES HE HAVE AT THIS POINT WITH HIS DAMN LOW SPIRITUAL ENERGY AND SCARS HE CAN'T LET WEI WUXIAN KNOW ABOUT?? TT_TT

Also one final important note: