#they slowly have been for years

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

You know how Shakespeare's plays had a lot of comedy and dick jokes and the like because they were fun and for the common people, but were tragedies nonetheless, or could change genres/tone halfway through, starting with a more comic structure, then slowly shifting into something darker or interweaving the two, like his "problem plays" ie tragicomedies... well, you know how Always Sunny—

[uncanny-tranny]

I think so many people are so deeply alienated from themselves that they have no clue how to exercise their free will and autonomy. For some, this alienation runs so deep that they are afraid of their own autonomy and humanity. It is completely understandable why one would have those feelings, but it can be worrisome.

I want to help others who feel this way, so here are small things I have done to exercise my free will:

Add "guilty pleasure" songs to playlists and actually listen to them (I have a ton of late 1990s-early 2000s music I listen to now proudly that I never listened to in the past out of shame)

Getting the décor item, bath set, bed spread, ect. in the patterns you like, even if it's "childish" (I got a dinosaur-themed wastebasket from the kids' décor section and I adore it)

Taking a new route to get to a place you go to often

Eat dessert first

Celebrate well, and often

Collect things that are "odd" or don't seem like an "acceptable" thing to collect (somebody on my "for you" page collects dandelion crayola crayons and it was so cool!!!!!!)

Incorporate one new piece in an outfit you wear frequently (e.g., a new chain, a necklace, ribbons, bracelets, ect.). Challenge yourself to add onto the outfits if you feel up for it.

Sing along to songs without worrying that you sound "good" or your intonation is completely accurate

Read a book from a genre you weren't allowed to read as a kid (comics, thrillers, mysteries, anything!)

Walk without having a specific destination or goal

Pick up a new craft without expecting yourself to master it or to ever be "good" enough. Get your hands messy.

I don't want to shame anybody for not feeling as though they have free will or that they are exempt from exercising it. However, I wanted to give ideas so that you might read this list and find your own ways to express your intrinsic autonomy and will. You deserve to be a person, to feel alive, not just living. That is what our lives are for.

[dogpantry]

please watch my scrungly old man kiss the inside of a glove

[fuumiku]

It was Maid Day today yesterday a week ago so I got struck by inspiration to draw the worsties, and it ran away from me into a whole AU where they’re coworkers at a maid cafe. She’s a med student & this is just a part time job, and this is his depression job while he gets his life back together. He needs something he can be workaholic about to forget what it’s like having a personal life and personal issues. He’s actually the accountant, but the new hire janitor (Izutsumi) doesn’t show up for half her shifts and is a sloppy worker, so he gets the extra work of doing her job on top of his because he’s undervalued and overworked. Of course, janitors also have an uniform to keep the aesthetic cohesion as they go about cleaning the place, of course.

Senshi’s the part time cook you only see slivers off, he’s kind and warm when you do see him and have a chat but most shifts he’s in and out the kitchen without a trace. Laios and Falin are regulars because Falin and Marcille are besties & in the same med school, Laios accompanies Falin as she visits her friend at work and gets hooked on the food. Chilchuck has to remind Marcille to work instead of chatting with Falin for an hour, and next thing he knows she’s distracting him from work too. That’s it that’s the AU. Inspired by this idol AU fanart a bit <3

This was not meant to be birthday gift but well…… Happy bday Chil!!!

Read from left to right

[dykedvonte]

I just realized some people are confused about events in the alluded to past in Mouthwashing, particularly about how long the crew has been working together.

The only person who is truly new is Daisuke and it’s why his dynamic with the crew and role in the story is very unique and somewhat distant. Curly didn’t just get Jimmy this job on the Tulpar, he got him the job with the Pony Express. He’s been his copilot for probably a couple of years but still not as long as they’ve been friends. None of them are new with the freight industry, Anya and Swansea especially have been doing this for years, together.

Jimmy is the newest on the regular crew, maybe just a few assignments, but it’s not his first time working with them. I think it’s just something important because this isn’t just one bad mistake that snowballed with giving Jimmy the job. None of them thought Jimmy would do anything, no matter how off-put by him they could’ve been, since he hadn’t done a thing since being there. Generally unpleasantness isn’t a crime and he’d be aware of that.

It was a festering thing and a sort of forced trust they had to give him that he knowingly took advantage of. He was the black sheep and still a wolf under the wool. He expected when he lashed out, that he had been there long enough for it to be looked over completely. Got too comfortable in the space he inserted into and did a lot of damage with his claws when he felt he was going to get shaken out.

[artharakka]

Star of the Forest

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

I will never recover from the knowledge that thymoma generally has a very high survival rate, and in most cases that it becomes fatal, the patient has unknowingly lived with the cancer for years. There's a chance that Wilson was sick for half the series and didn't even know it.

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) I literally said I was gonna post this month's ago and then never had the wherewithal to describe it and so I didn't Lmao (said with pain). But since I'm thinking of opening my commissions I figured I should remind ppl that I. Yknow. Can draw.

Lots of Steph here (I had major art block making all of these and my brain worms for her kept me going) + some sprinkles of stephcass for Cass nation to enjoy!

[brutalitybunny]

so we know about jin tohma cigarette scene but what if tohma just does that with all of his boytoys

[eveningrainstorm]

i need to replay twewy i miss my guys

[guinevereslancelot]

having old people hobbies is all fun and games until u meet other young people and they're like "so what do you do for fun?" n u have to say birdwatching

[oloreandil]

me: wow where have all my evenings gone lately 🤔

also me: it has been 382 days since i started working on the Yarneater3000, and it is so far from over

i am slowly encasing every seam and disintegrating edge of those jeans (so. most of it eventually) using every possible colour of embroidery floss, and it's been really fun !

[mxxnlightwriting]

reminder that more often than not, it's important to take breaks from writing instead of forcing yourself through it. listen to your body and intuition.

i say this as someone who writes almost every day. sometimes, that isn't sustainable. sometimes, you need to take breaks from your projects because you're tired from working on them. i have to admit that understanding when to stop and take a break is a skill in itself, but with time, you will master it. you've got this. if not today, then tomorrow.

today, you rest. tomorrow, if you feel like writing, great! if not, rest a bit more. you know yourself better than anyone else. so trust yourself to know when to get back into writing. and don't punish yourself for not doing it.

[stargloom]

im everything you hate

blood ver

[butmakeitgayblog]

Jumping in on the CI appreciation. The dynamic is just so fun and deceptively beautiful as messed up as they are. You are a great writer and have a unique way of captivating a reader. Kudos and much success however you choose to pursue your talent! Speaking of… have you written or plan on writing that blowout fight scene (post hospital release) where Lexa draws the proverbial line so to say?

CI fight 😈

///////////////////////

This is the stupidest you've ever felt in your life.

Which is saying a lot, considering the sheer amount of reckless and dumb shit you have done.

But this absolutely takes the cake you decide as your hired nurse wheels you into your lounge room, the sheets already turned back on your couch-turned-makeshift bed and the mountain of your wife's borrowed pillows that are already fluffed to within an inch of their goddamn life.

Your hip kills every time you try to stand on it and your back feels like it'd gone one too many rounds with a baseball bat, and thanks to the four fractured bones in your wrist, you can't even deal with it on your own with the use of a crutch or cane. So instead, you hang on to this fucking stranger and woddle over like a toddler, sweating through all three herculean steps it takes until you can sink down into the godsend that is your new recovery zone.

You wave her off with your good arm once she gets you settled. Tell her you're fine and to stop fucking hovering because you didn't even really need a nurse to move in with you to begin with.

But your wife had insisted and left no room for argument, and well... You're not very good at telling her no when she's upset.

So here the hell you are.

Your grousing is hushed by the sweeter notes of your wife's voice when she comes trailing in behind you with that familiar sharp clicking of her heels.

She apologizes for your lack of manners and tells RN Whats-her-name she can go get settled in the guest room that she'd already showed her - you suppose she must have gotten the grand tour at some point while you were still laid up in the hospital.

Ass out in a gown and perpetually high as a kite.

Not your finest point in life.

Not the lowest either.

At least the drugs made it a good time...

Your temple throbs when your 'guest' excuses herself and snaps the doors shut behind her, making you groan and reach to rub at the bandage taped to the side of your head.

Fingers quicker than yours catch you before you can do any damage.

"Don't," Lexa warns you in a whisper more gently than you had expected, considering she's had to remind you three times already today.

You murmur your sorries and pout because it hurts, but can't help but breathe lighter when she slips into the space between your legs.

Rather than settling in your lap as you'd foolishly hoped for, she perches on the edge of the coffee table instead. She smells so good and her gorgeous face is so serene when she gets comfortable and looks at you dead in the eye.

But then she folds her fingers together and she leans her elbows on her knees, and you already know you're in for some kind of ass chewing.

Fantastic.

She levels you with that 'wife look' she gets. The one that tells you that she means business.

Nobody warned you about that when you'd agreed to this whole 'marriage' thing.

"So," she breathes, only pausing to lick her kissable lips, "Welcome home, Darling."

You snort a laugh through your nose that still hurts where it's swollen but the good drugs kinda help you not care. "Thanks for having me, babe. Nice place you got here," you say in sarcasm-dipped words.

She merely hums and gives you a narrow-eyed grin that feels sexy and distinctly lethal.

"Yes. I've missed you in it. I've missed having you here. With me."

That softens you. Lulls you into a false sense of security.

"I missed you too, baby."

"Good. Then," she says in a quick breath that sounds not unlike ripping off a bandaid. "I wanted you to know that I've taken the liberty of finding a buyer. Well, a few of them, really. All predictably salivating over the collection. But I supposed it'd be appropriate that we talk about the logistics of this before moving forward. I'm open to deferring to your expertise in this field when it came to numbers because, frankly, I'm more than willing to just give the fucking things away. So, we should talk about this."

You smile, because you're an idiot, and you think it's hilarious that she's talking to you like one of her clients. But you also smile because you're a little high off your medicine, and she's really just so pretty, and because not one word of that made any sense.

"What's... 'this'? What're you— Talk about the logistics of what?"

"Selling your cars," she answers with an easy nod, like it absolutely should've been obvious.

The silence that rings through the apartment feels loud in your ears... before you burst out laughing right in her face.

"What?" you choke out and chuckle, because you must've heard that wrong. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said, my love." She reaches out boops the tip of your nose with a patronizingly scrunched smile. "You know I don't like repeating myself."

"That's cute, Lexa," you titter and swipe at the hand that's already so far out of reach.

"Oh I'm not kidding, Clarke."

"Okay. And I'm not selling my cars."

"No, actually, you are."

You scoff and use the shoulder that isn't currently trussed up in a sling to push you hair off your neck so you can see her better. Or... something.

Because all you really see is the calm of her smile. Those eyes that are sharp. Hollow. Unyielding. And if you'd looked beyond the swell of anger that suddenly bursts through your chest, you might've seen the whispered-smoke of terror that hid in their depths.

But you do not.

Instead you focus all of your righteous indignation and stubbornness that burns white hot. You give a derisive laugh, and shake your head, and level her with a cold stare of your own.

Making sure she hears your every word, loud and clear.

"No. The fuck. I am not."

It almost feels like victory when her smile falls away.

"Clarke," she says with a deathly click to your name, "I want those deathtraps gone."

"Lexa—"

"I don't care."

"Lexa—"

"Stop saying my name, because whatever comes after it, I promise you, I do not care."

"Well I don't really fucking care either," you spit just to get a rise out of her, "because I'm not doing it, and I don't give shit what you say, Alexandria."

Her jaw ticks to the side as her eyes flash with hellfire.

She hates that name and you know it but right now you just want her to be every bit as angry as you are.

"Okay," she says so quiet you barely hear her over the hammering of your heart as she pushes on her knees to stand up and hovers over you for a moment.

And you think it's a victory because it feels like a victory...

Until it does not.

Because she just nods.

And keeps nodding.

Just this slow up and down of her head, her eyes empty and her face cold, but not in the way that you fell in love with.

This only fills your chest with dread.

So it's a shock when she straddles your hips, planting one knee on each side and sinks down to sit in your lap. Her weight is comforting after your stay in the hospital, if not a little painful in the way it twinges your fucked up leg. But you don't even let yourself flinch because God you've missed this. You've missed her, and her scent, and the way she practically drapes herself over you.

Your good arm wraps around her waist and digs fingertips into the soft dip of her spine, pulling her flush against you. You soak up the flutter of her lashes at the feel of your breasts pressing against hers; the way she fidgets not to grind down like her body's muscle memory is obviously screaming at her to do.

Instead she stares at you through those dark hooded eyes, now so beautifully filled with emotions that make your heart pound out a more pleasant rhythm than before.

"I love you, Clarke," she says. Whispers.

And your breath catches in your chest.

Same as it does each time she says those words, so fleeting and so rare as they are that they pierce straight through the mushiest parts of your heart. Because you know she loves you. You know it in every single thing she does. But there's just... It's just... Nothing will ever rival these moments when she lets them slip out, so unguarded and vulnerable with you.

And really... that should've been a warning.

"And I love you, pretty girl," you whisper right back instead, grinning as she preens under the praise, so lost in her beautiful face you don't even remember there exists a world beyond her.

You watch her throat dip in a thick swallow, her hands smoothing up the length of your neck. She cups your cheeks as her eyes trace every line of your face... as if she were committing this moment to memory.

She shakes her head. Sadly.

"I adore you," she says again, softer still and with more conviction. "Everything. I adore everything about you, Clarke. I love you more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. And I'm always going to love you, no matter what."

When she kisses you then, in that moment, it's possibly the softest, purest thing you have ever known. She kisses you like it's the only thing she needs in this world and you hope she knows it's the same for you. Because her lips pillow and give under every caress of your lips, and her tongue slipping against yours feels like the only home you've ever known. It's one kiss among thousands you've shared. But you know you'll think of this one for years to come, and honestly if fighting gets you loving like this then you should really make a mental note to call her by her birth name more often...

She breaks the kiss with a sigh, and a shuddering breath against your lips.

"I love you. So, so much... I just want you to always remember that."

You barely have time to blink out of your haze when she extracts herself from your arms and your lap and your lips, and stands up on shakey legs.

She lets out a deep breath and smooths her hands along the front herself, rigidly primping herself free of any creases you might've left.

Her chin rises in that regal arch as she looks down at you and nods once again.

"I'll have our lawyer draw up the divorce papers in the morning."

Your hand snaps out when she turns to leave and catches her shirt cuff before you even have time to think, gritting your teeth to try and bite back the sudden shock of pain that slices up your arm and explodes through your shoulder.

"Wait, what the fuck did you just say?" you practically yelp.

Her icy glare drops to the hand that holds her, jaw flexing as she watches how bad you tremble.

"Let go of me."

"Uh, no—"

"If you don't," she cuts in, enunciating with lethal precision, "I'll have to rip my arm away, and that will hurt you more, and I don't want that. Now stop acting like a child, and let go of me."

You grit your teeth and fist her cuff harder through the cold sweat of pain. "I guess you'll have to hurt me then, because I'm not letting go until you repeat what the hell you just said."

"You heard me perfectly well, my love."

"No, I don't think I did."

"Then you'll figure it out tomorrow, won't you."

You let out a strangled sound and collapse back on the couch - both from the pain and the sheer terror ripping through you. "Lexa, what is this? What are you playing at? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not playing at anything, I'm telling you that I'm not doing this with you ever again, Clarke," she says in her crisp business voice. "The hospitals. The sitting at your bedside. The wondering if you're ever going to be able to paint again. Watching you limp around for weeks, just to turn around and do it again. I'm done."

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. "Oh my god, are serious? It was just an accident—"

"One that could've killed you."

"It wasn't even my fault."

"That's not the point," she nearly growls, all fire and fangs. "This is your third accident in four fucking years. I can't keep doing this."

"And what exactly is 'this'?"

"Waiting around to lose you!"

Your ears ring at the volume of her shout.

You swallow as she takes a moment collect herself.

Feel the lump grow in your throat as she mindlessly fiddles with the diamond on her finger.

You know it's a habit that calms her when she's feeling particularly out of control. A tick she picked up and never seemed to kick somewhere around the third year you were married.

"I trusted you," she starts again, sounding calmer. Less shaken, but still frayed at the edges. "I told how I feel about you. I told you I wouldn't— Couldn't... survive without you."

"So your solution is to divorce me now?" you scoff. "Tell me, how does that makes sense?"

"Because I have loved exactly two people in my life, Clarke... And this way? At least I won't have to bury one of them."

It's like a bucket of goddamn ice water has just been upturned over your head.

You can't help but stare at her, dumbfounded.

Because you are... so fucking stupid.

Your heart twists and it pounds and for a split second you wonder if you're having a heart attack, or if maybe this is what they mean when they talk about broken heart syndrome. Because nothing has ever hurt this bad. Nothing has ever devastated you as much this tidal wave of guilt. Nothing has ever scared you; made you feel this kind of shame so deep in your bones.

And when she drops her hands like she's given up and turns toward the door, you almost feel like you're going to throw up with the way your stomach clenches in a fresh wave of terrified dread. You want nothing more than to pop up and run over to her and explain and just fix this, but your hip and your leg and you just—You just...

You did this.

You did all of this.

"Okay," you damn near yell, sounding distinctly like a wounded animal to your own ears.

She pulls to a stop and snaps back around, "Okay, what?"

"I said... okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll fucking get rid of them," you bite right back again, desperate and annoyed and shaking so badly it's making your shoulder ache.

She stares at you, placid and unmoved.

"All of them?"

You grit your jaw and blow a breath out. "All of them... The dangerous ones at least."

She clicks her tongue and starts to turn away when you yell—

"You have to compromise with me here!"

She wheels back around with thunder in her eyes and a snarl already twisting her lips.

You know you have never needed to talk faster in your life.

"The ones that aren't street legal, they're gone, okay? Nothing that is actually dangerous stays. But I'm not getting rid of the ones that are perfectly safe, and, Lexa, I'm not getting rid of my grandfather's car. It's the only thing I have from my fucked up family that means anything to me, and it's mine, and it's not fair of you to even consider making me get rid of it."

"You hate that fucking thing—"

"I don't hate it, I love that car! That car changed my life! That car got me you."

You watch the rage bleed out of her as she slumps at the shoulders.

She runs a hand through the controlled chaos of her hair.

"That car did not get you me, Clarke," she strains out in a sigh, sounding tired and beautifully frail. "We're married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I fell in love with you. Because I'm in love with you."

It makes your heart squeeze tight all over again.

"Maybe, but you wanted that car before you ever wanted me—"

"That is not true," she cuts you off in a hush of a whisper.

She stares at you with eyes clouded with devastation and hurt, and for the life of you, you don't know how to fix it.

You never seem to know how to...

The air between you feels frozen for a long moment before she seems to make up her mind about something all at once.

She shakes her head as she crosses the room in quick, elegant strides and drops to her knees right in front of you.

"Listen to me," she says, and tenderly - so tenderly - takes your least injured hand and folds it into her own. "There are so many things I regret about my life. But making that bet, and losing it, are not included. Half of the reason I ever even wanted that car to begin with was because of how attracted to you I was whenever I saw you in it."

Your scoff is loud enough to give your concussion addled brain another headache. "You are such a liar, Lexa."

Your belly swoops when she flits that damn eyebrow up in challenge.

"While I appreciate your assessment of my moral virtues," she practically purrs, "on this, darling, you happen to be wrong... All that windswept blonde hair? The way you looked like you owned everyone and everything in those shaders that you'd so carelessly slip down before pulling away?"

You wonder if you even still have those sunglasses as she bites her lip and lets her eyes run the length of you.

You'll have to check the next time you can walk properly.

Maybe have them make a reappearance at your next brunch date.

Just for old time's sake.

The hand holding yours squeezes gently.

"You were so damn cocky. The way you'd throw that thing in park and hop out. You'd just toss your keys at the doorman like you didn't care about anything. I hated it so much," she laughs with a rueful grin that slips into something entirely more fond. "And yet I could never seem to make myself stop staring at you, darling."

Even after all these years of marriage, the thought of younger her having wanted younger you...

You shift at the throb that weakly pulses between your thighs.

"So... You made the bet because... you thought I was sexy in my car?"

"I made the bet because I thought you were entirely too full of yourself," she corrects, "which I still believe. But I wanted the car because I'd envisioned getting fucked in it more times than I could count."

God you love it when she gets vulgar.

She reaches up and brushes a curl away from your forehead.

"It just took me a little while longer to realize that the person I had been imagining fucking me was - annoyingly - very much you."

You know your smile is kind of dopey right now rather than the teasing slope that you're aiming for, but later when you look back on this moment, you'll definitely blame it on the drugs.

"So our marriage is based off you wanting me to top you in my grandfather's car?"

Her faces pulls up in distaste. "No. It's based off the fact that you are—"

She pauses and exhales something from deep in her chest, her eyes closing under the weight of whatever it is she's feeling as she finally trembles out,

"That you are everything to me."

You really really really kind of hate that you're injured in that moment, because when she opens her eyes they glisten with a lovely wet sheen. And you just want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her in your arms. Because it's where she belongs. It's where she's always been meant to be...

"You're everything to me too, baby," you say because she is and she should know it, and you really need to remember to say it more often. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lexa, I didn't— I didn't mean to..."

She nods when you can't find the words and kisses the bruised ridge of your knuckles.

Rests her forehead there for a moment as though in prayer.

When she looks at you again she's already pulled herself back together.

That's part of why you love her so much.

Always unbreakable.

Except... when it comes to you.

You have no idea what to do with that knowledge, but you know you'd give up anything just to keep it.

And you love her so much that it makes you smile. It makes you smile, because you just want to see her smile at you again. Always.

"Hey," you say, tossing in a lazy wink because you know she hates it. "You totally had a crush on me."

She rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"You had a cuh-ruuuuush on me."

"Clarke. I am married to you—"

"Still," you snort. "Loser."

Her sigh of resignation is so weary it fills your heart close to bursting with how much love you have for this woman.

Because she doesn't fight you on that. Just leans her forehead against yours and nods, kissing your lips soft enough to not make the cut on them bleed again. Her nose brushes against yours in a sweet moment of aching tenderness, and when she pulls back to look at you beneath the fall of her lashes, the whole world is once again nothing but her.

"We'll go through each one together," she says somewhere between a question and a statement.

You nod in agreement, just to be safe.

"Anything remotely questionable, goes."

You heave a sigh but dutifully nod again.

"That means anything without the right mirrors, or proper turning signals. Engines that might blow up for no reason. Anything that was recalled decades ago. Anything with brakes that have a habit of failing... Anything that doesn't have fucking seat belts."

As her list grows you mentally tick off a good two-thirds of your collection.

You glance at her lips and remember how they feel against yours first thing in the morning, and simply nod again.

"Fine. But also? You can't just start threatening divorce every time you want me to do something, you know," you murmur still, because while you're compromising here... you really feel the need to remind her that she's not domesticating you or anything.

She doesn't seem remotely affected by your pout when she just shrugs and grins and leans forward.

You feel distinctly like a puppy on a leash when she pecks a placating kiss to your lips.

And then another to the tip of your nose.

"We'll see."

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Wei Wuxian and Narrative Agency – Part Three

For Xiantober Day Five: Past and Present, in which the author gets very unhinged about what parts of the past are shown and how that’s affected by the present!

(Part One | Part Two | Full version on AO3)

The Power of Agency: Shaping the Narrative

When I've discussed Wei Wuxian's agency previously, I’ve talked about how what’s shown and omitted tells us about a character, and we’ve talked about the character himself. Though this is a niche topic, it’s not necessarily something out of the ordinary to analyse, and we can assume everything up to here has been in some way intentional.

This? Linking structure to a character’s in-universe preferences?

This is where we get unhinged.

Before I start, let’s quickly establish something which will be important later: although Wei Wuxian is the central character, MDZS isn’t strictly from his POV. While omitting events a character doesn’t like to dwell on and concealing things the character wishes to hide is common in books with only one narrator, MDZS has multiple narrators which it switches between relatively quickly. This includes Wei Wuxian, but it also includes nearly every major character that appears in the story, and omniscient narrator as well. As a default, this format doesn’t lead to this deliberate shaping and omission because of one character’s preferences, since we have many other sources of information and events – which is what makes Wei Wuxian’s influence over the narrative and structure so interesting. We could have access to a lot more information, and access to it at different times, than we do (and that’s not an insult, quite the opposite!).

To begin: we’ve established that times such as Wei Wuxian’s time on the streets, his three months in the Burial Mounds and his loss in the Siege aren’t shown because Wei Wuxian has little agency there. But that’s not the only special thing about them. They’re also the three most traumatic times in his life, and so moments Wei Wuxian himself either can’t remember, or doesn’t like to dwell on.

This is why discussing Wei Wuxian’s treatment of tragedy in his life was important. Firstly, it shows he doesn’t focus on the tragedy in his life, so the idea that the narrative not focusing on this tragedy relates to his character has merit; secondly, it affirms that this is not a passive trait, but a choice. Therefore, when the narrative omits events due to this aspect of Wei Wuxian, it’s respecting not only a character detail – which would be cool by itself – but also an active decision. One that shapes the story it’s made in.

In other words, its very structure is respecting Wei Wuxian’s agency!

Now, of course there are flashbacks to other moments of his past he probably wouldn’t like to dwell on, too. But within the structure, they’re only shown when Wei Wuxian is thinking about them (or when he has reason to)!

Wei WuXian hadn’t woken up yet. His eyes were still tightly shut, yet his hand didn’t let go either. He seemed to be dreaming, muttering, “… Don’t… Don’t be angry…” Lan WangJi seemed somewhat surprised. His voice was gentle, “I am not angry.” Wei WuXian, “… Oh.” Hearing this, as though he finally felt assured, his fingers loosened. Lan WangJi sat beside Wei WuXian for a while. Seeing that he was motionless again, he was about to stand up when Wei WuXian grabbed him with his other hand, hugging his arm and refusing to let go. He shouted, “I’ll go with you, quick, take me back to your sect!” Chapter 63, EXR translation

Which, of course, is him dwelling on…

Lan WangJi spoke one word at a time, “Go back to Gusu with me.” Hearing this, both Wei WuXian and Jiang Cheng were surprised. Quickly afterward, Wei WuXian laughed, “Go back to Gusu with you? To the Cloud Recesses? Why go there?” He immediately seemed to realize, “Oh. I forgot. Your uncle Lan QiRen hates crooked people like me. You’re his proudest disciple, so of course you’re the same as him, haha. I refuse.” Chapter 62, EXR translation

…the painful flashback immediately preceding this. The third set of flashbacks (which are also painful) are a similar case. Look at the contex:

He lifted the bottom of his robe, revealing a prosthetic leg made of wood, “This leg of mine was destroyed by you, that night in the Nightless City (…)” (…) “Wei WuXian, I won’t ask you if you remember or not. Both of my parents died by your hands. You owe too many people. You definitely won’t remember them either. But, I, Fang MengChen, will never forget! And never forgive you!” (…) “In the fight at Qiongqi Path, my son was strangled to death by your dog Wen Ning!” “My shixiong died by poison, his entire body festering due to your cruel curse!” Chapter 68 (immediately preceding the flashbacks), EXR translation

And Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts and words:

Wei WuXian looked at the cultivators before the Demon-Slaughtering Cave. Their expressions were the absolute same as those of the cultivators from the night of the pledge conference, pouring their wine on the ground as they took the pledge to scatter the ashes of the Wen Sect’s remnants and him.  (…) Wei WuXian, “Now it’s time to ask just whom it is that treasures it so much. It’s like Wen Ning. Back then, some certain sects or so were scared to death of the Ghost General. They said they’d kill him on the surface, but behind their backs they hid him for over ten years. How strange. Who was the one that said his ashes had been scattered back then?” Chapter 79 (immediately succeeding the flashbacks), EXR translation 

Once again, Wei Wuxian’s own thoughts relate to the flashbacks we’ve just been shown. And, as I previously mentioned, though all the events which are shown are tragic, they’re also events which Wei Wuxian’s own choices and actions shaped – which he has this to say about:

“The things I did, not only do you remember them, I remember them too. You won’t forget them, and they’ll stay even longer in my mind!” Chapter 82, EXR

Admittedly, this applies more to the third set of flashbacks than the second (which is still fitting as the third set was the most recent), as in the second, although he still had agency within and influence over his circumstances, the majority of the pain was caused by others’ actions (excluding, of course, the Golden Core transfer… which is something we know stays for a long time in his mind, albeit with a caveat we’ll soon discuss). But it’s still important to note – especially considering that otherwise, focusing on this very painful time in his life wouldn’t seem like something very in-character for Wei Wuxian to do.

Of course, this can all just be explained by good writing. It is best to insert flashbacks when they’re relevant to the characters and events in the present day! But it is interesting to compare these to the start of the (not painful) Gusu flashbacks, which open this way:

At a later time, Wei WuXian pondered upon the reason why his relationship with Lan WangJi wasn’t good. Getting to the root of the matter, everything started when he was fifteen, coming to the GusuLan Sect with Jiang Cheng to study for three months. Chapter 13, EXR

Again, considering the circumstances around which these flashbacks take place – returning to the Cloud Recesses for the first time since the lectures, and meeting Lan Wangji once more – it makes complete sense for Wei Wuxian to be thinking about these events*. So it does fit the pattern of Wei Wuxian dwelling on something, thus leading to the narrative dwelling on it, too (and being shaped by his thoughts)… but there’s another layer to this. Importantly, it is the only flashback where Wei Wuxian’s present thoughts don’t lead to this happening, with his thoughts at an unspecified future time leading to it, instead. I like to interpret this as the text saying that, since these events aren’t something Wei Wuxian wouldn’t focus on in normal circumstances, he can dwell on them at any time. Therefore, they’re free to come up in the narrative at any time as well, even if he’s not dwelling on them in the present moment!

So, to summarise: Wei Wuxian’s decision not to focus on the painful times in his life directly influences the narrative to not focus on these times. When painful times are brought up and shown to us, it’s in the context of him thinking about them in the present day, and even then, his most painful moments still aren’t shown to us. His agency in this regard is still respected by the narrative structure.

This is the main way his agency influences the structure of the narrative, but I’d like to talk about the revealing and concealing of information, too. For example, I said I’d talk about the Golden Core transfer – though Wei Wuxian does think about this many times, as evidenced by his internal narration in Chapter 103. But unlike everything we’re shown through the flashbacks, this is something Wei Wuxian is actively trying to hide from others. And the narrative respects this choice (Wei Wuxian’s agency, again), never reveals it even when it would be relevant in the flashbacks, and we find out not through narration, but through a character’s dialogue!

And to clarify – I know these aspects may not be in the book for this exact reason. Showing flashbacks in relevant moments is good writing, concealing an important plot point you want to do a reveal for is necessary writing, and MXTX has said she didn’t want to write about Wei Wuxian’s time in the Burial Mounds, due to not liking to write transformation sequences (and also because it would not be pleasant at all, which likely also applies to Wei Wuxian’s death). That doesn’t prevent it from also being intentional – MXTX’s intelligence is shown in many aspects of this book, and there’s nothing disproving it – but there’s no proof for either option, so I won’t pretend there is. I bring this up because I know this feels like I’m overanalysing, as I feel that way as well.

But, whether it’s intentional or not, it exists in the text, and I adore it – so, regardless, it’s something I’ll explore. Because taking this into account… We aren't just told about Wei Wuxian having agency, we aren’t just shown it in the text, we aren’t even just shown it through which parts of his past are shown and hidden in the structure of the text (as I talked about in Part One). The parts of the past that are shown and hidden also have an in-universe reason for being shown and hidden, this reason being the choices he makes! Agency is the ability of a character to influence the story they’re in, but Wei Wuxian’s agency, as a property of a character who only exists in-universe, shapes the out-of-universe structure as well! That’s how we’re shown its importance! How cool is that?

At The End Of The Road: Summary and Final Thoughts

In this essay, we’ve covered how important Wei Wuxian’s agency is not only to the events of the plot, but to the structure of the narrative as well. The narrative omits periods in which Wei Wuxian has little or no agency, in favour of showing us periods in which he does, even when important events happened in the former. This indicates that who Wei Wuxian is without agency isn’t important enough to be shown to the audience, and therefore that his agency is an integral aspect of his character in MDZS. We’ve discussed how both in-universe and out-of-universe, tragedy does not define him – out-of-universe, the tragic events in Wei Wuxian’s life are used not to build sympathy but rather to show his strength of character and who he still is despite going through them; and in-universe, he chooses not to focus on the negativity and resentment caused by his circumstances or others’ actions, instead staying true to his moral compass and enjoying his life in the present day. Finally, we’ve also explored how this choice is another reason for the omission of certain events from the narrative, resulting in his agency shaping the story in a very literal way – it affects the out-of-universe structure, as well.

It’s quite fitting, for a story whose essence is about defying a conventional narrative – that of righteous clans rising up and defeating a great evil – and about a character who defies many conventional narratives on his own – that of status defining how skilled you could be, that for a golden core being necessary for cultivation and other paths being unavailable, that of a tragic but complete story of someone killed for staying true to their moral code (instead, that character returns to life and has a happy ending) – to have its own narrative play a role in such an important and interesting way.

(Or, if an image would be preferable:)

Thank you for reading!

(Part One | Part Two | Full version on AO3)

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*This strong relation to the present day circumstances is another reason I love the flashback placement so much (and why I think it’s such a loss both screen adaptions altered it so strongly)!