#& tap into it in order to cultivate it

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Playbook: How To Embody Queen Energy

Living in your queen energy requires you to stand in your power and look after yourself to the highest degree in every area of life. When tapping into this higher frequency, you realize that putting yourself first allows you to show up at your best – both for yourself and others. Here are some tips to embody the queen energy you’re meant to live in: 

Put Yourself First: Remember – your self-perception becomes your public image. You need to believe in yourself before others will. Believe that you’re worthy of living your dream life which includes achieving your loftiest goals and indulging your deepest desires. Reframe any resistance. Identify as someone who lives a life of abundance where all of your manifestations enter into your orbit with ease. 

Be Honest With Who You Want To Be: Sit down with yourself (and some writing utensils – whether it’s pen and paper or a keyboard) and journal to describe your ideal self. Don’t hold back. Indulge in your wildest dreams, goals, and fantasies. Become conscious of any limiting beliefs that come to mind as you write out these aspirations. Jot them down – they’ll give you some insight into what’s holding you back, so you can bridge the gap between who you show up as today and who you’re going to be once you put in the inner work. 

Make A Deliberate Effort To Discover Your Values, Passions, & Boundaries: Figure out what matters most to you in life. What activities, topics, aesthetics, art, clothing, hobbies, sounds, movements, books, television shows, movies, songs, and types of conversations most light you up inside? Here are some resources to guide your self-discovery journey HERE, HERE, and HERE.

Build A Strong Personal Brand & Cult of Personality: I have more tips on building your personal brand, creating your persona (or ‘Dream Girl archetype’), and an ultimate Femme Fatale playbook linked HERE, HERE, and HERE.

Prioritize All Aspects of Your Health: Physical, Mental, Emotional, Sexual, Spiritual. Celebrate your needs – they make you human. Eat a healthful, plant-based diet, exercise and walk daily, meditate, read at least 10 pages a day, journal, make to-do lists, declutter your space, self-pleasure, recite your affirmations, lean into shadow and mirror work, create morning and nighttime routines. Feeling in alignment is essential to allowing your magnetic aura to shine through. Find all of my tips to cultivate self-regard in every area of life HERE.

Read, Study, & Build A Strong Skillset: Designing the life of your dreams is an inevitable aspect of living in your queen energy. Stay informed, read books and articles on your industry, interests, current events, cultural happenings, history, and any other topic that brings you joy or you would find intriguing if someone brought up the subject at a dinner party. Mastering an evergreen skillset is essential for succeeding in your career or building a business. Living in your queen energy means living in abundance. While queen energy is a mindset, it is impossible to fully live in this dream reality without having passions and your finances in order. Start with my entire Femme Fatale booklist HERE and guide to building your dream career HERE.

Learn The Art of Detachment: Acknowledge what's out of your control. Living in your queen energy means you understand that it's important to work your hardest and smartest to determine the outcome of anything you can control. Otherwise, you have to let it go – people, professional opportunities, possessions. Projection, misalignment, or an undesirable fit does not deter you from striving toward your goals and relishing in satisfaction. Others' contempt and rejection serve as a cue for self-reflection and redirection.

Become Extremely Discreet Yet Utterly Shameless: Do as you please, but keep your business (or pleasure) to yourself. Privacy is peace, power, bliss, and radiates quiet confidence – the greatest telltale sign that someone is living in her queen energy. Learn to hold your own. You will be guaranteed to earn respect within seconds of gracing anyone's presence.

Maintain Proper Posture: Shoulder back, chest open, back straight. Don’t be shy about taking up space. 

Accept Compliments With Grace: A smile and ‘thank you’ pairing is the most confident and elegant response. Some more confidence and social skill tips are linked HERE and HERE.

Live Unapologetically While Displaying Radical Empathy: Uphold your boundaries. Live your truth. Never beg or settle for less.

#femme fatale #it girl #dark femininity #dark feminine energy #divine feminine #high value woman #higher self #self concept #queen energy #dream girl #the feminine urge #hypergamous #hypergamy #high value mindset #female excellence #female power #success mindset #loa #loa success #life advice #girl advice #girlblogging #femmefatalevibe

[moraxine]

Echoes of The Heart [I]

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader // geto suguru x fem!reader

genre: fluff, future smut

words: 3.1k

summary: Having Gojo Satoru as a roommate comes with a weekly price. And while your best friend is busy fucking random people almost every Friday night, this time you find yourself at a nearby bar, where you meet a mysterious man, Suguru, that has his ways of entering your heart.

Next Chapter

As the city lights filtered through the windows of your shared apartment, you sighed softly, realizing it was once again time to make yourself scarce. Gojo Satoru, your charismatic and enigmatic best friend, was entertaining yet another admirer tonight. Before you could make an exit, Gojo leaned against the doorway, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you gather your things.

"Off on your secret mission again, huh?" he teased, raising an eyebrow playfully. You rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips.

"Someone's got to make sure you don't cause any earthquakes, Satoru." You shared a knowing look, an unspoken understanding of your unique dynamic.

With a dramatic sigh, Gojo feigned a pout.

"You're the best wingman a guy could ask for," he remarked, earning an exaggerated eye roll from you.

"Just promise me you won't bring the house down, okay?" you retorted with a smirk, the familiarity of your banter filling the room with a sense of companionship that only years of friendship could cultivate.

Gojo had been your best friend for years, and even though he was a total goof, he held a special place in your heart as someone who supported you through shitty situations. If it weren't for Gojo's demeanor, you would have ended up desperate and even depressed. You owed the guy a lot, and leaving once a week in order for him to get some, was probably the easier way you could repay him.

With a resigned smile, you expressed your farewell and slipped out the door, giving them the space they would soon need.

Finding yourself amidst the vibrant lights of Tokyo, you allowed your feet to take you on a long walk around the city to help clear your head. Eventually, you sought solace in the warm ambiance of a cozy bar. Nestled on a stool, you ordered a drink, the clinking of glasses and hushed conversations providing a comforting backdrop as you navigated the swirling thoughts in your mind.

You caught yourself adrift in a sea of uncertainty, your future stretching out before you with a disconcerting lack of direction. You stared into your glass, contemplating the void that lay ahead.

You moved in with Gojo when university started a couple years ago. And even after your graduation, you decided to stick to it for a little longer. Splitting the rent was ideal for you, since you had yet to find a stable job. Gojo on the other was simply used to it, or at least that's what you believed.

Because if there was one person without any money-related worries, it had to be Gojo. You never let him help you on that, however, since your biggest goal was to build your independence yourself. He never asked for you to part ways as roommates, so you thought that maybe he was too lazy to look for a new place and move out. Or he was too much of a gentleman to kick you out. Whatever the reason, it was more than okay for now.

It would be way too lonely without him anyway.

As moments turned to minutes, and you got lost in contemplating your future, a mysterious man took a seat beside you, his lip piercing glinting in the warm ambiance, a man-bun crowning his head, and a captivating sleeve tattoo peeking from beneath his white shirt.

Engrossed in conversation with the bartender, he exuded an intriguing presence that gradually pulled your attention from your own introspections.

With a glance at your phone, your gaze shifted, fingers tapping the screen in an act of implicit awkwardness, and quiet anticipation.

It was then that the man turned his attention to you, his words laced with curiosity, "Waiting for something?"

You found yourself opening up, your voice carrying a mix of resignation and a touch of vulnerability as you spoke. "My roommate, who's also my best friend, he's... busy tonight," you began, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"He pretty much kicked me out so he could have his...fun." Your words held a hint of playful exasperation.

"But truth be told, it's not just that. There's a lot on my mind lately, and I needed some space to think. Uni is over, and it's like I'm staring at a blank canvas, unsure of what to paint. I work at a cafe in the area, but that's not really what I want to do for the rest of my life."

Your gaze drifted, as if searching for answers in the amber depths of your drink.

You could not comprehend where this sudden urge to overshare came from.

"So, here I am, in this bar, trying to find a bit of clarity in the chaos."

Yup, you were already starting to regret it.

The man's lips curved into a wry smile as he listened to your words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah, I see. Though, a bar might not be the ideal setting for philosophical contemplation." he mused, his tone light and playful.

"But it's totally a place to find some camaraderie and fleeting connections, if nothing else." He leaned slightly against the bar, his gaze locking with yours.

You felt your cheeks getting hot. The way his eyes locked on yours felt like he was getting access to your soul, the door of which you had gladly opened. There was something enchanting about him, about his aura, about-

"You know, I'm a regular here. Friends with the bartender and all that," he added with a subtle nod toward the person behind the counter.

"And if there's a connection with someone interesting, well, who am I to pass up a chance for an eventful night?"

Your laughter twinkled in the air as you responded, "You'd get along well with my best friend, Satoru."

His eyebrows rose in curiosity. "Satoru, you say?" he inquired, his voice tinged with interest.

"I suppose you could introduce us. Now, about the other thing..."

His gaze held a sense of reassurance as he responded, his words carrying a soothing quality.

"You know, life has a way of unfolding unexpectedly. Sometimes the paths we take aren't the straightest, but they often lead us to where we're meant to be. So don't stress too much, sweetheart, you'll get there."

If it wasn't for the music and the conversations in the dimly lit room, you swear he would be able to listen to the strong pounding of your heart against your chest.

What the hell was going on with you?

Getting flustered over a guy felt like a distant memory until now. The feeling was odd, and started to scare you. You had barely exchanged any words.

There was something about his presence, the way his hands tapped on the glass, the way his lips moved as he spoke, the way a few strands of hair covered the sides of his forehead that had you utterly trapped in his beauty.

As you were about to thank him for his little advice, a woman entered the scene, the familiarity in her demeanor suggesting a deeper connection. She wrapped her arm around the man's waist with an affectionate grin, interrupting your conversation.

"Suguru! It's been forever! We need to catch up," she exclaimed, her voice carrying a hint of warmth. Suguru's lips curved into a polite smile, his voice calm as he replied, "I'm actually here with a friend right now, but yes, let's do that another time." His gaze shifted towards you, a subtle signal for you to step in. You met his gaze and responded with a gracious smile and a nod, subtly letting Suguru off the hook.

The woman's frustration was palpable as she let an exasperated sigh. And yet, she eventually relented, leaving Suguru and you alone once again, after mumbling something you didn't quite catch.

Suguru offered an apologetic smile, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips. "I don't even remember her name," he admitted with a shake of his head.

"We've only met once or twice, purely for... enjoyment, you could say."

Your eyebrows quirked up in curiosity, the contrast between your lives and her own experiences stark.

"I've often wondered how you and Satoru can engage in these casual relationships without things getting complicated," you confessed, a touch of perplexity in your voice.

It was true, even though you had discussed it with Gojo before, you couldn't imagine yourself having sex with someone just for "preservation purposes" as your friend claimed, whatever the hell that meant.

Suguru's gaze held a depth that matched his insight as he looked into your eyes.

"Intimate relationships only lead to hurt if there's a deeper connection, emotions involved beyond the surface," he explained, his tone tinged with a mixture of wisdom and experience.

"Sometimes, keeping things light and detached is a way to avoid that pain. But," he added softly, "it's not a path everyone can or should take."

It was a moment of profound connection, as you both exchanged perspectives on the intricate dance of human emotions. You frowned a little at the thought of him having the same habits as Gojo.

It shouldn't matter to you y/n, it's not like you had a chance, anyway. Right?

Suguru's fingers deftly pulled out a cigarette, and after a few thoughtful puffs, he extended it towards you.

"Wanna?" he asked, a casual offer tainted with a hint of caution.

You shook your head with a small smile, your reply laced with a hint of amusement, "Nah, I don't smoke."

Suguru's lips curved into a grin.

"Wouldn't want to be a bad influence," he remarked, his tone light. "But you know, sometimes it's the only thing that helps me unwind and calm my nerves." He offered the cigarette once again, his gaze curious.

Without having no control over your actions, your fingers reached out to accept it, and you eventually brought it to your lips with an unpracticed ease. In that moment, you seemed to channel an unexpected familiarity, handling the cigarette as if you'd been doing it for years. The way you inhaled, held it between your fingers-it was a revelation that piqued Suguru's intrigue, a silent reminder that appearances could often be deceiving.

You offered a grateful smile as you returned the cigarette, your words carrying a touch of realism.

"Thanks, but I think it's probably not the best time for me to develop a smoking habit," you commented as you came back to Earth, a hint of humor in your tone.

Suguru chuckled in agreement, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of understanding and intrigue.

After that time passed by faster than expected. Suguru tried to keep the conversation light, avoiding to talk much about himself, but rather focusing on general matters that wouldn't bring your spirits down.

The clock showed almost two in the morning.

As you conversed, a call interrupted your interaction. Suguru excused himself and moved a short distance away to take the call. Upon his return, he offered you a small smile as his hand found its place at your back, touching it softly, as he expressed his appreciation for your company.

"I should be on my way, unfortunately. I had a delightful time with you tonight."

You nodded softly, your eyes reflecting a touch of sadness.

Suguru extended his hand, finally introducing himself.

"Suguru Geto. You probably heard my name from that woman earlier but it would be rude to depart without a proper introduction."

You reciprocated with a smile, sharing your name in return.

The unexpected softness of his hand against yours, his eyes locked onto yours, held a certain magnetism. He pressed a gentle kiss to your hand, his gaze warm and lingering. "Remember, y/n" he murmured softly, his lips curving into a smile, "if you ever need that cigarette or just a chat, you know where to find me."

It was a farewell that left an impression, an unspoken connection formed in the midst of an ordinary night. He left as quickly as he had appeared and you were left alone again, but this time with a new kind of torment occupying the spaces of your mind.

As you walked back home, your thoughts were still swirling around the encounter with Suguru. His mysterious charm had left an indelible mark, and your steps seemed lighter as you approached your shared apartment.

Unlocking the door, you entered to a rather unexpected sight. Gojo, shirtless and casually clad in a pair of pajama shorts, stood before you, an air of nonchalance about him. Beside him, the woman who had occupied his attention earlier offered you a small smile and a casual greeting before walking past you and making her exit, leaving a sense of quiet acknowledgment in her wake.

Your lips curved into a rueful smile as you watched the woman depart. It was just another ordinary night in the life of Gojo Satoru, that fucking idiot.

Gojo's grin widened as he looked at you, his curiosity piqued. "So, how did your night out go?" he inquired, a playful glint in his eyes.

You chuckled, a hint of mischief dancing in your gaze. "Well, for once, I'd say you kicking me out was actually a lucky move," you admitted with a playful smile. "I met someone at a bar a few blocks away. We talked, had a pretty interesting conversation." You paused, your tone lightening. "It was different..."

Gojo's eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Oh, I see how it is. You're finally stealing my spotlight," he quipped, a laugh bubbling in his voice. It was a fleeting moment of camaraderie, a shared understanding.

You slipped off your coat and set your bag down, your playful demeanor intact as you turned to Gojo. "Hungry?" You asked with a grin. "I'm thinking of whipping up something to eat. You interested?"

"I mean, sure, but it's three-"

You couldn't help but tease, "You're awake anyway. You don't like your guests overstaying their welcome, you have to escort them out." Gojo chuckled, a lighthearted twinkle in his eyes. "Ah, come on, I've got manners," he retorted, his voice filled with feigned innocence.

He followed you into the kitchen, the ease of your banter a testament to your deep friendship. You started gathering ingredients and utensils, setting about the task of preparing a meal for the two of you. It was a scene that showcased their camaraderie, the moments shared beyond the unpredictable adventures that often colored your lives. (Mostly Gojo's, unless going to work is considered an unpredictable adventure.)

As you moved about the kitchen, Gojo took a seat at the table, his grin still evident. "So, this guy you met, is he more handsome than me?" he quipped, his tone playful.

You turned to face him, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Hmm, it's very possible," you replied, your eyes twinkling.

The playful exchange continued, a dance of words that had become second nature between you. Talking to Gojo was as easy as breathing, after all this year it was only natural that you were comfortable with each other.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, feigning exaggerated offense. "I can't believe it," he lamented dramatically. "I've been outshone by a random guy from a bar!"

You chuckled, a warm affection evident in your gaze. "Well, Satoru, there's only one way to find out," she responded, her tone light. Gojo's curiosity was piqued, but before he could dig for more details, you raised a hand to halt him. "Actually, nevermind. Sorry, but I'm not sharing any more details," you declared with a playful smile. "I don't want to jinx it." It was a moment of lightheartedness, a comfortable familiarity that made your friendship so enduring.

Gojo's gaze held a thoughtful glint as he nodded in agreement. "It has been a while, hasn't it?" he mused, his words carrying a touch of understanding. You nodded, with a wistful smile.

It's also a dreadful occurrence.

"Exactly, that's why I said I don't want to jinx it," you admitted, her voice soft. As the food was served and you both settled at the table, you mirrored Gojo's grin.

"Funny thing is, I didn't even get his number, or Instagram, or anything, really." you confessed, a hint of disappointment in your tone. "But he did mention he's a regular at that bar."

Gojo's laughter filled the air, his amusement evident. "Well then," he quipped, his tone playful, "guess you'll have to pay that bar another visit sometime soon."

You nodded, eyes sparkling with a mix of playfulness. It was a shared moment of encouragement, a reminder that sometimes taking chances and stepping into the unknown could lead to unexpected connections. Your best friend's encouragement was exactly what you needed at the moment.

"I'll definitely consider it, yes."

Gojo's soft laughter filled the room, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But hey, you know I'm the only man you really need, right?"

Your own laughter bubbled in response as you playfully shook your head. "Oh, Satoru and that fucking ego of yours."

You both focused on your food after that, your voices dying down.

As you took a couple bites, you couldn't help but notice Gojo's sudden shift in demeanor, your concern evident in your furrowed brows. He stopped eating. Instead, he started fiddling with his fork, his ocean blue gaze drifting away from focus.

"Hey, what happened?" you asked, your voice laced with genuine worry.

"If you don't like the food, you can just tell me and I'll make you something else."

He shook his head, a somber expression lingering on his face. "No, it's not that," he said softly, his gaze distant. He looked back at you, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"Thanks for the food, y/n, but I'm just not hungry anymore." His tone held a hint of finality. Without further explanation, he stood up and turned to leave, his words carrying a sense of weariness.

"I think I need some rest, it's been a long night." It was a sudden departure which only left you with a sense of unanswered questions and an unexpected void in your shared space.

You took a deep breath, your worry for Gojo lingering even as you cleared the table and tidied up. With a determined mindset, you decided that discussing it could wait until the morning, unwilling to disturb him at such an hour.

Later, as you settled into bed, your thoughts shifted to Suguru, his enigmatic presence and your intriguing encounter at the bar. The events of the night played out in your mind like scenes from a movie, a delicate tapestry woven into your consciousness.

In the quiet of the night, you found yourself navigating the delicate balance between concern for your friend and the unexpected connection you had found with a stranger. And as the night wrapped around you, you drifted into dreams.

Dreams where everything's just feels right.

moraxine, august 23.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Trey Clover Club Wear Voice Lines

Reminder: Club Wear cards don't have vignettes.

When Summoned: Science seems difficult? Well then, I'll teach you how fun it can be.

Summon Line: From cooking to plant cultivation... Anything that's can be even the littlest bit science related is something you can do in the Science Club. It's a pretty liberal environment, don't you think?

Groooovy!!: I've got my reagents and equipment, I'm ready to go. Okay, let's start the experiment.

Home: Alright, time for me to head to my club.

Home Idle 1: The fluoride we have in toothpaste is there so that the surface of your teeth don't deteriorate. Make sure you never forget to use toothpaste when brushing.

Home Idle 2: The Science Club has a lot of members, but a lot of them are actually always absent. Because of that, it doesn't really seem that large of a club.

Home Idle 3: I make sure to always read the other club members' reports on their activities. I like to know what everyone else's research topics are, and it's also a good way for me to learn new things too.

Home Idle - Login: I was right in thinking that I'd be able to cook as part of my club activities. I'm really glad I chose to join the Science Club when I enrolled here.

Home Idle - Groovy: Can you read the paper I'll be presenting at the next science competition? I just want to know how it reads to someone outside my club. I'll make sure to thank you later.

Home Tap 1: In order to draw in new members, during orientation week we hold a science show in the courtyard. It's pretty fun with all the flashy experiments we have going on there.

Home Tap 2: This outfit's pretty neat with how many test tubes it can hold, don't you think? Maybe if I fill them with different seasonings and condiments, it'd be useful for when I'm baking too... Hah, I'm just kidding.

Home Tap 3: It'd be great if we didn't have any issues arise during club activities. Although it's kind of difficult since all of our members are all so individualistic.

Home Tap 4: I was concerned when I saw smoke coming from the laboratory... But it was just Rook experimenting with liquid nitrogen.

Home Tap 5: Caramelization is a chemical reaction where sugar is heated in order to get a different color and bitterness. If I said that's how crème brûlée is finalized, would that make sense to you?

Home Tap - Groovy: You've come to ask me to help you with alchemy, huh. Sure, I don't mind. That is, if you'll help me clean up the club room next time.

Duo: [TREY]: Rook, let's proceed as calculated. [ROOK]: We truly are in our element, aren't we, Trey-kun!

Requested by Anonymous.

#twst #twisted wonderland #trey clover #rook hunt #twst trey #twst rook #twst translation #twst club wear #mention: rook

[grey-sorcery]

Title: Finding Balance: Spirituality & Critical Thought

Related Articles

What is Witchcraft? Bias in Witchcraft Spell Logs Dualities Content Creation Vs. Personal Practice Spell Design Spell Dictation Spellcasting Basics

Finding Balance

Finding a balance between deep sacred connection and critical thinking in our magical practice becomes an art of integration. It requires us to honor and nurture the emotional and intuitive dimensions that anchor us to the mystical, while simultaneously engaging in rigorous analysis that hones our understanding and sharpens our discernment. By nurturing this delicate equilibrium, we embark on a transformative journey that embraces both the ethereal heights of the numinous and the grounded foundations of rational exploration.

Keeping What is Sacred

Magic, a subject that has captivated human curiosity for ages, extends beyond illusion and trickery. It delves into the depths of human emotion, evoking profound sensations of awe and sacredness. In the pursuit of understanding what magic truly feels like, it becomes apparent that its essence lies in the ability to establish and nurture a deep connection with one's practice. This connection goes beyond mere intellectual comprehension and encompasses a profound emotional engagement.

To grasp the true nature of magic, one must recognize the significance of feeling a sense of profoundness. This emotion arises when one encounters something that transcends the ordinary, igniting a feeling of astonishment and reverence. It is an experience that goes beyond the boundaries of rationality, encouraging us to explore the mysteries of existence. In witchcraft, this profoundness stems from the recognition of the extraordinary within the ordinary, the extraordinary concealed within the fabric of everyday life.

Feeling amazed pushes the boundaries of what we believe to be possible, expanding our horizons and inviting us to question the limits of our knowledge. Amazement manifests when we witness phenomena that defy conventional explanations, leading us to contemplate the hidden forces at play in the universe. Awe arises when faced with the vastness and grandeur of the world around us, awakening a sense of humility and interconnectedness. It reminds us of our place in the cosmic order and encourages us to contemplate the intricate web of existence. In magic, awe emerges when we encounter practices or rituals that connect us to the natural world, reminding us of the interplay between the microcosm and the macrocosm, and highlighting the profound interdependence of all things. Sacredness, the final pillar of magical experience, emanates from a deep reverence for the practice itself. It is the recognition of the inherent value and significance of the rituals, ceremonies, or acts of creation that form the core of magical engagement. The sacredness of magic lies in the belief that these practices possess transformative power, connecting us to something greater than ourselves. It is through this reverence that we infuse our practice with intention and dedication, forging a profound and enduring bond with the magical arts.

In order to fully engage with the magic that lies within our practices, it is crucial to nurture and sustain these profound emotions—profoundness, amazement, awe, and sacredness. These emotions are not fleeting, superficial experiences but rather foundations upon which the magical experience is built. They foster a deep connection with our practice, enabling us to tap into its transformative potential and embrace the mysteries that lie beyond the veil of the mundane.

Keeping what is sacred entails cherishing these profound emotions and allowing them to guide our journey through the magical realm. It requires us to approach our practice with a sense of wonder, curiosity, and reverence, ensuring that our engagement remains meaningful and enriching. By cultivating these emotions, we unlock the true essence of magic, embracing its transformative power and experiencing the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Retaining a Critical Eye

Critical thinking within witchcraft embodies a multifaceted approach that engages the mind in a systematic and analytical manner. It encourages practitioners to question, evaluate, and challenge beliefs, ideas, and concepts that underpin their craft. Far from negating the mystical elements of witchcraft, critical thinking acts as a compass, guiding practitioners to distinguish between reliable information and unfounded claims. It enables them to discern between what resonates with their personal truth and what may be mere speculation or fabrication.

Understanding the significance of critical thinking in witchcraft unveils its ability to safeguard practitioners against blind adherence to dogma or misleading information. By cultivating a critical eye, practitioners can scrutinize the sources of knowledge they encounter and assess them for validity, reliability, and coherence. Critical thinking becomes a shield against misinformation and misconceptions that may permeate the realm of witchcraft, allowing practitioners to build a solid foundation of understanding based on evidence, reason, and sound judgment.

Integrating critical thinking into daily magical practices is crucial for developing a well-rounded and informed approach. One way to achieve this is by cultivating an attitude of curiosity and inquiry. Practitioners should actively seek out diverse perspectives, explore different sources of information, and remain open to new ideas and interpretations. This mindset enables practitioners to continuously expand their knowledge, challenge preconceived notions, and refine their understanding of witchcraft.

Another vital aspect of integrating critical thinking is the development of analytical skills. Practitioners can hone their ability to analyze information, evaluate arguments, and identify logical fallacies. This empowers them to critically assess rituals, spells, or claims made within the witchcraft community. By applying logic and reason, practitioners can make informed decisions, distinguishing between practices rooted in tradition and those lacking empirical support.

Moreover, embracing skepticism as a tool for inquiry is essential within the realm of critical thinking in witchcraft. Skepticism, in this context, should not be misconstrued as dismissiveness or cynicism but rather as a healthy dose of questioning and inquiry. By maintaining a healthy level of skepticism, practitioners can avoid falling prey to unsubstantiated claims or unrealistic promises. They can embrace a balanced perspective that allows room for exploration while retaining a discerning eye.

Keeping the Scales Balanced

In the realm of magic, the pursuit of critical thinking can sometimes evoke concerns about the potential sterilization of the mystical arts. The fear of analytical scrutiny eroding the emotional and sacred connections inherent in magical practices is not unfounded. However, it is essential to recognize that finding equilibrium between critical thinking and magical experience is key. By exploring this delicate balance, we can foster a harmonious integration of rational thought without undermining the profound and enchanting aspects of personal spiritual encounters.

The notion of critical thinking can evoke images of sterile analysis and detached examination, which seemingly stand in contrast to the emotive and sacred dimensions of magical experience. However, it is crucial to approach critical thinking as a tool rather than a detractor. When wielded appropriately, it can complement and enhance the magical journey. Critical thinking offers the opportunity to examine beliefs, rituals, and experiences with a discerning eye, ensuring that they align with reason and evidence. It enables practitioners to navigate the vast landscape of spiritual exploration without blindly accepting unfounded claims or succumbing to cognitive biases.

To strike a balance between critical thinking and emotional or sacred connections within magic, practitioners must acknowledge the value of both. Emotional and sacred connections serve as conduits for personal experiences, imbuing them with meaning and significance. These connections enable practitioners to forge a deep and intimate relationship with their craft, allowing magic to become a source of inspiration, transformation, and empowerment. Emotional and sacred connections form the tapestry that weaves together the fabric of magical experience.

However, the integration of critical thinking need not detract from these connections. Rather, it can enrich and refine them. The key lies in embracing a nuanced approach that encompasses both rational thought and emotional engagement. Critical thinking provides a framework for evaluating personal spiritual experiences, encouraging practitioners to reflect on their own beliefs and interpretations. It allows for a deeper understanding of the mechanisms at work in spiritual encounters while preserving the awe, wonder, and mystery that make them magical.

An important concept in navigating the balance between critical thinking and magical experience is UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis). UPG refers to personal spiritual experiences and insights that may not be universally accepted or supported by external sources. While UPG holds immense value for the individual, it is essential to rationalize and contextualize these experiences within the framework of critical thinking. This process involves reflecting on personal biases, considering alternative explanations, and examining the internal and external factors that may have influenced the experience. By undertaking this introspective and analytical exploration, practitioners can embrace the magic of their personal spiritual encounters while incorporating critical thought.

It is Natural

Within the realm of magic, the adoption of a critical approach may occasionally trigger periods of doubt. This is a natural consequence of engaging in a practice that delves into the unknown and challenges conventional beliefs. Recognizing the normalcy of doubt is paramount, as it allows practitioners to navigate their magical journey with authenticity and introspection. Moreover, understanding when to step away from magic and take a break can prove invaluable in restoring clarity and rejuvenation. Lastly, it is essential to resist the allure of mystical experiences and not neglect critical thought, as both are integral components of a well-rounded and balanced approach to magic.

Doubt, though often seen as a hindrance, is an inherent aspect of the human condition and, by extension, magical exploration. When undertaking a critical approach to magic, practitioners may question their beliefs, rituals, or experiences. This questioning should not be regarded as a sign of weakness, but rather as a testament to an inquisitive mind and a desire for deeper understanding. Doubt propels practitioners to examine their beliefs and motivations, enabling growth and self-reflection within their magical journey.

In certain instances, recognizing when to step away from magic and take a break becomes crucial. Engaging in continuous magical practice can be mentally and emotionally demanding. It is during these moments of respite that practitioners gain clarity and perspective. Stepping away from magic allows for introspection, allowing one to recalibrate and reevaluate their practices without the pressures of immediate engagement. By embracing the occasional break, practitioners can return to their magical pursuits with renewed vigor and a fresh outlook.

However, it is imperative not to succumb to the allure of mystical experiences and disregard critical thought altogether. While mystical encounters hold an undeniable fascination, practitioners must be wary of allowing these experiences to overshadow the importance of analytical thinking. By maintaining a balance between the mystical and the critical, practitioners cultivate a holistic approach that incorporates both awe-inspiring encounters and discerning analysis. This equilibrium ensures that magical experiences are grounded in rational exploration while embracing the profound mysteries that lie beyond the boundaries of everyday perception.

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#beginner witch #baby witch #eclectic witchcraft #witchcraft #witchcraft community #witchcraft guide #witchcraft resource #witchcraft 101 #informational post

[inkformyblood]

every colour i see reminds me of you (CWFKB #8)

Fill for lipstick kiss for @codywanfirstkissbingo Canon Universe, Order 66 Didn't Happen

“So,” Quinlan slides onto the bench next to Obi-Wan, knocking his tray against Obi-Wan’s already cluttered offerings. “Your Commander is trying out a new lip colour then?”

Obi-Wan straightens, something close to fear twisting through the pit of his stomach. His spine feels drawn too tight, a puppet with ill-fitting strings as he forces himself to glance over at the other man, ensuring that his brow doesn’t rise past the notch of mild disapproval. He pokes at the porridge with his free hand, the pale lilac surface giving way before it reforms over the intrusion. “He is though I fail to see how that is any of your business.”

“Purple?”

Obi-Wan considers punching Quinlan. It would be undeniably childish of him and he could already hear the disapproving words of Master Windu echo in the back of his thoughts, some reactions never got easier to weather despite the fact that Obi-Wan hasn’t been a Knight for nearly two decades now and a Padawan for even longer. But Quinlan’s grin is just the right shade of sharp, honed and cultivated to imply the exact amount of knowing something that his target doesn’t that would make someone hesitate to punch him. Even if he more than deserves it. “Now, why should that matter?”

Quinlan leans forward, propping his chin onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His dreadlocks swing free, and Obi-Wan catches them, abandoning his absent-minded prodding of his food to do so. There’s a faint scent of lavender that comes with the motion, a poor attempt at hiding the tang of engine oil and industrial work. He pulls the locks away as he turns to look down at Quinlan, the pair of them now nearly nose-to-nose. 

His eyes dark and his grin only widening, drawing and redrawing the line in the sand that he is determined to toe, Quinlan asks, “So, I am right?”

Obi-Wan licks Quinlan’s nose, still childish but less overtly so. Quinlan recalls, tugging against Obi-Wan’s hold on his locks, and swipes at his shoulder with a laugh. He looks younger when he’s laughing, the harsh lines of grief and suffering the war had drawn over his countenance. Scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm, Quinlan rocks forward, tapping his knuckles against Obi-Wan’s tray. “Don’t need you to answer, Obi. I know I’m right just by this.”

His breakfast tray. It is full but Obi-Wan is intending on carrying the rest back to his rooms, their rooms now that Cody has moved in with the war resolving in a mostly settled ceasefire. Obi-Wan’s gaze skips over the small bowl of porridge, the normal cream shade tinted lilac by the addition of some fruit, then to the plate of potato. It is a new variant from a planet that has only recently opened up the trade routes and the flesh is a dark purple. He has a salad for some variety, dark leaves and curls of a paler purple carrot scattered amongst it and— Oh. Oh .

“How long have I been doing this?”

“What?” Quinlan reaches over and selects a piece of fruit from Obi-Wan’s tray, purple like all the rest of it. “Matching your meal and nearly every other choice on that day to the colour of your Commander’s lipstick?”

“Yes. Quin. That.”

“Practically since he started wearing it.”

Obi-Wan bites back a curse and stands, drawing his tray close to his chest. He’d thought that he was being careful with his crush on the other man, keeping it close to his chest and obfuscated behind several very plausible reasons for his level of attention, of care. Had Cody noticed? Obi-Wan’s crush, as it was, is his own problem to cope with. He doesn’t want to inflict it upon Cody if it isn’t returned. “Thank you for your insights, Quin.”

Quinlan waves him away, the self-shame grin plastered over his face once more, and Obi-Wan takes his leave, his tray clasped in front of him. Cody is sprawled across the sofa as Obi-Wan enteres, much the same position he had been earlier that morning, with the addition of a holopad clutched in one hand. He pauses the video as Obi-Wan enters sitting up with a grin. “Short queue?”

“Something like that.” Obi-Wan joins him, sliding the tray onto the table. Purple food, purple lipstick carefully painted over Cody’s mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

Cody blinks, smiling gently up at him. “Thought you were never going to ask.”

He leans forward and Obi-Wan learns that his lipstick tastes as sweet as it looks. 

#star wars #codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #cody x obi wan #cwfkb2023 #my writing #codywan first kiss bingo

[bullet-prooflove]

Hiya. I have an ask for Scott Forrester again. ❤️ The prompt is: #58 “Can I ask you a question?” Thank you so much.

Tagging: @a-noni-love @district447 @soultrysworld @kmc1989 @delightfulheroshoeflap @upsteadlogic @ottitt @ @too-strong-to-lose @hearthockey @alice30martini @tems13

References to OA's Prey Series

Companion piece to Tonight - You turn up on Scott's doorstep after months apart

The bruising’s worse this morning, darker, more prominent. It stains your skin in shades of indigo as you sit at the breakfast bar, still clad in Scott’s clothing. You were stiff when you gotten up, hissing through your teeth as you slipped out from underneath the sheets. He’s done his best to take care of you, breakfast, tea, painkillers, all in that order.

“Can I ask you something?” You request, your hands wrapping around the mug you’re drinking from.

“Anything.” He says resolutely, leaning across the counter.

His hands come to rest on yours, his thumbs ghosting over the split skin across your knuckles, each one bloody, raw. You’d given as good as you’d got, he can tell. You used to box when you were in the Navy, Golden Gloves for a few years running. He’s been on the receiving end a couple of times during training. He knows you pack one hell of a punch.

“Before I left, I found Jamie here in your bed.” You tell him, your eyes fixated on the steam as it curls out from the mug. “I know we didn’t put a label on it but I thought things were getting serious, we were talking about going back to Italy…”

You trail off for a second before your gaze flickers up to meet his.

“Was I wrong?” You ask him.

“Natalia,” Scott says softly. “There hasn’t been another woman since Rome, there won’t ever be another woman if that’s what you want.”

“Jamie…” You begin and he shakes his head.

“Before I met you, the two of us were together for a while, it was the first relationship I had after Hanna.” He swallows hard against the ache in his chest, the one he always gets when he thinks about Hanna. “We weren’t good for each other. She was running from her grief and I was trying to cope with what happened in New York.”

He pauses, trying to select his next words carefully.

“I suspect when Jamie came over that night she was looking comfort, it’s an old pattern we’d fallen into when her sister’s anniversary came around. It’s not something I’m proud of.” He sighs as he looks down at your hands. “Is that why you left?”

“No.” You say quietly. “It was Pavlovic.”

It takes him a second to register your words, for them to really sink in. His head snaps up and suddenly he understands the level of brutality behind the beating, the viciousness of it.

“When he escaped from prison, he reached out to some contacts, people we had in common.” You tell him. You used to work Intelligence in the Navy, you’d excelled because you’d known how to assimilate, how to cultivate relationships, maintain them.  “That was the assignment I was tapped for, the one we were meant to discuss that night.”

“Did he do this to you?” Scott asks, his voice a ragged whisper.

Bile climbs up the back of his throat and for a moment he’s back in New York, thrust five years into the past, looking into the eyes of another woman who’d been brutalised in his name.

“He knew who I was from the moment I walked into that meeting.” You tell Scott, your mouth twisting up into a bitter smile. “He’d been surveilling you, surveilling us.”

The air rushes out of Scott’s lungs, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breath because it’s happening all over again.

“Nat.” He rasps, his voice barely a whisper. “Nat, did he… I need to know…”

You open your mouth and Scott knows what’s coming, he can feel the blade of the axe kissing the back of his neck.

“No.” You tell him, your eyes meeting his. “I killed him before he could.”

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#scott forrester #luke kleintank #fbi international #scott forrester x you #scott forrester x reader

[ghostoffuturespast]

10 October 2023 - Friday Field Notes

Fall is here. The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting colder. Got to spend some time at one of the other offices this week. All the leaves are starting to change and I haven't seen this little lady in a while.

This bullsnake is an education animal, not a pet. I know they're cute, but wildlife needs to stay wild and should not be kept as pets.

These tansy asters are some of the late blooms you'll find on the prairie. Many native flowering plants have staggered bloom cycles, some flowering plants bloom as early as Apri, if conditions are favorable, while others species bloom as late as October or November. In biodiverse rich ecosystems, you should be able to see flowers throughout the season at different times. They take turns sharing the stage. This not only reduces competition between plant species, but also allows wildlife species to utilize resources throughout the growing season. Healthy ecosystems are good at supporting all the things in it. Can you spot the bee?

Most plants out here have gone to seed though, like the sunflowers, showy milkweed, and the false boneset.

And it also means time to harvest and eat stuff. Strawbaby from the garden, a cultivated plant, and common ground cherry, found growing out on the prairie.

(@irrigone finally found some ground cherries that were ripe enough to eat! They have the consistency of a tiny grape and they kinda taste like sweet tarts candy. Not bad. Ate a couple and didn't die 👍 Would recommend as a light snack.)

Exoskeleton of a plains lubber and some fringe sage. One of my fav plants out here, smells delightful.

And one of my not so favorite plants (at least out here, totally cool if found in its native home range) Mullein is a biennial plant, meaning it has a two year life cycle, and it's an invasive weed in my neck of the prairie, and arguably, the rest of the Great Plains and grassland habitats in N. America. The first year it grows as a basal rosette, close to the ground. Basal plants grow from the root base as opposed to forming new tissue towards the top. Most grasses grow this way too, which is why you can mow it without killing the whole plant. Same thing with mullein. In order to make sure the plant does grow back during manual removal you have to pull up the tap root as well.

The second year they'll flower, and produce these massive flower stalks that produce hundreds of seeds. And they're all tiny. Some stalks can get up to 3-4 feet tall and produce thousands of seeds that stay viable in the ground for years. It's no wonder they get everywhere and are so hard to manage.

Invasive species can take over ecosystems if left unchecked and reduce the biodiversity and overall health of native habitats.

Weed management strategies and good land stewardship practices help support wildlife. Like these pronghorn. Wildlife will stick around in habitat if they can get the resources they need to survive and thrive.

Pronghorn, often referred to as antelope, are actually more related to giraffes than antelope. They're also the second fastest land animal in the world and can reach sustained running speeds of 55mph. They prefer wide open grassland habitat.

Fall is rutting season, so all the boys have been extra feisty lately and chasing everyone around. Been getting a lot more stare downs from them lately.

#friday field notes #nature #biology #ecology #nature conservation #little ghost on the prairie #lot of shots of my hands this week #me picking strange things off the ground #eating strange things off the ground #forgot to post this yesterday lol #shortgrass prairie #prairie #grasslands #pronghorn #plants #bullsnake

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Nickolaus Hines

Published: Oct 18, 2021

In 2016, the famous nun Mother Teresa was declared a saint by Pope Francis — but many people say she doesn't deserve it.

Ever since the Vatican made Mother Teresa a saint in 2016, the response has been controversial and polarizing.

In order for Mother Teresa to achieve sainthood, the Vatican had to recognize two miracles that the famous nun performed after her death. Pope John Paul II recognized the first miracle in 2003, just six years after she died in 1997. And Pope Francis recognized the second miracle in 2015.

The popes claimed that Mother Teresa performed miracles when she cured one woman and then one man of their respective tumors. However, these “miracles” have been disputed by some — especially since a doctor who worked on the woman’s case said that she had been treated with drugs.

But debates over Mother Teresa’s miracles didn’t dissuade the Vatican from moving forward with its plans. Pope Francis officially proclaimed Mother Teresa a saint on September 4, 2016. But the decision remains controversial, and the dispute over her miracles is just one small part of it.

Of course, Mother Teresa’s sainthood may seem well-deserved to some. After all, she cultivated a mostly sparkling reputation as a selfless humanitarian while she was alive. But in recent years, her image has lost its luster. And when you take a closer look at her story, it’s not hard to see why.

Inside Mother Teresa’s “Selfless” Intentions

Mother Teresa was intent on converting as many people to Catholicism as possible, even at the expense of the poor and sick.

No one builds a church purely for the love of God — especially in places like India where critical services, like hospitals, are lacking. Religious groups that erect churches in these areas do so not just out of the kindness of their hearts, but to increase the number of people who believe in their faith.

Like those missionaries, conversion — the Church’s key to survival — was Mother Teresa’s primary goal. And in the context of the Catholic Church, charity can be viewed as a self-interested act.

“It’s good to work for a cause with selfless intentions,” said Mohan Bhagwat, the head of a Hindu nationalist group. “But Mother Teresa’s work had ulterior motive, which was to convert the person who was being served to Christianity. In the name of service, religious conversions were made.”

And when The New York Times reviewed the British documentary Hell’s Angel, a film that highlighted some of Mother Teresa’s flaws, the paper concluded that she was “less interested in helping the poor than in using them as an indefatigable source of wretchedness on which to fuel the expansion of her fundamentalist Roman Catholic beliefs.”

Still, some argue that even if Mother Teresa had ulterior motives, at least the people she cared for were better off for it. But others who have actually visited and worked in her medical centers wholeheartedly disagree.

The Horrific Conditions At Mother Teresa’s Medical Centers And Missions

Though Mother Teresa’s medical centers were meant to heal people, her patients were often subjected to conditions that made them even sicker. In the same documentary, an Indian journalist compared Mother Teresa’s flagship location for “Missionaries of Charity” to photographs that he had seen of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Nazi Germany.

“Workers washed needles under tap water and then reused them. Medicine and other vital items were stored for months on end, expiring and still applied sporadically to patients,” said Hemley Gonzalez, a noted humanitarian who briefly volunteered at Missionaries of Charity.

Gonzalez continued, “Volunteers with little or no training carried out dangerous work on patients with highly contagious cases of tuberculosis and other life-threatening illnesses. The individuals who operated the charity refused to accept and implement medical equipment and machinery that would have safely automated processes and saved lives.”

It wasn’t just volunteers who criticized Mother Teresa’s treatment of patients, either. In her hospice care centers, Mother Teresa practiced her belief that patients only needed to feel wanted and die at peace with God — not receive proper medical care — and medical experts went after her for it.

In 1994, the British medical journal The Lancet reported that medicine was scarce in her centers and that patients received nothing close to the treatment that they needed to relieve their pain.

Meanwhile, some doctors took to calling her missions “homes for the dying” since her Calcutta home for the sick had a mortality rate of more than 40 percent. But in her view, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

In response to all the criticism, Mother Teresa allegedly said, “There is something beautiful in seeing the poor accept their lot, to suffer it like Christ’s Passion. The world gains much from their suffering.”

However, when it came to her own suffering, Mother Teresa apparently took a different stance. When she began experiencing severe heart problems, she received care in a modern American hospital.

The Questionable Company That Mother Teresa Kept Throughout Her Life

While neglecting the needs of the sick, Mother Teresa was also called out for rubbing elbows with several wealthy — and corrupt — world leaders.

This included Haitian dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier, who was eventually charged with crimes against humanity for his abuse of his fellow Haitians.

At one point, 60 Minutes released footage that showed Mother Teresa praising Duvalier’s wife Michele. In the footage, Mother Teresa said that she had “never seen the poor people being so familiar with their head of state as they were with her. It was a beautiful lesson for me.”

That wasn’t the only friendship that raised eyebrows. Mother Teresa also received $1.25 million from her friend Charles Keating.

Keating was one of the key figures behind the 1980s savings and loan crisis, brought about by housing market and loan speculation, which cost American taxpayers $124 billion. And while he was on trial, Mother Teresa wrote to the judge presiding over his case — seeking clemency for him.

“I do not know anything about Mr. Charles Keating’s work or his business or the matters you are dealing with,” she said. “I only know that he has always been kind and generous to God’s poor and always ready to help whenever there was a need. It is for this reason that I do not want to forget him now while he and his family are suffering.”

Though a co-prosecutor of Keating actually responded to Mother Teresa after his conviction — and pointed out that one of the people Keating stole from was a poor carpenter — he never got a response from her.

And that wasn’t the only issue related to Mother Teresa’s finances.

The Enduring Mystery Of Where Mother Teresa’s Money Went

Countless well-meaning Catholics gave money to Mother Teresa’s charitable organizations throughout the years, but many of them would never see their generous donations go toward good works.

Keating’s $1.25 million donation alone would seem large enough to lift all of those in her care out of poverty, but one volunteer said that “even when bread was over at the soup kitchens, none was bought unless donated.”

Once, after running up an $800 tab at a grocery store to feed people at her charity, Mother Teresa refused to get out of line until someone else paid.

A 1991 report in the German magazine Stern also estimated that only seven percent of the millions of dollars she received were used for charity.

But seven percent of what total figure, exactly? The world will never know. Nirmala Joshi, the leader of Missionaries of Charity who succeeded Mother Teresa, said the donations were “countless,” and there was only one person with the actual numbers. “God knows,” Joshi said. “He is our banker.”

One is left to wonder where all of that money was actually going — and what happened to it after Mother Teresa’s death.

Mother Teresa’s Views On Reproductive Rights

Though it’s not surprising that a Catholic nun would be against abortion, Mother Teresa still raised eyebrows when she discussed her stance while she was accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979.

In reference to Bosnian women who had been raped by Serbs and who were seeking abortions for their unwanted pregnancies, Mother Teresa said, “I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a direct war, a direct killing — direct murder by the mother herself.”

She also rallied against birth control, claiming that “natural family planning” would solve the woes of women who were not ready for a child.

What Mother Teresa did promote in the realm of family planning — like abstinence — didn’t help anyone, either. And despite abstinence-only education being proven ineffective, she still stuck by her claims.

But even though she gained some critics for views like these, Mother Teresa was mostly successful at avoiding controversy while she was alive. However, a glimpse of her “dark side” would slip through the cracks every so often — especially when it came to her infamous homes for the sick. 

In hindsight, these issues are hard to ignore today. And it’s also difficult to understand why the Catholic Church decided to make Mother Teresa a saint. She may have been revered for helping the poor and the sick, but her practices ensured that they were mired in pain until their final moments.

==

Reminder: Mother Teresa was a sadistic fundamentalist.

#Nickolaus Hines #mother teresa #catholic church #catholic #religious fanatic #sadistic bitch #roman catholic #catholicism #fuck you mother teresa #fraud

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Waves are Rising and Rising

|Beginning| |Previous|

Chapter 12

I feel like y'all are either desperately ready for this one or not ready at all, I can't decide which. Chapter 13 will post on Monday!

--//--

It’s a moment of weakness that pushes Jin Guangyao to finally write to his sworn brothers and schedule their next dual cultivation session as he’d promised himself. The Incident (and the emphasis is entirely necessary) involving his almost being allowed to hold little Jin Ling had set quite the precedent around Jinlintai; Now no matter what Jiang Yanli is doing, no matter if Jin Ling is fussing or asleep, no matter if there are nursemaids around or not to help their beloved Jin-shao-furen with her squirming child or relieve her tired arms…no matter how desperately Jin Guangyao yearns to actually get to feel the acceptance that Jiang Yanli had so cautiously offered him that day, he isn’t allowed near enough to the pair to even think of being allowed to try again.

His tentative, wistful hopes of that first month after Jin Ling’s birth had been so thoroughly dashed by Jin-furen and the rest of the court so strident in following her example in the weeks since that now when he happens to catch a glimpse of the swaddling in Jiang Yanli’s arms or hear Jin Ling crying or cooing (one just as likely as the other) somewhere nearby, he forces himself to turn away and find something to keep him busy elsewhere until the danger of another emotional lapse like the first (and, so far, only) has passed.

There isn’t much he can reasonably do about the rare occasions he’s called to attend a family meal in which all important parties are present, however, and it’s after one such evening in which he serves his father rather than being allowed to sit and eat like the rest of the inner family that he slips into his rooms earlier than usual in order to write his letters, one bound for Gusu and the other for Qinghe.

All he wants is to be treated as an equal; not a servant, not a bastard child of a whore, not a stain on his family’s gilded reputation. He still believes that he can find that someday in Jinlintai, one day his hard work will be recognized and rewarded, and when that day comes he’ll take his rightful place as a recognized son of Jin Guangshan with all the privilege and lack of worldly cares that Jin Zixuan currently enjoys. But at precisely this moment that isn’t so, no matter what he might wish, and so he takes deep breaths in to steady his hands and loosen the knot of emotion choking him in order to ask his sworn brothers to please inform him of the earliest day they can meet in Bujing Shi.

Please.

He arrives in Qinghe two days after he receives their replies, and the moment he steps off Hensheng he shoves his father’s reminders of his purpose in Nie Mingjue’s life to the back of his mind in favor of hurrying as politely as possible to his rooms to divest himself of his weapons and other traveling necessities.

He’s just finished putting himself to rights for friendly company when there’s a knock at his door and his heart leaps at the possibility that the light tapping on the wood might be Lan Xichen, arrived before him and as anxious to see him as Jin Guangyao is the reverse.

He opens the door to find a servant waiting, ducked into an appropriately low bow.

“Chifeng-zun has requested Lianfang-zun’s presence in his quarters for the evening meal,” the servant informs him and Jin Guangyao’s excitement doesn’t necessarily dim so much as it twists in a new direction. He thanks the servant and decides it’s not that he’s excited to see Nie Mingjue, it’s that he’s excited to be invited to a meal in which he knows he’ll be expected to sit down and actually eat, and no one will glare daggers at him for daring to glance at the infant Jin heir in Jiang Yanli’s arms. That’s all.

He makes his way quickly through Bujing Shi and gives Nie Mingjue’s door no more than the most perfunctory of raps with his knuckles before he slides it aside and steps into Nie Mingjue’s quarters. Lan Xichen isn’t here yet either, Nie Mingjue hasn’t even sat down at the table where a tea service sits steaming gently, but Jin Guangyao still can’t help but feel something in him relax anyway. Nie Mingjue turns to look at him over his shoulder through the gap where his arm is bent up for him to unpin his guan, and he’d swear he sees the corner of his eye crinkle, like he’s smiling where Jin Guangyao can’t quite see.

“Hey,” Nie Mingjue greets, casual, and returns to his task with the rustling of his heavy silk outer-robe as he readjusts his hands to better reach the pins buried in his pile of braids. “Xichen just arrived, someone at the gates will tell him to come here when he can.”

Jin Guangyao hums his acknowledgement and tamps down the strangest, most unacceptable urge to go over and bury his face in Nie Mingjue’s back. He can almost feel it, soft warm pressure against the entire front of his body and darkness behind his eyelids, almost like lying facedown in bed but with the bonus of getting to wrap his arms around someone solid and warm as he gets some rest—

He’s far too tired. That’s the only explanation for the strange lapse in good judgment. Rather than snuggling up against Nie Mingjue now shaking his coils of braids down to hang loose around his shoulders, he sits down at the table in his usual spot stacked with an extra cushion and, after a moment, he allows himself to be so sloppy as to forgo kneeling to instead sit in a more Nie style, legs crossed loosely on the floor in front of him in the way that takes most of the pressure off his hips and knees.

Nie Mingjue finishes taking the round floral ornaments out of his hair in silence and shrugs out of his outermost robe next, Jin Guangyao blinking up at him in surprise as he hangs it properly over a rack rather than just dropping it on the floor like he usually does. For one wild moment he wonders if they’re just going to… start their session and let Lan Xichen join in whenever he gets here. He immediately banishes such an absurd thought, but he isn’t fast enough to stop his cheeks from growing a little warm as he very determinedly does not picture what that might look like (and how much Lan Xichen would probably enjoy it).

Nie Mingjue spares him and settles in at the table then, thankfully still mostly dressed, though he squints at him for a long moment in an assessing way that Jin Guangyao can’t say he particularly cares for.

“Can this one help you with something, da-ge?” he asks, a little too dry to come across as obsequious as he would usually aim for.

“You look like shit. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Alright, rude. Jin Guangyao blinks slowly at him and watches the silent admonishment land a moment later in the way Nie Mingjue jerks his chin up a little, haughty, but won’t quite meet his eyes for a moment.

“Well you’re not,” he mutters sullenly, though without any true anger behind it like there would be if his temper were in danger of flaring.

“I am sleeping perfectly fine, da-ge.” It’s not even a lie; he sleeps like the dead for the hour or two of rest that he’s allowed after he finishes his work with Xue Yang. Alright fine; it isn’t strictly a lie, but it also isn’t the truth as Nie Mingjue would like to hear it and he’s always so good at knowing that, so his eyes flash with irritation anyway as he huffs a sharp sigh.

“Fine, don’t tell me then. But if you don’t sleep tonight I’ll knock you unconscious to make sure you get some sort of rest.”

“There are less violent ways to ensure I’m worn out enough to sleep, da-ge.”

The innuendo doesn’t land until Jin Guangyao very pointedly smirks and glances down the length of Nie Mingjue’s body and then at the bed, feeling bold. Nie Mingjue looks so shocked by the implication despite the fact that that’s what they’re here for that Jin Guangyao is equally startled into laughing behind his wide sleeve.

For the briefest moment he wonders which incident Nie Mingjue is remembering — Jin Guangyao’s last disastrous effort to dual cultivate with him in which he’d passed out, or the fact that Nie Mingjue had enjoyed himself so thoroughly when they fucked him in the bath that he hadn’t even been awake long enough to dress afterwards. Judging by the flush quickly spreading through Nie Mingjue’s cheeks (and for the sake of his own pride), he’s going to assume the latter.

Nie Mingjue grumbles something under his breath that Jin Guangyao doesn’t try too hard to catch as he pours tea for both of them. When Nie Mingjue hands him his cup Jin Guangyao doesn’t even tease him for being too flustered to remember they’re waiting for Lan Xichen, he just takes his cup and sips at it, letting the gesture more than the beverage warm him from the inside out.

It’s his favorite again. Jin Guangyao sips and delights in finding all the layers in it, bright and fruity at the start and deepening into something almost bitter on the finish, though not unpleasantly so. It’s a light tea so unlike what’s usually had in Qinghe, delicate and requiring care to brew properly.

Nie Mingjue always makes it just right. For him.

The silence suddenly feels deafening as Jin Guangyao’s eyes sting and his heart gives a too-hard thump in his chest.

“...A-Yao-” Nie Mingjue somehow gives the impression of desperately wanting to clap his hand over his mouth without even moving a muscle to do so when Jin Guangyao focuses on him quicker than his too-fast heartbeat, vindictive elation already clawing its way out of his chest. That soft, half-remembered ‘A-Yao’ from so long ago wasn’t some exhaustion-induced hallucination! He was right, and now that he’s not half-dead on a horse halfway to Lanling he can make Nie Mingjue own up to this weakness—

“You did, you called me A-Yao that time when—!”

Nie Mingjue raises his hands in clear surrender, looking as panicked as it’s possible for him to (which isn’t much, granted, but he does still look vaguely like a caged animal caught in a trap of his own making so Jin Guangyao approves), but his victory is cut off at the knees by a polite tapping on the door. This time it actually is Lan Xichen, and when he enters Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue both freeze except to turn their heads to look at him, which means that Jin Guangyao has a surprisingly enjoyable moment watching Lan Xichen stop in his tracks and look very affably confused, with a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Are you two… alright?” he asks with a pointed glance at Jin Guangyao’s extended hand still jabbing an admonishing finger towards Nie Mingjue’s chest and Nie Mingjue’s hands raised in surrender.

“Fine,” Nie Mingjue answers for both of them. Jin Guangyao looks at him again with his eyes narrowed, assessing just as Nie Mingjue had done to him mere minutes ago. Nie Mingjue’s long-suffering look very clearly communicates how desperately he doesn’t want this conversation to continue at all, but especially not with their current audience. Considering Jin Guangyao knows precisely how much Lan Xichen would likely read into this (admittedly strange) development, and how earnestly he would ask if this means they’ve magically sorted out all their issues and are therefore willing to be close again as they once were, he can (reluctantly, slightly guiltily) understand the desire for discretion.

Of course Jin Guangyao would very much like to ask very similar questions himself, but at least he would do so with the knowledge that it’s impossible Nie Mingjue has actually forgiven him for the things that caused their miserable separation in the first place, and for his part Jin Guangyao is as unlikely to apologize for them as he ever has been. He did what needed to be done, Nie Mingjue has staunchly refused to accept that into his worldview. Thanks to such luxury, he has instead decided to make every action that doesn’t align with his own personal moral code — to which he alone so strictly adheres — Jin Guangyao’s malicious fault and absolutely no one else’s, and will hear no opinions that say otherwise.

That sort of cavernous rift is not something that can be crossed easily, not when both parties are unwilling to bend for the sake of the other’s comfort, so in the end nothing’s really changed at all. Saying as much would only hurt and disappoint Lan Xichen, which will forever remain a line Jin Guangyao will do his utmost not to cross.

The fact that the reminder sits like a rock in the pit of his stomach is one that he will not be addressing for at least the next two to three days, if ever.

“We’re fine, er-ge, come sit down,” Jin Guangyao says and returns to his demure sipping, consoling himself for the lost chance at making Nie Mingjue uncomfortable with admiring Lan Xichen as he sinks down gracefully to kneel across from him in a flutter of silk, his eyes and smiling lips full of a secret mischief only they share. It soothes his loss immensely to be so coyly reminded of what he and Lan Xichen did together the last time they were in Qinghe, to know that Lan Xichen still thinks of it too whenever they see each other, and he has to hide a smug smirk behind the next sip of his tea.

“Oh good, you’re even worse here,” Nie Mingjue mutters, his frown hard enough to make his face look like it was carved from stone as he pours tea for Lan Xichen and passes the little cup to him almost rudely, an inelegant bump of their fingers rather than a careful transfer.

Lan Xichen has the good grace to look confused, but Jin Guangyao already knows he, at least, is going to refuse to apologize even if Lan Xichen will be moved to. The guilt he’d been afraid would surface once the afterglow of their… mutual success wore off hasn’t reared its head yet, so as far as he’s concerned there’s nothing to apologize for.

“Pardon?”

“Don’t.”

Jin Guangyao goes still as all hints of playfulness abruptly dissipate in the wake of Nie Mingjue’s glare, the hard cut of his command. Jin Guangyao glances at Lan Xichen again but this time there’s nothing sly in either of their eyes, simple caution and, in Lan Xichen’s case, perfectly innocent confusion.

And it is innocent confusion. Jin Guangyao realizes in a sudden burst of clarity that Lan Xichen hadn’t even realized what he was doing — what they were doing. He does feel guilty then, just a little, for accidentally dragging Lan Xichen with him, unknowingly, into the path of Nie Mingjue’s irritation.

“You’ve done something,” Nie Mingjue tells them, still glaring between them for a moment before he settles on just glaring at Jin Guangyao (what else is new, he thinks, suddenly tired). “I didn’t say anything in Lanling because it’s clear you didn’t want to talk about it, but we’re not in Lanling anymore so just say it. What are you hiding from me?”

Jin Guangyao entertains the idea for the briefest of moments — barely a conscious thought before he recoils from it — of undermining Nie Mingjue’s suspicions. It would be so easy to do, a disparaging comment about how the final decline, nudged along by the vicious saber spirits, always starts with paranoia, and is he really sure they’re hiding something from him? Why would they have anything to hide from him, as his sworn brothers? Doesn’t he trust them, or at least Lan Xichen? The fact that they are wouldn’t matter; he could plant that seed of doubt, he could make it harder for Nie Mingjue to trust the evidence of his own senses to guide him properly.

He could report the beginnings of his success to Jin Guangshan and perhaps in doing so earn a reprieve from the miseries of Jinlintai, the degree of relief directly proportional to his father’s rising or falling opinion of him.

Jin Guangyao clutches his teacup so hard his fingers ache and says nothing.

“It’s nothing serious, da-ge,” Lan Xichen soothes in his place, reaching across the table to place a gentle hand over Nie Mingjue’s. “A-Yao-” Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue both twitch, though neither acknowledge it “-and I simply conducted some… experiments, but we haven’t had adequate privacy in which to tell you the results of them yet. It’s nothing we wanted to keep from you indefinitely.”

Is that so? Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow and sips at his tea to avoid looking at Lan Xichen; they hadn’t outright discussed the issue of telling Nie Mingjue about their extracurricular activities, and privately he’d sort of thought it could be just for them, something special they shared, considering it was nothing at all like their ‘experiments’ to date in which Nie Mingjue has been involved. Still, he supposes that since the excuse to be intimate together was to improve his ability to dual cultivate, it’s understandable that Lan Xichen would want to share their success with the one of the three of them for whom proper dual cultivation is truly a matter of life and death.

It stands to reason that Lan Xichen had always intended to tell Nie Mingjue of their night together without him, and Jin Guangyao couldn’t possibly ask him not to do so without also addressing the weight of what they’d deliberately left unspoken between them that night, so. There it is. The secret had been nice while it lasted.

Nie Mingjue looks back and forth between them again for a long moment before he sighs and scrubs at his eyes with one broad hand, muttering behind it, “Fine. Just tell me now, then, so you can stop looking at each other like that. I had enough of it in Lanling.”

Jin Guangyao can see it in the delicate moue of Lan Xichen’s mouth, in the way his gaze turns coy again, that he’s going to dance around saying it in a way that Nie Mingjue, already frustrated by months of not knowing what they’re hiding from him but knowing that they’re hiding something, will certainly not appreciate.

“Er-ge and I had sex,” Jin Guangyao says instead, brisk and businesslike. And then, because he still feels like the cat that ate the canary about it all, he adds, “Quite good sex, too, actually.”

It at least knocks the wind out of Nie Mingjue’s sails, his irritation fading as he looks between them yet again, no longer glaring but… hurt? That can’t be right.

“You did what?”

No, he’s definitely upset, and it’s not anger. The guilt that Jin Guangyao has successfully avoided for months suddenly curdles in his belly without warning, urging him to make his excuses to escape the weight of Nie Mingjue’s unexpectedly plaintive gaze.

“I thought it might help our situation if A-Yao got a chance to practice sharing his qi without any… pressure to do it well.”

“So you needed to have sex with him?”

The implication — that sex hardly needs to be had for basic qi sharing (‘taught to children,’ his mind still sneers in Nie Mingjue’s voice whenever he thinks of the much more basic form of the practice) — is painfully clear in the sarcastic drawl of his question, and it at least seems to make Lan Xichen realize that Nie Mingjue is truly upset. If Jin Guangyao were inclined to specify, he’d dare to say that Nie Mingjue is jealous, but of course that’s ridiculous. What in the world does he have to be jealous of? He certainly can’t be jealous of Lan Xichen, considering he’d likely rather sit through at least three of Sect Leader Yao’s sanctimonious tirades one right after the other than have unnecessary sex of any kind with Jin Guangyao. But to be jealous, then, of Jin Guangyao for getting to have Lan Xichen to himself for a single night? Ridiculous.

It’s clear — it has always been clear — how much Lan Xichen loves Nie Mingjue; that he would move heaven and earth to do everything he can for his childhood friend. Lan Xichen is the one holding this entire operation together with little more than his ironclad belief that this is something they can accomplish and his desire to see any amount of softening between Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, no matter how slight. Is it not abundantly clear how much Jin Guangyao is simply a minor addition to the lifelong devotion Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had already been looking for any excuse to legitimize for years, at least to the extent any leaders of two Great Sects can do?

So no, jealousy can’t be right, but he supposes the true label hardly matters. Whatever flavor of emotion it is, Nie Mingjue is upset, and it’s something that they need to fix if Jin Guangyao is going to leave here having gotten what he wants out of this encounter.

Lan Xichen sits up a little straighter and meets Nie Mingjue’s skeptical gaze with a cool confidence that’s unfairly attractive, especially considering what it is he’s defending so readily.

“Yes, I did. I wanted to have sex with A-Yao, and he agreed that it was a good idea to try. I’m glad that we did, as well, because that night he and I figured out how to truly dual cultivate.”

Mmmm the smugness is back, barely tainted by the slowly-receding guilt still churning in his belly. He did that, he put that easy confidence in the set of Lan Xichen’s shoulders, the relaxation around the corners of his eyes. Jin Guangyao, not Nie Mingjue, finally figured out how to align himself so utterly with Lan Xichen, down to their very cores (literally), that for a few blissful moments every single aspect of them — body, mind, and soul — had been entirely in harmony. No matter how devoted Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen are to each other, it was Jin Guangyao who finally helped Lan Xichen crack the mystery of the thing that will hopefully save Nie Mingjue’s life.

Nie Mingjue is going to owe him a lifetime of favors in exchange for his incredible and supremely selfish night with Lan Xichen — that they’d had under Nie Mingjue’s own roof!

Delicious.

“Don’t gloat,” Nie Mingjue snaps at him and Jin Guangyao blinks, surprised to have been caught out because yes Nie Mingjue is definitely looking straight at him, not admonishing Lan Xichen for the easy authority in his defense of their night together.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao lies so baldly that even Lan Xichen shoots him a little disapproving look, though it isn’t enough to make him take it back. Why should he? In the grand scheme of a lifetime of being kicked around and passed over, why shouldn’t he be proud of what he was able to accomplish with nothing more than patched-together cultivation training and a desperate desire to not disappoint Lan Xichen? Nie Mingjue has a lifetime of achievements both hard-won and gifted to him through privilege, what difference should it make to him?

Nie Mingjue glares at him for a moment more before he seems to give up, shoulders slumping ever so slightly and his hand dropping to pick up his abandoned teacup again with an air of defeat.

“Alright, fine. So you slept together and figured out dual cultivation; guess that’ll make things easier from now on.”

Jin Guangyao once again meets Lan Xichen’s eyes across the table and finds the little smile the man gives him more reassuring than he would’ve expected. Perhaps it has something to do with the way Lan Xichen had just defended his own actions in a way that made it clear, in no uncertain terms, why he’d decided to do what he had. He hadn’t even given their excuse the second time.

I wanted to have sex with A-Yao.

Lan Xichen wanted him, and in his eyes that was enough to justify accidentally upsetting Nie Mingjue. He hadn’t backed down at all, but had rather claimed full, intentional responsibility for having both suggested the plan and followed through with it.

Jin Guangyao is glad that he’s already sitting down as the rush of it is heady enough to make the room wobble a bit.

Although on second thought the little dizzy spell might also have something to do with the way his empty stomach growls immediately upon registering the smell of food in the moment before a servant interrupts them with a knock.

“I’ll get it,” Lan Xichen hurries to reassure and gets smoothly to his feet. The silence is only slightly awkward as the pair of serving girls bring in rice and a few platters to array in the center of the table — mostly meat, as is customary here, save for a few vegetarian dishes in deference to Lan Xichen’s typical diet. They leave behind a fresh pot of tea, the strong, dark stuff usually served at meals in Qinghe, and leave again without another word. Nie Mingjue casts the usual privacy wards over the room the moment they’re gone and somehow it takes some of the edge off immediately.

“How is the baby, A-Yao?” Lan Xichen asks when they’ve all settled again to begin serving themselves and each other from the communal plates. Jin Guangyao pauses for the briefest of moments, a particularly well-seasoned piece of wild mushroom pinched between the tips of his chopsticks just over Lan Xichen’s bowl.

“Jin Ling is doing very well,” he says as neutrally as he can, frantically cramming the emotional turmoil of the last month and a half or so as far down as he can get it. His sworn brothers haven’t been to Jinlintai since Jin Ling was born. Their last visit for Nie Mingjue to sit through a good few rounds of the Song of Cleansing had been near the middle of Jiang Yanli’s second trimester, before things around Jinlintai grew so tense and hectic that Jin Guangyao couldn’t dream of playing host to two Great Sect leaders, even if they were his own sworn brothers. They will, of course, be invited to the hundred-day celebration and he’s very much looking forward to that even now as he sits here with them, but that’s some time away yet, and it will be their first sight of the youngest Jin Heir.

It’s natural that they’re curious as to how he’s doing. It’s perfectly normal to ask him about his neph- about the latest addition to the Jin household. It’s not his er-ge’s fault that it brings the perpetual lump in his throat right back from where he’d swallowed it down and makes his eyes burn with the humiliation of what the boy’s birth has meant for him, personally.

It hurts, like lancing a wound that just won’t heal, but Jin Guangyao forces himself to finish the gesture, to serve Lan Xichen the roasted vegetables he’ll like best, to do the same for Nie Mingjue, giving him the crispiest, fattiest pieces from the platter of roast boar, and keep talking like he actually gets to be an active part of the boy’s life rather than hear about his progress through eavesdropping on servants’ gossip whenever he can.

He continues, “Xiao-gongzi is healthy and vigorous. Jin-shao-furen already has a small army of nursemaids to assist her in his care and may require more once he begins walking, depending on his curiosity.”

“A-Sang was like that as a baby,” Nie Mingjue snorts inelegantly around a bite of pork. “Er-ma was exhausted, I swear half of Bujing Shi had to try to help her corral him into safe areas and get him to go to sleep every night, including most of the disciples.”

Jin Guangyao smiles around the way that digs in under his ribs; not only the idea of mere disciples being allowed to tend to their beloved second young master, but the idea of an entire Sect — essentially an entire village — of people making the care of one child a primary concern. He thinks of Meng Shi, exhausted and working herself to death just to take care of him all on her own while others in her life actively attempted to make it all so much harder for her, and he swallows down a bite of greens with more bitterness than can be blamed on the cooking.

“Mm. Jin Ling is similarly doted on by his nursemaids and family.” And Jin Guangyao can’t even begrudge the boy all the people who want to spend so much of their time holding him, bouncing him gently in their arms, offering up toys for him to choose and shout his delight or derision for — he longs to be one of them, after all.

“Does he recognize you yet?”

Jin Guangyao would very much like it if Lan Xichen were even slightly less invested in his life, he thinks. He aims his gaze somewhere around the middle of the table and finds he can’t offer his sworn brother anything better than his tightest smile as he picks up another delicately roasted mushroom and places it with some finality on top of the rest of the serving in Lan Xichen’s bowl.

“I believe it’s still too early for the little master to be able to distinguish anyone, save his parents.”

“Perhaps,” Xichen allows with warmth in his voice, in his smile. “But he must still recognize being held by his shu-ow!”

Lan Xichen cuts off abruptly and Jin Guangyao looks up from his dedicated study of the table through the watery wobbling in his vision to find Lan Xichen darting a confused look at Nie Mingjue sitting perfectly still and innocent like he didn’t just kick their sworn brother under the table.

“Enough. How are things going in Gusu?” Nie Mingjue asks a little too stiffly for it to feel entirely natural.

Lan Xichen still looks confused as he replies, “Fine?” like he isn’t sure if he’s meant to actually change the topic or not. He must truly be tired if he’s so sloppy that Nie Mingjue can see the emotion on his face. Jin Guangyao fights to get his expression back under control as Lan Xichen darts a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he must see something similarly incriminating because he suddenly settles into the entirely new topic with ease and perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. After all, there’s only so much excitement one can find in the logistics of housing, clothing, and feeding a small tribe of displaced refugees-turned-war-prisoners-turned-refugees-again, but Lan Xichen talks of the previously abandoned village the Wen remnants have settled in for long enough that Jin Guangyao doesn’t feel like he’s in danger of bursting into tears anymore, not even when Nie Mingjue casually places choice little morsels in Jin Guangyao’s bowl without seeming to think about it as they listen.

Lan Xichen tells them of how helpful it’s been to have so many extra hands to contribute to the rebuilding efforts where possible, and of Wen Qing’s arrival and her tireless work with Wei Wuxian in their attempts to treat the near-fatal wounds Wen Ning had sustained in the work camp at Qiongqi Pass — to the point where the Lan doctors have practically begged to be allowed to practice alongside them in order to learn new methods to treat their own people, which is apparently going just as well as (nearly) everything else with help from Lan Wangji to smooth their way amongst the clan elders and the Sect as a whole.

By the time they’re finished eating and stacking the empty dishes neatly away to be returned to the kitchens in the morning, Lan Xichen is sighing morosely over the one sour note in his hopeful narrative; namely, the fact that somehow Wei Wuxian remains oblivious to the fact that Lan Wangji isn’t doing all of his aggressive helping purely out of the goodness of his heart (though there is also his well-known desire to see injustices rectified to use as an excuse to anyone in the Sect who dares to get overly nosy about his motives).

“I just don’t understand how Wei-gongzi can be so determined not to see what’s in front of him,” Lan Xichen sighs over a final cup of dark tea. “I can’t imagine what more Wangji could do to make his intentions clear except… perhaps…”

Nie Mingjue snorts and gets to his feet to start tugging down the covers on the bed. “Let me guess — he hasn’t actually told him, with words, what it is he wants?”

“Well… he worries for Wei-gongzi’s precarious position! The last thing he would want is to put pressure on him when Wei-gongzi has aligned himself with the Wen, who still rely on us almost entirely for supplies and protection,” Lan Xichen hedges, ever the loyal older brother. Jin Guangyao finds it admirable that he wants to defend his brother and also wildly ironic that they’re having this conversation about those two rather than…

No, actually, on second thought he does not want to consider how much of that whole… situation could apply just as easily to them if they were in a position to talk about it together. He does not think about himself and Lan Xichen lying in bed together, tangled up and still sweaty from the incredible sex they’d just had, unable and unwilling to actually say that they’re in love but meaning it with their entire hearts all the same.

“Perhaps Wei-gongzi really is just that blind,” Jin Guangyao sniffs. Because while yes, he and Lan Xichen haven’t said what they feel, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. Wei Wuxian is simply stupid, that much is clear no matter how brilliant (and, as Xue Yang is unfortunately proving, one-of-a-kind) his work in demonic cultivation is. “Lan-er-gongzi’s feelings are perfectly clear, it’s hardly his fault he fell in love with an idiot.”

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen chides, but he does it with that familiar, mischievous twinkle in his eye and the smallest of smiles tucked in the corner of his mouth, so he must agree with him on at least some level and he’s simply too diplomatic to say so. Jin Guangyao will still count it as a win.

Nie Mingjue sighs as he dumps the extraneous bedding unceremoniously on the floor and then begins untying his outermost robe, a little more slowly than usual, almost lazily. “Do we really have to talk about them right this minute?”

Lan Xichen smiles and shakes his head, looking almost unbearably fond. “Of course not, da-ge. I actually have a proposition I’d like to make though, before we begin.”

Nie Mingjue raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t pause in his lazy stripping that Jin Guangyao is not watching with any discernible degree of craving. It’s perfectly natural, after discovering one is touch-starved whilst in a position to do little to nothing about it, to be drawn to the first hint of warm, bare skin that could conceivably be his for touching; the fact that it’s Nie Mingjue baring himself (and in such a teasing way without even seeming to intend to be a tease) has nothing to do with any of it.

“Oh?”

“Mm. I thought perhaps A-Yao could go first this time.”

What?

Jin Guangyao blinks, lets that register, and turns his startled gaze on Lan Xichen still sitting at the table looking perfectly serene.

What?

“Er-ge?” Jin Guangyao asks, bewildered. They definitely didn’t talk about this, and what’s the point of breaking the pattern now?

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, Lan Xichen smiles up at him and replies, “I believe we may have become too stuck in our ways. A-Yao and I tried something new and found our way to true dual cultivation; perhaps all that’s needed here are a few simple changes as well.”

“Alright, that’s it — just what the hell did you two do?” Nie Mingjue huffs like he’s been dying to ask it all evening. He shrugs out of his final top layer a little too aggressively and drops it to the floor to put his hands on his hips over his trousers riding a little lower than usual. (Has that trail of dark hair beneath his navel always been there? Does it have any right to be so tempting??)

“I feel like simply talking about it wouldn’t be all that helpful. Would you like one of us to show you?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Xichen, come on, just spit it out, you’re being ridiculous-”

“I’ll show you.”

As has happened before, Jin Guangyao wonders very briefly who said that only to realize it was… him. Offering to have sex with Nie Mingjue. For fun.

Because that’s what he and Lan Xichen did differently together, wasn’t it? Lan Xichen had fucked him in the same pattern — the same rhythm, even — that he always uses with Nie Mingjue; he’d gone slowly enough at first to teach him how to circulate his qi while they were together, yes, but that’s not a lesson Nie Mingjue needs, it’s presumably something they’ve already been doing, so that wasn’t actually any different either; the only thing he can think of that was truly new was that they were already attuned to each other so much even before there was any penetration at all because Lan Xichen had kissed him, touched him, taken him into his mouth and made him feel incredible and loose and eager to accept anything and everything that was given to him.

He doesn’t know if he can even do that with Nie Mingjue; it’s possible that the rift between them really is too deep and wide to cross, even to do something that requires no emotional attachment (he’s going to ignore that there were definitely emotions with Lan Xichen during everything, he’ll somehow convince himself that’s not the important part). But Meng Shi didn’t raise a quitter, and he had done it with Lan Xichen, the dual cultivation bit. He’s bound and determined to prove to Nie Mingjue that they can do it together as well, that this is viable no matter what the other man has thought in the past about Jin Guangyao’s motives or abilities.

Jin Guangyao meets Nie Mingjue’s challenging gaze with one of his own and doesn’t take his eyes off him as he starts to undress as meticulously as ever, a challenge in every flick of his fingers and the curious tilt of his head when Nie Mingjue’s glare flickers down the length of his body, just once, when he slips off his embroidered outer robe.

“Alright, fine. You can show me,” Nie Mingjue allows. Gracious of him.

Jin Guangyao shrugs, easily pretending like it doesn’t matter to him one way or the other, and crosses the room as he continues to unpick the knots of the closures on his robes, his shirt, and slides each one off to fold over the decorative screen under the window. When he turns back to the room at large it’s to find Nie Mingjue already naked sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from him — and Lan Xichen staring at them both with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open ever so slightly, his ears flushed bright red.

“Xichen, you alright?” Nie Mingjue asks as Jin Guangyao climbs onto the bed behind him to kneel at his side, his forearm propped up on Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulder to lean against him ever so slightly as his knees twinge.

“I’m great,” Lan Xichen says with a little too much breathless enthusiasm. Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow and turns his head enough to glance at Nie Mingjue to find a similarly skeptical (and amused) expression on his face. Actually he’s downright smirking across the room at Lan Xichen, which is so unfairly attractive Jin Guangyao would very much like to bite him about it.

“Yeah I’ll bet you are. What next, Guangyao?”

Jin Guangyao barely resists the urge to snort and decides he’s not done attempting to knock Nie Mingjue off-balance (off his damn high horse, more like). Rather than answering him at first, he adjusts to kneel behind him and slide both arms straight out over Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulders, leaning his chest against his back and ignoring the way it makes Nie Mingjue tense up in favor of pressing his mouth against the hot shell of his ear.

“‘Guangyao’,” he muses, too low for Lan Xichen to hear, hardly louder than an exhale, “is not what you called me an hour ago.”

“Watch it,” Nie Mingjue warns him, but he tilts his head to the side anyway so Jin Guangyao takes a chance on accepting the invitation, brushing his parted lips down behind his ear and along the line of his neck to kiss the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder.

As Jin Guangyao had half-feared, now that he’s got the skin-to-skin contact his entire being has been aching to get for months, he finds himself feeling unacceptably greedy for more. He tucks himself closer to Nie Mingjue’s back and pets idle fingertips up and down the contours of his well-muscled (and well-cushioned) chest with the faint rasp of coarse hair against his skin. He shivers when Nie Mingjue does and presses another open-mouthed, damp kiss to a single random spot amongst the miles of warm, bare skin on display.

He trails a few more kisses idly out to the curve of Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, over the slight pucker of a silvery star-shaped scar without pausing, and then trails inwards again until Nie Mingjue exhales slowly, carefully controlled, and tilts his head forward to bare the nape of his neck. Jin Guangyao sacrifices the pleasure of stroking his chest to bury one hand in his thick, unbound hair instead and push it out of his way so he can scrape his teeth lightly against the top of Nie Mingjue’s spine; he’s promptly rewarded with another full-body shiver.

Nie Mingjue curls over a little further, elbows braced on his knees, so Jin Guangyao lays himself against his back fully to nip at his as-of-yet untouched ear on the other side, and Nie Mingjue tilts his head the other way to allow it so quickly he nearly clips the tip of Jin Guangyao’s nose.

Jin Guangyao makes the mistake then of flicking a glance up through his lashes to gauge Lan Xichen’s state across the room, wary of him getting jealous even though this had been his idea. That single glance at least proves that he isn’t jealous, though Jin Guangyao does worry for the safety of the table that he’s clutching the edge of so hard his knuckles are white. There are probably divots in the shape of his nails bitten into the lacquer. It’s probably a miracle that the wood hasn’t splintered under the force of his grip.

“Sit up straight,” Jin Guangyao kisses into the spot just below Nie Mingjue’s ear and he has to scramble to keep his arms locked around Nie Mingjue’s broad chest to avoid being flopped back onto the bed when he jerks upright again with a little half-gasp. Rather than making some quip about how quick Nie Mingjue is to obey the slightest touch of a firm hand, he nibbles on the crook of his neck and tugs a little around Nie Mingjue’s chest until he gets the message to slide further back onto the bed, just far enough for Jin Guangyao to swing around and plant himself firmly in Nie Mingjue’s lap without fear of falling off the edge of the wooden frame beneath them.

He sits down on the tops of Nie Mingjue’s thighs to give his knees a bit of a break, and even though it puts him beneath Nie Mingjue’s eye-level he realizes with a heady little jolt that he still feels very… in control. He swallows heavily, checking Nie Mingjue’s face for any possibility of a negative reaction, for any indication that he has gone too far and is about to be cast away — but Nie Mingjue is watching him intently, his eyes heavy-lidded and gaze fixed on his mouth even as his hands curl tightly around Jin Guangyao’s hips. Jin Guangyao ghosts the tip of his index finger up the shallow valley of Nie Mingjue’s sternum, circles it a few times in the hollow of his throat, and then trails it slowly up further over the knot of his throat until he can carefully hold his chin delicately between thumb and forefinger.

Nie Mingjue leans in with just the mere suggestion of guiding pressure, aiming unerringly for a deep kiss that feels, if anything, like a simple continuation from the last time they’d kissed despite the months that have passed since then. Nie Mingjue’s mouth is familiar and delightful, firm, confident movements of his lips and sweeps of his tongue that Jin Guangyao meets with equal confidence, giving no ground but taking none either.

From a purely technical perspective, kissing Nie Mingjue is so incredibly different from kissing Lan Xichen. They both make his stomach swoop and his heart race, but there almost all the similarities end. Nie Mingjue kisses like he does everything else — with an unshakeable air of authority. His delusions of authority in this particular situation can’t quite hide the desperation that lurks a little deeper, though, and that’s what Jin Guangyao chases more of with more eagerness than he would ever claim outright.

He nips at Nie Mingjue’s bottom lip, gently at first and then a little harder when he feels the man’s grip on his hips tighten, his entire body tense with anticipation. Jin Guangyao breezes right past any thought Nie Mingjue might have of taking control of the situation and forces the man to adjust to him and what he wants, changing up the depth or the rhythm of their kisses as he sees fit until Nie Mingjue finally gets that he won’t be allowed to direct him and settles down. Jin Guangyao rewards him with a tug on his hair that tilts his head back far enough for Jin Guangyao to duck down to bite the spot below his ear that made him shiver before; this time it makes Nie Mingjue groan, hastily muffled but still perfectly audible from this close, and Jin Guangyao can’t help but preen just a bit.

It feels… good. Pleasing Nie Mingjue feels good in a way that being what Lan Xichen wants doesn’t; it’s not better than being with Lan Xichen, it’s just different in some way he doesn’t have any interest in attempting to define at this point in time. He has more important things to worry about, like continuing to do the things that are turning Nie Mingjue soft and pliant.

Well. Not all of him is soft.

Actually there’s a very distinctive part of him that’s not soft at all. Jin Guangyao tuts with (only half-faked) sympathy and rolls his hips exactly once to give him a bit of friction, and the groan Nie Mingjue bites off is headier than an entire jar of the most expensive wine Jin gold can buy.

“Do you really want to know what er-ge and I did together?” he muses. He tugs Nie Mingjue’s head back a little farther and walks his free hand up the exposed length of his neck, light brushes of his first two fingertips in a teasing saunter that makes Nie Mingjue swallow thickly, the knot of his throat bobbing with it. Jin Guangyao leans in to kiss it, feeling strangely possessive.

“Do you want me to know?”

Ohhhh he does, Jin Guangyao realizes. Now that the secret’s out and Nie Mingjue knows they did something, he finds that he does actually want him to know the specifics. He wants Nie Mingjue to imagine them together in exquisite detail, he wants to make him so jealous he’s sick with it (he wants Nie Mingjue to have even more reasons to want him like he apparently does right now, judging by the erection Jin Guangyao is currently sitting on).

Jin Guangyao brushes those same two fingertips around the overheated curve of Nie Mingjue’s ear and gets his knees back under himself to lean up and nibble on his earlobe, shivering a little himself when it makes Nie Mingjue exhale against his ear in a rush.

It’s clear he has Nie Mingjue’s undivided attention, and he savors the weight of it on his skin (literally, in some respects, as Nie Mingjue drags his hands around to his back, his ass, and holds him tightly) as he begins, “Er-ge invited me in for… tea.” He makes sure to emphasize ‘tea’, the stress on the word making it clear that they’d had far more than that in mind. Even Nie Mingjue, with his usual disregard for such subtleties as innuendo, huffs a breathless chuckle and hums a nearly inaudible, “Mm?” to keep him talking.

“I accepted, and he prepared it for me. He does it so beautifully, doesn’t he? I think it’s his hands, they’re so… elegant. Even when he’s fingering you open, it nearly looks like an art. What a gentleman.”

Nie Mingjue shudders and turns his head enough to press his cheek tight against Jin Guangyao’s, his lips parted and so close to pressing a clumsy kiss to his skin, though he doesn’t quite press close enough to actually do it.

“I asked if he could tell me more about dual cultivation, I had some new questions. He offered to give me a practical demonstration instead. I accepted, and he put his mouth on me.”

Jin Guangyao thrills to feel Nie Mingjue’s cock twitch beneath him, bumping against the soft inside of his thigh, and he turns his head to press a trail of featherlight kisses along Nie Mingjue’s jaw, teasing across his parted lips, and then down the other side to pay some much needed attention to the other ear.

“He owed me an orgasm from the bath, you see. Technically you did, but he decided to take on your debt seeing as you were indisposed and I wanted the debt cleared as soon as I could get it. He made sure the first one was just to please me. Do you think that was enough of a change of pace to make a difference in our cultivation?”

Nie Mingjue makes some vague sort of noise in the back of his throat, which seems to be the only reply he’s capable of making at the moment; Jin Guangyao bites at his own bottom lip to keep from laughing. He feels drunk (giddy) with it, knowing that he’s reduced Nie Mingjue to this with just a few words and knowing where to kiss him for the best effect; still, he wouldn’t want his laughter to be misinterpreted. Nie Mingjue wants this, that much is clear, though there’s still a part of Jin Guangyao insisting caution, caution, this man is unpredictable… but it’s hard to pay attention to it with Nie Mingjue’s big, warm, calloused hands on his skin.

He pretends like the half-moaned-something was an affirmative and nods, cheek brushing against Nie Mingjue’s. “Mmm yes, I think so too. I don’t think I’ll use my mouth on you tonight, though. I think we’re just fine like this.”

Jin Guangyao pulls back just enough to press a few kisses to Nie Mingjue’s mouth and take a quick look at him through lowered lashes; he looks wrecked already, flushed all the way from his neck up to his ears and a little glassy-eyed as he stares at Jin Guangyao’s mouth, as he licks his bottom lip quickly and steals a damp peck of a kiss when Jin Guangyao drifts a little closer.

“Er-ge?” Jin Guangyao raises his voice just a bit to call. He can actually feel the slightest hint of a breeze against his bare back as Lan Xichen crosses the room, hastening to come to him when called. Jin Guangyao turns his head to look up at him and finds he doesn’t look much better than Nie Mingjue, equally as glassy-eyed and watching his every move like he’s desperately waiting for his turn. Hm. A possibility to be explored later, he thinks. “May I have the oil, please?”

Lan Xichen wordlessly fishes the little pot out of his sleeve and carefully takes off the lid to hold it out for him to scoop a generous amount onto two fingers.

“Thank you. You’re still wearing clothes?”

Jin Guangyao turns his attention back to Nie Mingjue and is pretty sure he hears a seam rip behind him as Lan Xichen hurries to strip.

“Fuck, A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue finally manages to murmur, slurred and already sex-drunk; he hasn’t even been touched yet but Jin Guangyao knows that tone of voice well enough.

“I will, just be patient.”

Nie Mingjue’s disbelieving huff of laughter cuts off quite abruptly; he even takes his hand off Jin Guangyao’s ass to clap it over his own mouth to attempt to hide that he’s moaning again, and though Jin Guangyao would have liked to hear him properly he doesn’t begrudge him wanting to muffle himself. He curls his hand a little tighter around Nie Mingjue’s cock and slowly drags it up, his way eased by the oil coating his fingers far more generously than necessary, so much that some of it drips off his knuckles and into the hair between Nie Mingjue’s legs. Not that either of them really care, of course.

When he pauses his stroking right at the tip, leaving Nie Mingjue trying and failing to catch his breath in the wake of it, Jin Guangyao tells him, “Er-ge can do incredible things with his mouth, though, maybe if you ask nicely I’ll let him show you exactly what he did to me.”

“I want to,” Lan Xichen breathes as he slides into bed, naked and apparently done with watching from across the room. Jin Guangyao shifts enough to let him slide up behind Nie Mingjue to press close, his hands wandering shamelessly and his mouth pressed to Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulder right where Jin Guangyao had started his own explorations.

Jin Guangyao strokes Nie Mingjue again, a quick downward push and another slow drag upwards, and Nie Mingjue’s head falls back to rest heavily on Lan Xichen’s shoulder as he doesn’t even bother muffling himself this time, too busy pulling Lan Xichen in closer with an arm wrapped, somewhat awkwardly, up and backwards around his neck and the other still wrapped around the entirety of Jin Guangyao’s waist to hold him on his lap.

His attention strays from Nie Mingjue just for a second, a brief moment to glance at Lan Xichen and check in with him —

He’s completely naked.

Not just a ‘he’s removed his clothing for convenience’s sake’ sort of naked, but a ‘he’s not even wearing his ribbon’ naked. Jin Guangyao is momentarily shocked out of the heady confidence born of turning Nie Mingjue into a puddle of arousal and barely-contained desire, but Lan Xichen just smiles at him so beautifully it breaks his heart a little (in the best way possible) before he tucks his face into the crook of Nie Mingjue’s neck with a happy hum.

Jin Guangyao does his best to scoop his confidence back up into his hands and keep working on getting Nie Mingjue to relax enough to get off without the excuse of dual cultivating, and thankfully manages it while Nie Mingjue is distracted with turning his head to try to seek Lan Xichen out for a proper kiss. Jin Guangyao allows it for a few moments strictly because Lan Xichen deserves as many kisses as he can possibly receive, but when their few moments he’s so generously allotted for them are up he does what he can to remind Nie Mingjue in no uncertain terms who he’s meant to be paying attention to at the moment. As he’d suspected, squeezing just shy of too hard around the base of his dick is more than enough to get him to focus again.

“Ah — shit, would you be careful?” Nie Mingjue hisses, but his hips still twitch like he’d very much like to fuck them upwards and is just barely restraining himself, so Jin Guangyao decides not to take the admonishment to heart.

“As I was saying-“ he says crisply, “-if you ask er-ge nicely I might let you have his mouth, but for now, I have other plans; you’ll just have to imagine it while I touch you, won’t you?”

Nie Mingjue squints up at him from his spot lounging on Lan Xichen’s shoulder. He seems to gather his wits about him with an effort and sits up straight again, slowly, carefully levering himself up until they’re eye-to-eye. Jin Guangyao’s hand flexes around Nie Mingjue’s cock utterly involuntarily and he actually watches the sensation travel through Nie Mingjue’s expression, a ripple of pleasure that ends with his eyelashes fluttering for a moment, softening the intensity of his glare for the length of a single sharp inhale.

“I’ll imagine it later. I have something else to focus on right now,” Nie Mingjue tells him, deliberate and slow. Jin Guangyao goes still and blinks at him, unsure what else to do as Nie Mingjue drops his arm from around Lan Xichen’s neck to tangle their free hands together and raise Jin Guangyao’s to his mouth so he can press hazy kisses to his knuckles, eyes still locked on his.

Isn’t he jealous that Jin Guangyao did things with Lan Xichen that the other two haven’t done together? Doesn’t he want to feel Jin Guangyao’s hand around him and imagine that it’s Lan Xichen’s mouth instead? Isn’t any sex with Lan Xichen — even imaginary — infinitely preferable to even the best Jin Guangyao can do??

Nie Mingjue nips at the base of his thumb and soothes it with a kiss, and he’s still looking at him like he’s thinking favorably of letting Jin Guangyao eat him alive. Jin Guangyao watches him closely as he resumes his lazy stroking, barely aware of Lan Xichen feeling Nie Mingjue up from behind as he focuses exclusively on the task at hand.

It’s easier if he convinces himself it’s a challenge, rather than desire, burning in Nie Mingjue’s gaze. If there’s a challenge there then there’s a sudden (unwelcome) reminder that he can fail at this. Lan Xichen wants him to show Nie Mingjue what they figured out together, which means if they don’t achieve proper dual cultivation with him here, right now, then even considering the fact that this is going much better than anything else between them has yet, Nie Mingjue could still decide to accuse him once again of sabotage.

Well. Jin Guangyao didn’t come here to lose, and certainly not to lose to Nie Mingjue. He ducks in to knock Nie Mingjue off balance again with a calculated attack, nipping and kissing his kiss-tender mouth until Nie Mingjue shudders and wraps his arms around Jin Guangyao’s waist to hug him tightly.

Oh a whim, Jin Guangyao releases Nie Mingjue’s cock long enough to arch his back into the hard press of his arms and gasp a faint, “Gege!” that at least makes Lan Xichen whimper quietly, so that’s already a win of sorts if not the one he’d intended. Nie Mingjue’s erection twitches against his thigh again, his hips bucking ever so slightly, and he parries the teasing with a too-sharp bite to the curve of Jin Guangyao’s shoulder.

“Fuck off,” Nie Mingjue hisses between bruising kisses and this time Jin Guangyao is so startled he isn’t quick enough to keep from laughing, though he does stifle it in Nie Mingjue’s hair as he presses a flurry of half-hearted apology kisses to his temple.

“Ow — Stop biting me, ge, it hurts,” he chides when his silent apology goes unheeded. He can’t quite stop from flinching when Nie Mingjue just bites him again even harder than before in retaliation, a sharp, hard pinch that shocks through his entire body. He will not, under any circumstances, admit that he also whimpers a little in a way that’s entirely unacceptable for someone as accustomed to pain as he is, not to mention unwilling to show weakness if at all possible.

Nie Mingjue goes still for a moment, trembling with the effort of it, and then turns his head to nuzzle the tip of his nose under his ear to murmur what seems to be a truly contrite, “…Sorry, A-Yao.”

Turnabout is fair play, and all is fair in love and war, but Jin Guangyao still doesn’t think it’s actually fair that all the sharp, cold bits of himself that he carefully curates and maintains with the obsessive care of an imperial gardener sort of… melt in direct response to both the apology and the diminutive. That shouldn’t be allowed, it’s far more disarming than is fair for what has turned into a surprisingly friendly(-ish) spar.

Lan Xichen gasps softly and it can’t possibly be a coincidence, but he also seems determined not to interrupt them too much so he says nothing; Jin Guangyao can practically hear his thoughts racing to try to figure out what it means without interrupting them to ask outright, but he can’t focus on that right now. He still has Nie Mingjue to tend to, after all, and so he slides his free hand between them again to curl a loose fist around Nie Mingjue’s cock to pick up where he left off.

It’s easy to settle into a rhythm, and Jin Guangyao applies himself to his assignment with the single-minded focus that he brings to everything he attempts. In hardly any time at all Nie Mingjue is no longer able to kiss him, instead just holding him close with one hand in the small of his back and the other pressed to the back of his head. Jin Guangyao presses his flushed cheek to Nie Mingjue’s and breathes with him, ragged and harsh, as they meet each other in the middle for the first time in a very long time, working together on a level deeper than physical. He can feel it even without actively reaching for Nie Mingjue’s core, their qi pulsing closer and closer to the same rhythm as their hips rock together and their ragged breathing syncs in barely-noticeable increments.

They’re nearly perfectly in tune when Nie Mingjue chokes on a groan in his ear and Jin Guangyao smears a clumsy kiss to his jaw to try to help him close that last bit of distance to where he needs to be.

“Mingjue-” he presses against one spot he’d nibbled a pink little bruise onto, the word embarrassingly desperate. He’d started it without really knowing what he wanted to ask for, but it would seem he doesn’t have to. No sooner has he smeared the plea into Nie Mingjue’s sweat-salty skin than Nie Mingjue throws his head back to press hard against Lan Xichen’s steady shoulder and comes on Jin Guangyao’s hand still wrapped around him and his thigh where he’s still straddling Nie Mingjue’s lap. His knees and hip are aching too fiercely to continue ignoring and his thighs are trembling with enough physical exhaustion that he can’t focus enough on pleasure to tumble over the edge of his own climax with Nie Mingjue, but he doesn’t even care.

Nie Mingjue is glorious as far as Jin Guangyao is concerned, pinned underneath him and against Lan Xichen’s chest, lost entirely in pleasure in a way Jin Guangyao doesn’t think they’ve managed for him yet, at least certainly not when he’s been trying on his own to make it happen. He strokes Nie Mingjue through his orgasm and into oversensitivity, and Lan Xichen looks at Jin Guangyao like he hung the moon, maybe even the stars too, and that’s good enough for now.

Jin Guangyao lets Nie Mingjue recover for approximately ten rabbiting heartbeats before he nuzzles up close to his ear again and smiles widely enough he’s sure Nie Mingjue can feel it pressing against his own cheek.

“After I finished, er-ge fingered me open.”

Nie Mingjue shudders hard enough the bed creaks a little and Jin Guangyao tuts sympathetically.

“He tried a new trick with his qi while he did; do you want him to show you?”

Nie Mingjue’s enthusiastic nod is hardly a surprise — who wouldn’t say yes to such a tantalizing prospect as being the sole focus of Lan Xichen’s attention? Rearranging their positions is the work of a few short moments of awkward shuffling (and wandering hands that are certainly not helping), and by the end of it Jin Guangyao has somehow wound up on his back beneath Nie Mingjue’s pressing bulk, rather than in his usual spot beside the other two when it’s not his turn (their time in the bath notwithstanding, considering those had been very unusual circumstances).

He manages a vaguely articulate, “Ah…?” of a question that Nie Mingjue is clearly in no real position to answer, focused on recovering his powers of speech as he still is, but Jin Guangyao blinks up at what he can see of Lan Xichen’s pleased smile over Nie Mingjue’s shoulder in a bid for an explanation.

“I’d like to continue to watch you both simultaneously, if that’s alright,” Lan Xichen so sweetly explains as he hauls Nie Mingjue’s hips up to where he wants them. Jin Guangyao glances at Nie Mingjue to gauge his reaction and finds him looking a little less bleary-eyed, just in time to raise an eyebrow down at him in silent commiseration for Lan Xichen’s ridiculousness. “I have a new idea to try that will be best attempted like this. You’re both doing quite well together already, you’ve been very good, but I think we can do even better.”

Jin Guangyao watches the praise, simple and plain though it is, land hard on Nie Mingjue; he is unfortunately perfectly capable of recognizing the signs of suddenly feeling warm and tingly all over, considering he’s feeling the exact same thing. He meets Nie Mingjue’s hooded gaze and returns the little lift of his brow with one of his own; it passes between them in an instant, the mutual understanding that they will not be addressing what it feels like to be good for Lan Xichen together, and Jin Guangyao decides to seal the silent moment of agreement with an almost perfunctory kiss.

It takes Nie Mingjue a beat too long to return the brief press of lips against his but he gets there when Jin Guangyao chuckles and does it again, prompting. Once they part again Jin Guangyao gets comfortably settled underneath him with a few shuffles of his shoulders and slightly-aching hips as he chides, “Don’t fall asleep yet, da-ge, we’re not done.”

“Shut up,” Nie Mingjue grumbles, clearly embarrassed but not angry, and Jin Guangyao can’t help but smile around the tentative little fledgling hope that things between them could possibly improve, as unlikely as that seems. Of course that would probably require talking about things, which just sounds like hell considering he’s still certain neither of their stances have truly changed enough to have a civil conversation about fundamental moral differences — and of course there’s always Nie Mingjue’s saber-stoked temper to account for — but maybe they can be good enough for this.

Jin Guangyao brushes his fingers cautiously through some of the thick hair hanging over Nie Mingjue’s forehead and he watches, a little breathless, as Nie Mingjue just turns his head into it enough to kiss his palm — not just a fluke, then, but a pattern that Jin Guangyao can replicate whenever he’d like. He’s certain that thought won’t haunt him during his lonely, miserable nights in Lanling.

“Fuck- I’m awake!” Nie Mingjue yelps, eyes flying open, and Jin Guangyao tilts his head a little to the side to look up at Lan Xichen once again in question.

“Just thought I’d make sure,” Lan Xichen replies, his mischievous little smirk sneaking into his voice just enough for Jin Guangyao to hear, though he doesn’t think Nie Mingjue will be able to tell.

Nie Mingjue twists enough to look over his shoulder and huff, “So you had to pinch my ass?!”

“Mn. Would you rather I bite it? That could also be arranged.”

The betrayed glare Nie Mingjue turns on Jin Guangyao when he has to stifle a short laugh is entirely worth it. The glare falls away quickly though as Jin Guangyao presumes — from the way Nie Mingjue shivers and drops his shoulders to press his forehead to the bed just beside Jin Guangyao’s neck — Lan Xichen stops his own snickering long enough to finally start fingering him.

As he’d realized in the bath the last time they were all together for this, Lan Xichen is something of a menace when he’s fucking Nie Mingjue. When it had been him and Lan Xichen alone, he’d been achingly sweet about everything, smiling and laughing along with Jin Guangyao and, most importantly, loving him in the way that Jin Guangyao has always wanted. It stands to reason, since they’re two very different people, that Lan Xichen would behave a little differently with Nie Mingjue; Jin Guangyao just thinks it’s funny that the main difference seems to be a drastic spike in what could only be described as erotic mischief.

Jin Guangyao slides his hand further into Nie Mingjue’s hair to hold his head close where he’s buried his face in the crook of his neck in a poor attempt to muffle himself while Lan Xichen gives him no quarter, fingering him steadily and giving him an equally steady stream of qi. From what Jin Guangyao can tell it seems to be more qi than he’d given when they’d tried it, but that’s to be expected when Nie Mingjue’s core and meridians are able to handle so much more than Jin Guangyao’s. He can feel it now like he could in the bath, a silk-sheets-on-naked-skin sensation as Nie Mingjue kisses wherever he can reach and Lan Xichen runs a hand up and down the broad expanse of Nie Mingjue’s back, a steady circuit that follows the rhythm of his fingers and his qi washing in and out of Nie Mingjue’s core like the incoming tide.

“You said you want to try something new, er-ge?” Jin Guangyao prompts after a few hazy minutes of their prepping Nie Mingjue, though it hardly feels like their usual clinical preparation for dual cultivation so much as it feels like… foreplay. Does it count as foreplay if Nie Mingjue has already come once? Maybe it just means that they’re having even more sex that’s also just for the fun of it.

“Mn, I had a thought, I will explain myself in a moment.”

Nie Mingjue’s ragged voice is low, his smiling mouth warm against Jin Guangyao’s ear as he mutters, “Is he too busy getting off on watching his own fingers in me to string enough words together to explain?”

Jin Guangyao hides a snicker in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder, both for the unexpected baldness of the question and the fact that Nie Mingjue can’t even see Lan Xichen but, from what Jin Guangyao can tell, he’s exactly right.

“C’mere A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue mutters when Jin Guangyao’s snickering fades and he doesn’t even need the careful hand on his cheek to coax him into turning his head enough to meet Nie Mingjue for a kiss deep enough to curl his toes and leave something warm sitting heavy with promise in his belly. He sucks a sharp breath in when Nie Mingjue’s teeth worry at his bottom lip, a nip that doesn’t hurt, just startles. Nie Mingjue gentles the kiss instantly, soft tugs and a brush of the tip of his tongue against the spot as if to soothe the imagined sting.

“Sorry,” he presses into the corner of Jin Guangyao’s mouth and Jin Guangyao shakes his head a little, tips his chin to steal another kiss.

Barely audible, and with hardly any space between them, he murmurs, “It’s alright, Mingjue, you can. Just… gently?” His heart hammers at the liberty he’s taking again, each time a fresh risk; he isn’t actively getting Nie Mingjue off at the moment (yet), maybe he’s not allowed to call him by only his name if he doesn’t also have his hand wrapped around his dick —

Nie Mingjue huffs a short exhale against his mouth but before Jin Guangyao can worry any further that it’s out of anger for his presumptions Nie Mingjue is biting him again, clearly holding back in a way that somehow feels more desperate than an outright mauling would. He’s shaking with the restraint of it as he first nibbles and then bites a little more confidently when Jin Guangyao just threads his fingers deeper into his hair in silent encouragement.

Alright. So he’s allowed to call him ‘Mingjue’ now. That’s only fair, if Nie Mingjue is going to continue giving him minor heart palpitations with his unbearably soft ‘A-Yao’s — in front of er-ge! There’s no way to take it back after that, there’s no possible world in which Lan Xichen will let that pass indefinitely without comment, it’s just a matter of when he’ll decide it’s the right time to address it. So really this is just another ‘turnabout is fair play’ sort of situation. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he’s only upping the stakes every time Nie Mingjue does. In the end it’s just a competition like everything else — and he’s winning.

He slips a hand between them again, petting curious fingertips down the deceptively soft contours of Nie Mingjue’s chest, his belly. He stops just shy of wrapping his fingers around him properly, hand tucked comfortably between his legs, and a fresh, irritated plea for him to get on with it is cut off rather neatly by a tight, “A-Yao would you just — fuck, A-Huan!”

Jin Guangyao realizes, in a burst of clarity, that this is fun. Keeping Nie Mingjue suspended between them like this, blindsiding him with pleasure, teasing him mercilessly while also making sure that one of them is giving him exactly what he wants at the same time… He could do this for hours and still likely want to do it a little longer.

“What was that, Mingjue?” he teases, innocent like he isn’t kneading firm circles around the base of his quickly-hardening erection while Lan Xichen holds him still with both hands curled around his thighs to sink into him. Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother answering him; he takes his hand off Jin Guangyao’s cheek to instead slam his palm flat against the bed frame above Jin Guangyao’s head, his entire arm flexing hard enough that Jin Guangyao can appreciate the sight of his well-corded forearm, the definition of his enormous biceps, even the suddenly-tight definition of his chest. His breath is coming in short little gasps he buries in Jin Guangyao’s hair, each sharp exhale hot against his ear.

Lan Xichen tuts a comforting, “I’ve got you, you’re alright Mingjue,” that sounds just as unrepentant as Jin Guangyao feels.

“I’m going to kill you both,” Nie Mingjue grits between clenched teeth.

“Er-ge, I don’t believe death threats were part of our night together, were they?”

“Mm, not to my knowledge. A-Yao, would you like to try passing da-ge some qi?”

Jin Guangyao might be thoroughly caught up in whatever it is he’s got going on with Nie Mingjue, but he’s not so out of it that the request under the current circumstances doesn’t give him a moment’s pause. Not that he’s exactly opposed to coming so hard he’s knocked straight out of his body again like the first and only time they’d all tried cultivating together, but… if he does that then this will be over before it can really truly begin, and he’d sort of… like it… maybe… if he had an excuse to keep kissing and teasing Nie Mingjue for at least a little while longer. Is that really so much to ask?

“Er-ge, are you sure?”

They could do more aligning of their qi before there’s any dual cultivation, another orgasm or two would probably work quite nicely to get them all working in tandem and they could still dual cultivate after that with all the qi Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen will have to help them recover, it doesn’t have to end now —

“It’s alright, A-Yao.” Jin Guangyao blinks, startled, and glances at Nie Mingjue who turns his head enough to kiss his cheek to punctuate his thoroughly unexpected reassurance. “It’s alright if you can’t.”

Oh fuck that! Jin Guangyao wrinkles his nose and just barely resists the urge to bite Nie Mingjue’s ear. He’s trying to be nice, and in a way Jin Guangyao can appreciate that Nie Mingjue is, in a round-about way, telling him that failure to dual cultivate no longer equals suspecting Jin Guangyao of sabotage. But he can do it, he’s not a failure, and he refuses to let Nie Mingjue think he is for another moment (although that would mean that they really have been having sex just for the hell of it if Nie Mingjue didn’t actually expect him to be able to cultivate and really that’s just something to be considered at length later because right now he’s-)

He-

Jin Guangyao digs his fingertips into the soft give of Nie Mingjue’s belly as he throws his head back with a gasp, a man drowning finally coming up for air. Nie Mingjue slams his palm against the top of the bed frame again and swears a heartfelt, “Motherfucker!!” that comes out more-than-half a groan. Even Lan Xichen isn’t unaffected, bowing over Nie Mingjue’s back with an audible whimper and a sharp snap of his hips that they all feel as a sudden pulse of qi, zipping through Nie Mingjue’s meridians and through Jin Guangyao’s in almost the same instant before circulating back to Lan Xichen.

They don’t all come like they had the first time, but in a way Jin Guangyao sort of wishes they would. Lan Xichen’s qi alone had been overwhelming ecstasy, pleasure nearly to the point of flirting with pain. Both his and Nie Mingjue’s qi twisted together stretches his meridians to their absolute limits but it’s-

It’s-

Exquisite.

It feels like being remade. It feels like becoming someone else, someone who doesn’t ache at all with old injuries, someone who isn’t worn down to the bones with exhaustion and overwork. His lovers’ combined qi sings through him and back out again, a steady wash of the tide that takes away everything but pleasure and he wants to drown in it. With an effort he forces himself not to, to instead actually help Lan Xichen purify and circulate it rather than allow himself to be a passive conduit, and as he focuses on attempting to carry out his task without giving into the incandescent siren call of letting it drag him fully under, he barely even notices Nie Mingjue dropping more of his weight down onto him until they’re pressed together from hips to shoulders.

It feels right. Jin Guangyao wraps his free arm around Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulders and holds him as close as physically possible, but it only feels entirely right, it only feels like they’re finally close enough, with the man’s qi (entwined inexorably as it is with Lan Xichen’s) coursing under his skin.

And then Lan Xichen moves in time with the rhythm of their cultivation and Jin Guangyao nearly cries from the sheer relief of the intimacy of it making up for months — years — of wanting so desperately to be touched and held kindly. Some small rational part of his mind that has survived the onslaught of sensation reminds him that he’ll only feel worse after this is over, that having had it he’ll only want it even more, he’ll only get weaker, more pathetic when he has to leave this all behind again. There’s a reason he’s maintained distance, there’s a reason this was supposed to be purely medical when he felt there was no alternative but to agree to the arrangement, he’d had arguments and they were sound.

Nie Mingjue pulls back just enough to press his lips to his forehead instead of burying his face in the bolster and Jin Guangyao’s hair splayed across it; maybe missing this once it’s gone again will be worth it since it means he has it now.

Getting his hand properly wrapped around Nie Mingjue’s cock again is a bit harder when they’re so distracted and pressed together this closely, but he’s hardly going to ask for space. Lan Xichen helpfully pauses in his thrusting for just long enough for Jin Guangyao to get situated and then he’s back, inexorable and steady as a sunrise, and Jin Guangyao is doing his best to stroke and squeeze in time, and Nie Mingjue is an incoherent mess of, “Fuck yes!” and “A-Huan!” and “A-Yao!” until he goes still with a choked noise in the back of his throat and comes on Jin Guangyao’s hand and hips for the second time tonight. The majority of the qi they’ve been passing between each other coalesces naturally in Nie Mingjue’s core with more than enough for Jin Guangyao’s to feel filled to the brim, perhaps even more so than after he’d shared everything he had with Lan Xichen.

Jin Guangyao still doesn’t come when Nie Mingjue does, but Lan Xichen’s orgasm rocks through all three of them when his qi suddenly spikes with it two thrusts later, and Jin Guangyao, wound up as tightly as he is, comes untouched.

Surprisingly, it’s Nie Mingjue who finds the capacity for speech first. He presses a deliberate kiss to Jin Guangyao’s forehead and lingers, mouth still resting against his skin when he mutters a heartfelt, “Fucking hell that was good.”

‘Good’ feels like something of an understatement, to be quite honest, but Jin Guangyao is far too winded and thrumming with qi he has to find something to do with to argue about semantics. He attempts something like a very brief and probably not very effective meditation to try to work the qi into his core properly while Lan Xichen pulls out, gives Nie Mingjue a very quick perfunctory clean with a cloth (that Nie Mingjue presumably had left out for just that purpose) and helps him lie down, before joining them laid out flat on the mattress. They lay there for a few long moments in the companionable silence of breathing returning to normal, and the soft brush of skin- or silk-on-skin, and Jin Guangyao is very close to drowsing despite the influx of energy still coursing through his spiritual veins when he hears someone’s breath hitch, and someone else shift as if to sit up.

“Mingjue?” Lan Xichen asks, “Shh, what’s wrong? What is it?”

Jin Guangyao’s eyes snap open and he looks quickly at Nie Mingjue lying on his back between them; he’s covering both eyes with one hand but he can’t hide the tear tracks glistening on his temples and Jin Guangyao can’t remember the last time he moved so quickly as he curls onto his side to put his hand on Nie Mingjue’s lower dantian and check the flow of his purified qi.

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, sucks another sharp, hitching breath in, and lets Lan Xichen gently pry his hand away from his eyes so they can look at each other where Lan Xichen has leaned up on his elbow to study him anxiously.

His voice is thick and rasping when he replies, “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing.” Some of the tension leaves Jin Guangyao; he keeps his hand on Nie Mingjue’s belly but he stops prodding at his qi — which is of course perfectly fine — and just strokes his thumb back and forth against warm, soft skin and coarse hair still slightly tacky with sweat and, he’s assuming, come.

“Are you sure?” Lan Xichen murmurs, free hand pressed to Nie Mingjue’s cheek. Jin Guangyao watches Lan Xichen lean in for a soft sip of a kiss like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and he doesn’t devote any attention to examining why he truly isn’t jealous of the gesture at all, not even a little bit.

“I’m sure.”

Jin Guangyao curls closer to carefully rest his head on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder only to immediately find himself wrapped up in a tight embrace, Nie Mingjue’s arm looped securely around his waist to pull him close. (And maybe that’s why he’s not jealous, because after all of that how can he not be sure, at least for now, that if he wants to be kissed or held he doesn’t even have to ask, he can just… exist, and his sworn brothers will show him how much they want him? He’s sure it’s temporary confidence, but it’s heady while he has it.)

Nie Mingjue takes another shivering breath and Jin Guangyao hums sympathetically, a counterpoint to Lan Xichen’s soft tutting and the brush of his thumb against the outer corner of Mingjue’s eye to brush away a fresh tear.

Nie Mingjue whimpers, clearly overwhelmed, “It’s — I swear I’m fine. I feel fine- I feel good-“

It’s the emphasis that does it. Jin Guangyao’s unconsciously presses his hand more firmly over Nie Mingjue’s core and uses the leverage to prop himself up as well, dropping a kiss to Lan Xichen’s shoulder before he looks down at Nie Mingjue’s watery gaze to catch his eye.

“How loud is Baxia right now?”

Nie Mingjue’s chin wobbles and he shakes his head, which is answer enough.

Achieving dual cultivation with Lan Xichen had been… one of the best moments of Jin Guangyao’s life, honestly. Nothing will ever take that away from him. But this? This is what they did it for. As much as Jin Guangyao had thought his lovers had achieved dual cultivation last time they were all three together clearly they hadn’t quite reached it, because Nie Mingjue hadn’t seemed all that different after they were done. He’d been a little more relaxed, a bit more affectionate with Lan Xichen, but in the end he’d still just wandered off back to his quarters to sleep off his orgasm, not much different than every other time he’s withdrawn from them as soon as their business is over.

Now? Nie Mingjue is holding them both close, one on either side, and looking up at them like he’s really seeing them as he manages to say, “I can think so clearly-“ around the tight knot of emotion clearly choking him.

“Da-ge,” Lan Xichen murmurs, velvet-soft sympathy punctuated with a slow kiss to Nie Mingjue’s cheek.

“I didn’t think it would actually — but it’s working–”

Jin Guangyao smiles and Nie Mingjue runs his hand up his back, a smooth skating of his calloused palm along Jin Guangyao’s spine.

“Perhaps we should have all become Jiangs instead,” he muses, swirling the tip of his index finger in lazy circles around Nie Mingjue’s navel, so near to where his suddenly much more evenly-balanced core is spinning much faster than his caresses, “as we seem determined to attempt the impossible.”

Nie Mingjue grins — grins — at him, dimples and everything, and Jin Guangyao instinctively shies away from how much it makes him want. This will fade, he reminds himself sternly. The afterglow will only last so long. The effect of the dual cultivation is not permanent, not by a long shot. Nie Mingjue will grow to resent him again, he’ll remember why they're always at odds, he’ll forget that they could have this so Jin Guangyao shouldn’t even want it while he has it so as not to set himself up for further pain and disappointment —

“You should both stay in here tonight.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, why must Nie Mingjue ruin every single carefully laid plan?! Every single rational intention Jin Guangyao is attempting to shield himself with is abruptly thrown out the window without a care and honestly at this point he feels deserved in wondering if he can claim some sort of recompense for everything Nie Mingjue does to him.

Nie Mingjue’s grin morphs into a smirk when Lan Xichen makes some appropriately enthusiastic noise and ducks down to kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Nie Mingjue’s ear and what is he supposed to do, go back to his room alone while these two have a private night together? Absolutely not, that’s the whole reason he’s tangled up with them in bed now! He’d very much like to wipe that knowing smirk off Nie Mingjue’s face since it’s clear he’s not going to turn the request down when Lan Xichen is so obviously on board and they both know it; a deep-bordering-on-filthy kiss is a passable way to do that, at least.

Nie Mingjue returns the kiss for just long enough for Jin Guangyao to feel that he’s won and then he pulls back with visible effort, gaze locked on Jin Guangyao’s mouth as he says, “Wait, I have — I need to get something done before we get… distracted.”

Jin Guangyao raises an eyebrow at that and glances down to where Lan Xichen has paused, face currently level with Nie Mingjue’s stomach and his intention clearly to continue moving further down at the first indication that he’s alright to keep going.

“He was supposed to ask for that, er-ge,” Jin Guangyao reminds him, amused, and Lan Xichen’s returning smile is once again utterly unrepentant (and so unbelievably happy).

“I thought it was fairly obvious that he’d more than earned it.”

“Of course he has, but that’s not the point. Rules are rules, gege.”

Nie Mingjue clears his throat loudly and ruins his stern glare with a new smile tugging insistently at the corners of his mouth. “I have some work to do, so if we can table this discussion for later…?”

Lan Xichen heaves a sigh and pouts ever so slightly as he sits up to kneel beside them and begins combing out his hair with his fingers, a graceful detangling made unexpectedly erotic by the fact that he’s still completely naked and glistening ever-so-slightly with sweat where the warm light of the lanterns dotted around the room catch him just right.

“What is it you need to do then, da-ge?” he asks and somehow manages to convey that he’s doing Nie Mingjue an enormous favor by allowing him to do something that isn’t lying in bed and letting Lan Xichen suck his dick.

“I have, uh-” Nie Mingjue, staring openly at Lan Xichen, clears his throat and visibly forces himself to look up at Jin Guangyao instead with the air of a man who needs to do so to think straight, “I have reports — something’s wrong with the accounts? Zonghui just brought it to me today. I should look at it while I’m so…”

“Mm. A clear mind is best for that sort of thing,” Jin Guangyao acknowledges. He leans more of his weight on Nie Mingjue’s chest and brushes his fingertips through the kinked waves of the front of his hair, curly from the tight braids he’d been taking out when Jin Guangyao had arrived.

“Mhm.”

Despite his insistence, Nie Mingjue makes no immediate move to get up and get started, and Jin Guangyao certainly isn’t going to complain. He tucks a lock of hair further back and trails the back of his index finger against the now-dry tear track on Nie Mingjue’s temple, a little pale and flaky with salt. Jin Guangyao smiles, just a little, when Nie Mingjue turns into the touch and readjusts his arm around Jin Guangyao’s waist to settle in more comfortably.

“Mingjue.”

“Mhm… What?”

“Your reports?” Jin Guangyao smiles wider when Nie Mingjue sucks in a sharp breath and gives himself a quick shake, jostling Jin Guangyao in his grip before he sits up and carefully maneuvers Jin Guangyao off himself so he can roll to his feet.

“Right. I’m up.”

“That makes two of us,” Lan Xichen sighs with a glance down at his own lap, still pouting, and finally Jin Guangyao laughs outright, a true belly-laugh startled out of him by both Lan Xichen’s petulant innuendo and the sheer pleasure of feeling so comfortable.

Jin Guangyao affects a little pout himself and gets comfortable in the rumpled bedding before he stretches his arm out to brush a couple teasing fingertips against the top of Lan Xichen’s bare thigh, too far away from his unflagging erection to be of any help with it.

“Poor er-ge,” he tuts, “asked to stop when you’re only just getting started. And if da-ge is as… meticulous with his numbers as he used to be then you’ll be waiting for at least a shichen for him to find whatever’s gone wrong with his books, let alone fix it.”

“Hey!” Nie Mingjue pauses with his outer robe only just hooked over one arm and therefore doing absolutely nothing to cover him just yet. It’s a good look, in Jin Guangyao’s utterly unbiased opinion. “If you’re going to insult my perfectly acceptable accounting abilities then why don’t you come over here and show off by doing it in a fraction of the time I would take?”

Jin Guangyao’s breath catches in his chest, but he’s far from afraid that Nie Mingjue is irritated with him. He knows quite intimately what that sounds like, and this isn’t that. This is teasing, which is a marvel in and of itself, but it’s also inviting him into Nie Sect business. It’s inviting him to the sort of private Sect business that he used to handle on a daily basis, and that no one would ever allow someone they suspected of being an inter-Sect spy to see. Especially not someone who can remember everything he sees with the same accuracy as if he were still looking right at it hours, days, months later.

It’s the sort of golden opportunity to find another weakness for Jin Guangshan to exploit to leverage more pressure against the Nie Sect that Jin Guangyao is expected to find on these trips. It’s another thing that could possibly buy a hint of his father’s goodwill on his return to Lanling. Something that could ease his burdens, and isn’t that what his sworn brothers have vowed to do for him? He can ease Nie Mingjue of this small, momentary burden, and then allow his eldest sworn brother to be of (unknowing) use in bettering his situation in return.

He won’t. He’s honest enough with himself to acknowledge the curl of nausea in his stomach for what it is, considering it’s hardly the first time the thought of double-crossing Nie Mingjue and exploiting his weaknesses has left him feeling ill. He could do it, but he won’t.

Jin Guangyao slides out of bed with a sigh and steals the first robe he finds, one of Lan Xichen’s finely-woven, pure white underlayers, and drapes it imperiously around his shoulders despite the fact that it’s so thin it hardly counts as clothing at all on its own.

“Give it to me, then,” he says with his hand held out palm up towards Nie Mingjue who, to his credit, doesn’t allow Jin Guangyao to call his bluff. He finishes putting on his outer robe and belting it shut rather haphazardly before he turns to rummage through the things on his desk in the study through an open archway deeper into the quarters, and when he returns he slaps a thick folio — a few different ledgers tied together with a thin scrap of leather — into Jin Guangyao’s waiting palm.

There’s a look in his eyes that Jin Guangyao can’t quite decipher, but it feels… unlikely that they aren’t thinking along similar lines, at least in terms of Jin Guangyao so unexpectedly fulfilling one of his old duties, and feeling entirely normal and unemotional about doing so.

“There are new income streams since you last saw the books,” Nie Mingjue tells him, fingers lingering on the folio. “Sit with me and we’ll go over them together.”

The pair of them have sat up together plenty of times before, of course, going over all manner of business for the Sect. Even not having done it in years, even thinking it would never happen again, Jin Guangyao still knows the routine of it down to his bones. But of course, leave it to Nie Mingjue to take what Jin Guangyao remembers and cheerfully turn it on its head without any prior warning whatsoever — he definitely never conducted Nie Sect business from the comfort of Nie Mingjue’s lap (no matter how much he might have liked to once upon a time), and a naked Lan Xichen going about the business of oiling and combing his hair properly without a shred of shame about the indecency of it is a distraction he’s certainly never had to contend with while worrying about unaccounted for increases in the cost of ore mining for Qinghe’s bladesmiths where they shouldn’t be.

By the sixth time his mind wanders away from the comfortable, even march of facts and figures to stare after Lan Xichen’s comings and goings, Nie Mingjue sits up straighter and says, through chuckling that vibrates against Jin Guangyao’s back, “You know you’re really not helping us finish this any faster, A-Huan.”

“I am not attempting to,” he replies as he at least returns to bed, though when he gets there he lounges back on his hands in a brazen display of every inch of all the long lines of him which is really just as distracting as everything else he’s done in the last half hour. “Waiting can be just as enjoyable as instant gratification, I am simply exploring my options.”

Jin Guangyao twists enough to look up at Nie Mingjue (and marvels, in the back of his mind, that it doesn’t hurt his hips or his back one bit to do so) and snickers at the confusion on his face.

“Oh dear, da-ge. I believe you should have asked me for his mouth first after all.”

“You’re both being weird again,” Nie Mingjue huffs, “just say what you mean and stop playing coy.”

Jin Guangyao doesn’t take the bait, he simply sniffs and returns to poring over the expenditure records laid out on the table; if Lan Xichen wants to explain the concept of edging then more power to him, but Jin Guangyao suspects he’s planning to just show Nie Mingjue himself.

He finds the discrepancy amongst the records of the last horse market in just over half a shichen. They return to bed and spend much longer than that letting Lan Xichen ‘punish’ them for making him wait.

|NEXT|

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #The Waves are Rising and Rising #Jin Guangyao #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen #Also don't be alarmed (be very alarmed) when you remember we're only on chapter 12 out of 17

[venusiancharisma]

I wanted to do a fun little post for Chart Ruler & Deities that you can work with (upon research of your own & if you feel a benevolent, divine connection) in order to amplify your chart energy & work in harmony with how you’re presenting yourself to the World. “Falling into your natural rhythm” is what I call it

Chart Ruler: Venus

If your Ascendant is Libra or Taurus, or you have a significant stellium in the 2nd or 7th house/in Libra or Taurus:

Your chart ruler, Venus, you can work with these Deities to enhance & harmonize the qualities & themes of your Ascendant (or Stellium). Venus is associated with love, beauty, harmony, & artistic expression. These Deities from various mythologies are associated with Venus-like qualities:

Aphrodite (Venus is Greek Mythology) - She is the Greek Goddess of love, beauty, & desire. She is known for enhancing beauty, romantic qualities, & the ability to inspire passion & creativity. Working with Aphrodite can help you connect to artistic, sensual, & harmonious aspects in your chart/personality.

Freya (Norse Mythology) - Norse Goddess of love, beauty, fertility, & magic. She is a patron of artists & poets & is known for her sensual & independent nature. Connecting with Freya’s energy can enhance your ability to express yourself creatively & forge strong, balanced relationships.

Lakshmi (Hindu Mythology) - Goddess of beauty, abundance, & prosperity. She is often related to radiating light & blessings, bringing harmony & wealth to those who honor her. (This should become a ritual if you choose to use Lakshmi) Working with Lakshmi can help you cultivate a sense of inner & outer beauty, as well as attract abundance into your life.

Ishtar (Mesopotamian Mythology) - Ishtar is an ancient Meso Goddess associated with love, beauty, fertility, & sexuality. She embodies passion, sensuality, & the power of transformation. Connecting with Ishtar’s energy can inspire you to embrace your desires & express your creative talents.

Oshun (Yoruba Mythology) - this is the Goddess of love, beauty, fertility, dance, & sweet waters. Working with Oshun’s energy can help you tap into your artistic flow & enhance your relationships.

(Disclaimer: don’t work with a Deity before blessing & protecting yourself.)

You can establish an Alter, perform rituals, meditate, or simply invoke (master level to provoke) this will eventually show itself in your life by enhancing the positive qualities w/ a Venus ruled chart!

#astrology #astrologist #aphrodite #Freya #zodiacsigns #Venus #deities #goddess lakshmi #Libra #taurus #2nd house #7th house #astro notes #greek mythology #mythology

[jiubilant]

What do you think the Falmer do to make special treats for food? Like desserts and such. Relatedly, what sorts of holidays do you think Falmer observe/invented, if any? What does a typical Falmer party sound like? Do they use more tactile decorations like furs and soft seating, since visuals aren’t important?

on food:

sugar as we know it is not part of the falmeri diet but many clans do cultivate sweetish roots and tubers with which to flavor their food; chaurus "honey," which is thicker and more tart than bees' honey, is also used to flavor spit-roasted fish and root mashes. food hunted or foraged during an aboveground foray would be considered a rare treat by a deep-dwelling clan. berries are especially prized for their flavor and usually eaten plain or used in sauce or jam

falmeri "finger-gardens" are comprised of large underground caverns in which long roots ready for harvest hang down from the cavern ceiling. they're called finger-gardens because the roots trail along the harvesters' shoulders like fingers

on holidays:

because the falmer are a subterranean people, they pay less heed than overlanders to the changing of the seasons and the passage of years. falmeri feast days are usually dedicated to coming-of-age milestones such as the growth of a child's milk teeth or the child's first naming—on these occasions the whole clan sets aside a day to celebrate the child

other occasions that are celebrated are fruitful (rootful?) harvests and certain propitious signs divined by the clan's elders. these religious observances are marked by feasting and song (less vocal and more the humming, whistling, and tapping that usually comprise falmeri speech) and, rather than having a fixed calendar date, are decided upon spontaneously by the elders of the clan

on fashion:

falmeri textiles are usually woven of spidersilk. clothes are undyed and richly-textured—the finest falmeri clothes and leathers are adorned with elaborate knotwork, beading, and stippling in order to make them as pleasant to touch as possible. soft furs are also prized

#ask #falmer

[altairtalisman]

Emmet's Bio

"All these lives, her trust... do none of these mean anything to you?!"

More details about Emmet is under the cut

Name: Emmet Ilagorta

Age: 833

Height: 181 cm

Birthday: 8 Secuna 1032 (Khra'ia)

Orientation: Cisgender Heterosexual Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Species: Dullahan (formerly elf)

Title: The First Dullahan

Country of Birth: Balwirk

Likes: Ice cream, beef pot pie, soda, The Third Dullahan

Dislikes: The Eighth Dullahan, the Unois Empire, racism, gambling

Hobbies: Carpentry, cooking

Personality: Noble, just, and polite, he adheres to a high moral code and does his best to ensure that everyone is treated equally regardless of race, even his enemies (except The Eighth Dullahan)

Style: Wears a long vest that has a chain fastener with the Ilagorta family symbol embossed on them, loose pants and a pair of navy blue boots along with a pair of gloves to hide his title scar. Prefers neutral colours to complement his hair, also wears a Hirdiellese mask with a four-pointed wine-coloured star painted in the middle of the forehead

Status: Dead (DOD: 4 Primna 1865)

Abilities: Shadow manipulation, proficient with ice magic

Background: As the only child born to the noble Ilagorta house, Emmet was raised to be in charge of his family affairs by the time he was 60 years old and was groomed to be one of Balwirk's next generation of leaders. When he turned 103, he was acquainted with the Domanra family and developed a relationship with Eva, their second daughter and made plans to marry after they turned 150

In 1149, there were whispers of a radical group of elven researchers who sought ways to preserve life even after their heads had been severed from the neck. As a leader, he was expected to investigate deeper into this issue. During his investigation, he received an anonymous tip to investigate the Sofénaiths which he followed through. Before he could properly investigate, he was knocked out and woke up to the sight of his body, his neck severed and with a bright cyan flame blazing out from it

The researchers then cheered at their first success, carving a 1 onto the back of his left hand all while covered in blood and surrounded by dead bodies, much to Emmet's horror. While restraining him with magic-draining chains, the Sofénaiths explained that they were trying to find a way to cure both their daughter and Gerald's illnesses, and they were truly apologetic that a high ranking noble would be part of their experiment

Leaving him trapped in a room, he could only spend his days attempting to free himself from his chains. Many years later, Gerald joined him, threatening to kill his own father the moment he escaped. The first thing Emmet noticed was the tree branches that came out of the Fourth Dullahan's neck, green flames adorning the tips. Emmet attempted to calm his new 'roommate' down, but was attacked by Gerald and in the process, Gerald had managed to tear his skin off using nothing but his teeth. In response, Emmet tackled him and thus marked a period of uncomfortable silence until Brianna and Cain joined

He then learnt that Brianna was their newest survivor, which angered Emmet as it meant that countless of lives were lost in order for the survivor count to reach nine. He had also learnt from Brianna that both Charles and Eva went missing shortly after him, which made him feel responsible for their unknown fates. Eventually, they were able to escape thanks to Addyson stunning the researchers with her sound magic. He was then reunited with Charles and Eva, who had both survived the experiment

After they killed the researchers and ended the experiment, they kept the notes and studied it despite their distaste towards the entire act. Aileen was able to identify the flaws in the research notes, which cultivated in the alarmingly high mortality rate. Together with Eva, Hywel as well as Ilias' existing research on arcane magic, the trio was able to create a ritual that tapped onto Ratein's ley lines which made it safer to turn someone into a dullahan. Afterwards, they destroyed the original notes such that no one could ever attempt the cruel methods used to create dullahans again

Brianna and Danielle then pointed out that the very notion of turning someone into a dullahan was unthinkable, and sought to get an unanimous consensus that under no circumstances should the 16 turn others into dullahans unless the individual in question was prepared to bear the curse of being one. Emmet wholeheartedly agreed, not wanting such an incident to ever happen again

While his family welcomed both back with open arms despite being dullahans, public opinion towards them were unfavourable and they were forcibly stripped of their nobility. He tried to convince the other noble dullahans to appeal to the public, but their appeals fell short. He was also surprised to learn that the Domanras started to oppose his relationship with Eva due to their dullahan status, but didn't publicly disown her likely to present themselves as family-oriented despite the 'unfortunate circumstances'. They decided to go ahead with the marriage and were considered officially married on 24 Secuna 1206

For the next few centuries, Emmet spent his time running a soup kitchen for the socially disadvantaged in Balwirk, regardless of species. He was very aware that his wife was turning numerous beings into dullahans, but said nothing about it as he trusted that she did it for sympathetic reasons. However, when news of dead dullahans started to surface, he had to question Eva to ease his own worries. When she denied knowledge of the killings, he started to wonder if Gerald, who had a strange fixation towards his tree, had something to do with the killings. At one point, Eva shared that while captured, Berine was unusually firm in insisting that Cain had something to do with the experiment. While troubled, Emmet decided that it was best to chalk things up to coincidence and focus on helping the Balwirkians

In 1694, news of Hywel's mysterious death reached Balwirk followed by Finbar's death in 1701 and Dylan's in 1702. This troubled him as it was starting to resemble a hunt for all the original dullahans, but didn't have time to process his thoughts properly as the Balwirkian War raged. During the ambush on 18 Rexim 1706, he caught Gerald siding with the Unois Empire and confronted him about it. While he merely wanted to immobilise Gerald with his ice magic, the Fourth Dullahan was determined to kill him by all means necessary, forcing him to fight him to the death and coming out victorious. Before freezing and shattering Gerald into many pieces, the latter laughed and said that he regretted not tearing Emmet's entire skin off his face. He added that Emmet was a fool for failing to realise that Cain was the reason why the Unios Empire became what it was then

Emmet decided to apologise to Gerald for everything he had to endure ever since he developed the fatal Respiratree Disease and shattered Gerald. With the war lost, all he could do was to retreat and hope that majority of his fellow dullahans were still alive. He then fell through a teleportation portal that he recognised to be Hugh's, promptly dropping him into a room where Danielle and a fatally wounded Eva were. Using her telepathy magic, she informed him that Cain was the reason why the empire was created, supporting Gerald's final words. Danielle then explained that due to the wounds Eva suffered, yon was unable to heal her and she didn't have long to live. Emmet understood and decided to stay by her side until she passed four days later in 22 Rexim 1706

He had informed the Domanras about Eva's death but was shocked to discover that they had disowned her the moment their marriage was officialised. With no one to turn to given that his own family died in the war, he could only continue with the soup kitchen especially since West Balwirk saw an influx of East Balwirkians. In late Secuna 1758, he received news that the Domanras had been murdered, with a letter addressed to him insisting to not look further into their deaths and accept it. Emmet, fed up with all of the secrets both friend and foe seem to have, decided to organise peaceful protests against the Unois Empire in hopes that Balwirk will unite once more

In 1764, Giselle had approached him and tried to get him to spearhead violent protests, something which he was reluctant to after recalling the Balwirkian War. He only caved in eight years later in 1772 after Addyson informed him saying that due to his popularity and a hidden weapon stash that Finbar hid, many Balwirkians regardless of side were extremely willing to take violent means to get their point across

Due to the high number of rebels, Emmet's soup kitchen was eventually unable to accommodate full scale meetings and had to move into the orphanage in 1838. Able to plan in a relatively safe location, the rebels were able to unite East Balwirk, Crex, Lindow and Nantrax together over the years but still weren't enough to go against the empire's military. The turning point came in Dia'ae 1863 when Noah suddenly returned to Relnivon in his true form and caused mass destruction within the country

Due to the sight of a free wyvern openly rebelling against the empire, the dragon captives followed suit, which started a domino effect that led to the Relnivians to openly rebel against the empire. West Balwirk had also seized this window of opportunity to launch another rebellion against the empire, forcing the Unois Empire to divide its resources against three fronts. In order to advance, Emmet, Giselle, and Addyson entered Relnivon to provide the Relnivians with support, which meant working alongside Noah

After Giselle's death in 31 Dia'ae 1864, Emmet worked harder to organise more rebellions so as to further dismantle the empire's power, which resulted in him getting drunk on more than one occasion to take the edge of. This led to the accidental reveal that Gerald had also betrayed the dullahans during the Balwirkian War, though the only being who knew about it was Berine, who pretended that he said nothing about the topic

On 4 Primna 1865, he and Addyson had managed to corner Cain, who was prepared to kill them both at the cost of his own life. Despite their best efforts, Cain proved to be a competent fighter despite his inability to use magic. Emmet, who wanted to capture Cain alive so that he could face his misdeeds, attempted to freeze him the same way he did to Gerald. However, in the midst of freezing Cain, the latter had detonated a bomb that would kill everyone within range. Realising that Cain had never planned to leave the war alive, he decided to freeze himself along with the Eighth Dullahan in an ice prison in hopes of containing the explosion...

Former Appearance:

#Hallowed Hotel #Emmet Ilagorta #tw death #tw eyestrain #tw scars #tw war mention #Altair draws

[chris-continues]

uhhh hi! so gonna indulge you with livio rq, but dates with livio? (any au of your choice, go nuts)

Dates w/ Livio

He’s the lead singer <3

NOTES: so because I’m biased I’m doing band au Livio (he has been on my brain a lot lately) thank you for the ask! Also I made the header on my own lmao, I couldn’t find any exactly how I wanted. If you note the pictures there are HC’s for each one hehe <3

TAGS: @linkdedruid @macncherries @captaintweet @h4venpha @millionsvash @beanibon @vashfantasy

-a date w/ Livio most of the time means a chill hangout, preferably inside. He’s a pretty introverted guy and wants to have you to himself for a bit! The band is nice but he does like alone time with you and your shared other partners.

-I think he had the idea of a band and shyly spoke up with lyric ideas- of which he jots down in a cute mini notebook (he uses his notes app when he’s in a rush)

-in said notebook, he may or may not have done the little heart with both of your guys’ initials. Seeing your names so close makes his chest tighten and his mouth dry. Razlo teases him about this, and when Wolfwood discovers it he just simply cackles at how enamored Livio is with you.

-shyly pressing closer to you, until you’re side to side. You share headphones while he tries to compose lyrics with the sample music sent to him, tapping his thigh in thought. Ever since the band started, he’s been studying what works with what- he’s got a sense for it, practiced and cultivated.

-If you have a creative outlet yourself, dates with him where you’re body doubling and doing your own thing is absolutely amazing <3

-although if you ever want to go out, he isn’t opposed. Although he will prefer somewhere quiet- cafe dates are something you both enjoy. Shyly sharing pastries- despite his edgy appearance he’s so very soft.

-I think one thing he’d like is doing those cute couple pottery classes <3 he’s got large hands but they’re oh so gentle- making tableware for you. Later, if you’d like, he’d love to have you over at his place or go over to yours and cook with you, putting your new creations to use.

-The tableware is cute, the rim of the bowl is a bit wobbly but there are small cute designs with a lot of care put into it, or a mug, or a plate… (this becomes a new favorite date idea)

-that evolves into a cooking date^^, sometimes you just skip the pottery and cook though. Livio does order takeout from time to time, however to ensure Nico didn’t end up living off of pizza pockets and frozen garlic bread (call it an Italian special, if you will) he had to learn to cook. Which he does pretty well >:)

-a usual: pasta is something simple. He likes pesto with his pasta, but it’s fine if you don’t! Whatever you like, he will do anything to please you. He loves cooking with you, however on days where he’s noticed you look a little tired or your week has been rough (or if he just plain wants to treat you) he will suggest you sit down while he takes care of dinner.

-some dates, you end with dessert! Sometimes, he’ll make something. A personal favorite you both like is mini chocolate chip pie cookies in a ramekin with ice cream <3

-he often wears jewelry he gets from Nico, which if you’d like to wear some of his pieces he most definitely isn’t opposed to it. On some dates, you’ll thrift and he’ll shyly see something he likes for you, double check with Nico, etc. he has your sizes for clothes somewhere in his notes app <3

-overall, a date with Livio is a comforting, healing experience and never fails to disappoint. He’s so soft and gentle that he’s never unpleasant or tiring, and always cares for you and your needs- whether it be supporting your creative efforts, gifting you something small, or cooking with him/him cooking for you, it’s absolutely wonderful.

#livio #trigun #trigun stampede #chris writes #band au #Trigun band au #band au livio #livio the double fang #tristamp #livio x you #livio x reader

[karahalloway]

Mission:Cordonia - Hard Drive

Fandom: TRR x Mission: Impossible II

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series: Mission: Cordonia

Synopsis: Drake drives after Harper and things get wild, in more ways than one...

Word count: 3,700

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, road rage, all kinds of dangerous driving do not try this at home)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I apparently had too much fun writing Game of Thieves, so after I finished it, my mind decided that it would be great idea to create a follow-up exploring the car-chase scene from Drake's POV. So, here we are! There will probably be two more parts after this.

A/N2: The clip (for anyone who hasn't seen the movie, or doesn't remember) is below. Enjoy!

Hard Drive

"Dammit..." I cuss under my breath as she drives off.

As asset recruitment went, that had crashed and burned like the Hindenburg.

Not that I strictly know why I need to recruit her in the first place.

Apart from the very clear directive I received in my mission brief.

...you may select any two team members, but it is essential that the third team member be Harper Gale. She is a civilian, and a highly capable professional thief. You have forty-eight hours to recruit Miss Gale and meet me in Stormholt to receive your assignment...

In and of itself, such an instruction — while rare — isn't that left field. Because even though IMF prefers to operate in the shadows, there are times when the mission parameters call for third-party assists. To gain access. To throw off suspicion. To provide specialist expertise.

So, over the years, I've found myself teaming up with all manner of civilians — from world-renowned scientists, through morally shady politicians, all the way down to your entry-level gang-banger in order  to get a mission over the line.

But Gale isn't any of those things. She's a common thief. Admittedly a drop-dead gorgeous and bitingly sassy thief who's quick on her feet... but a common thief nevertheless. And those are a dime a dozen. In both IMF, and the underworld.

So, that doesn't explain why The Secretary has gone to such pains to single her out as a mission-critical part of this assignment.

Which means that he obviously knows something I don't.

But I'm not gonna find out what by standing on the Beaumonts' drive like a moron.

"Hey, Pete," I call, turning back around. "One more for you."

The valet manager deftly catches the token that I toss to him. "Right away, Mr Dallas."

"Thanks," I acknowledge as I pull out my phone.

One of the upsides of having had to pretend to be the Beaumonts' external security consultant over the past couple of days is that I'm now on a first name basis with most of the staff.

Which definitely pays dividends when you need something done quick.

Like I do now.

Unlocking the encrypted device while Pete radios through for my ride, I tap on the tracking app and enter the number that I pulled off her phone while waiting for her to crack the safe.

Because somehow, I'd known I'll end up in this exact situation.

After a few moments' calibration, the software throws up a map with a flashing red dot in the centre.

I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. You can run, but you can't hide, girl...

"Your vehicle, Mr Dallas," advises the valet, pulling up in front of me.

"Perfect timing," I grin, pulling my wallet out to extract some notes to stuff into his breast pocket as he exits the car.

"Oh, th-thank you, sir," he stammers, clearly unaccustomed to receiving a healthy tip for his services.

"You're welcome," I nod, getting behind the wheel of the Porsche 918 Spyder.

Besides the fact that the average Joes manning these kinds of events made fuck all money while the guests drank champagne costing several grand a pop, it always paid to cultivate goodwill with the staff. Not just from a common decency point of view, but also because you never know when you’re gonna need their eyes and ears.

So, parting with a couple hundred Euros, or a favour, in exchange for potentially priceless intel down the line is always a fair trade in my book.

"Have a wonderful evening!" enthuses the still star-struck valet as he closes the driver's side door 'round.

"Yeah. We'll see about that," I mutter under my breath as I slot my phone into the cup holder at the top of the centre console.

The evening hasn't exactly gone to plan so far...

But, as The Secretary likes to say, this was Mission: Impossible, not Mission: Difficult.

Which means that even though Gale would probably like nothing more than to shoot me on sight, I have to go after her. And somehow convince her to change her mind.

Otherwise, I'm gonna be up shit creek with this mission...

...and with The Secretary.

And neither of those things is something I'm particularly keen on letting happen. Now, or ever.

So, pressing my foot down, I throw the car into drive and take off with a throaty roar as the naturally aspirated 4.6-liter V-8 kicks the 608 horses under the hood to life.

And, despite the height of the stakes, I feel a grin spread over my face.

Fuck, this car's something else!

Thanks to the less-than routine nature of my work, I frequently find myself behind a wheel. Planes, trains, automobiles — I've driven them all. But I can still count on one hand the machines that have simply taken my breath away.

And the 918 is one of them.

Because despite the fact that it doesn't come with the covetous price tag of a Koenigsegg, or the iconic lines of a Ferrari, the 918 is still a work of art. Not only does it go like shit off a shovel, but it also handles like a dream. Which means you're not crapping yourself every time a high-speed corner comes around.

And for these unlit, backcountry roads that I'm about to drive, that is critical.

Reaching the end of the gravel-lined drive, I spin the car out onto the main road and open up the throttle.

Gale is already a good few miles ahead of me, and — based on the way she hightailed it off the estate earlier — has no intention of slowing down. So, I'm gonna have to step on it if I want to keep pace with her.

As even though I have a lock on her carrier signal, her phone could be a burner — she could decide to turn it off, trash it, or leave it in a dumpster somewhere. And I'm up against the clock, so I don't have time to play hide-and-seek across the width of the continent with her.

Probably shouldn't've told her about the alarm...

But, hindsight's always 20-20.

Not that that necessarily would've changed my decision.

Because despite the fact that I need her professional skill set, I couldn't let her swindle the Duke out of his priceless heirloom. For one, it had merely been convenient bait. And for another, next week's auction is all that stood between the Beaumonts and bankruptcy.

And while I may operate in the shadows, I'm not a complete ass.

Plus, I'd wanted to be up front with her. From the very start.

Because nothing sinks a team like secrets and bad blood. And I'd much rather deal with any potential fallout now, before the start of the actual mission, than smack, bang in the middle of it when a lack of trust has the potential to claim actual lives.

And — if I'm being honest with myself — I kinda like the chase. It makes the eventual win taste that much sweeter.

Especially with a woman like Gale.

I swallow an inadvertent groan as my mind falls back to the feel of her pressed up against me in the tub, her eyes flashing with defiance, and a hint of—

I shake my head. Focus, Walker.

But the Beaumonts' unexpected interruption had been worth it. Because it'd convinced me that despite her civilian status, she has exactly the right combination of brains and balls needed to not only stay alive, but actually be an asset on this mission.

But, I don't have her yet. And if I'm gonna finish reeling her her, timing will be key.

So, as I spot a pair of Mercedes tail lights in the darkness, I ease off the gas.

Because her emotions are already running high and I don't want to spook her further by making her think that she's being tailed.

Especially not on these blind-spot riddled roads, in the middle of the night, where one moment of inattention could easily become your last.

And what I definitely don't need right now is my mark ending up in the ER — or worse, the morgue — because I let the heat of the moment get the better of me.

Best that I just hang back, let the dust settle, and re-engage upon arrival at our destination. When she's hopefully calmer.

Key word — hopefully.

Because let's face it. I'd be pretty pissed off too if some asshole'd fucked me out of a six-figure payday.

So, I can't exactly blame her for her explosive reaction.

But, unfortunately for her, there's a lot more at stake here than a jewellery heist gone wrong. Like stopping an IMF agent-turned-rogue operative from unleashing a virus so deadly that it makes Ebola look like a common cold.

Better pray she's got a conscience...

Rounding the bend, we come upon the lights of the town of Ramsford.

But, despite the fact that we're entering an urban environment, Gale blows past the 50 km/h speed limit sign like it doesn't exist.

"Christ, girl..." I grumble under my breath.

And even though I told myself mere minutes ago that I was gonna hang back and give her space, as I see her whip the roadster 'round a narrow corner at breakneck speed, I find myself throwing my original plan out the window as I press pedal to the metal to keep pace with her.

Because while I don't want to lose her, I also know that engaging in a midnight drag race through the streets Ramsford's only gonna result in one thing — the cops coming out of the woodworks to breathe down our neck, and Gale even more pissed off at me than she is already.

So, I need a Plan B.

Skimming my thumb over the controls on the steering wheel, I pull up her number and hit dial...

...and pray that I can talk some sense into her.

The ring of the pending call echoes out from the Spyder's infotainment system once... twice... thrice...

She finally picks up after the fifth ring. "Hello...?"

"Would it kill you to slow down?" I ask dryly.

I see her stiffen as her gaze flies up to the rear view mirror in disbelief.

I flash my headlights at her in response.

"How the hell did you get this number?" she demands as she manages to find her voice again.

"You got your tricks, I got mine," I tell her simply, easing up on the gas slightly as I pull up behind her.

"Yeah, you're a regular David Copperfield," she snarks down the line.

"I prefer Darren Brown, personally..."

"Hmm..." she purrs. "Then you're really gonna love this trick."

The call goes dead.

I shake my head with a scoff. 15-Love to Gale.

But the match ain't won yet. And I'm not backing off that easy.

So, hitting redial on her number, I wait for the call to reconnect...

...but all I get is radio silence.

"You wanna play it like that, huh?" I say under my breath as I swing the Spyder out into the oncoming lane.

Luckily, at this hour, the roads are deserted. But that doesn't means that they're gonna stay that way for long. Which means the time for games is up.

Opening up the throttle, I force my car up alongside hers. Raising my voice so that'll carry over the roar of the engines, I shout, "Pull over and listen to me, will ya? Just listen!"

"Yeah!" she scoffs in reply. "'Cause that worked out so well for me last time!"

"You walked away, remember?" I remind her. "Can't guarantee that'll be the case next time 'round."

Her gaze snaps defiantly to mine. "Is that a threat?"

"It's simple maths!" I tell her. "You can't evade the law forever! Especially not with a Red Notice hanging over you. But if you help me, I can make all that go away."

"Go aw—?" Her eyes suddenly widen. "Holy shit! You're a spy!"

I answer her with a self-deprecating shrug. It paid the bills.

She recollects herself to throw me a sly look. "Prove it!"

Without warning, she rams her Mercedes into me.

"Jesus fuck!" I cuss as the Sypder lurches to the side from the impact, it's rims scraping the curb.

Flipping me the bird, Gale punches the gas to dive back in front of me, whipping her car 'round a tight bend.

Spitting profanities under my breath, I yank the Spyder back onto the road.

She wants to play rough? I'll play rough.

Throwing the engine over to sport mode, I reach for the seatbelt over my shoulder and click it into place as I throw the car after her, the rev counter on the dash going mental as the engine doubles down.

And despite the adrenaline-fuelled chase, I can't help but grin.

This girl's definitely something else...

And she's sure as hell determined to make me work for it. Or — at the very least — give me hell for the way I screwed her over back at the Beaumonts.

Either way, she's got my blood pumping, and she knows it.

Which makes me even more determined to catch her.

We hit a round-about, and Gale looks like she's going straight over...

...but at the last second, she slams her car hard to the left to take the third exit instead, tires smoking as they battle for traction on the cobblestones.

"Shit," I cuss, twisting the wheel hard over to keep pace with her, the Porsche's Pirellis screeching in protest.

Exiting the roundabout, the road in front of us cuts suddenly to the left. Slamming on the breaks, Gale skids her Mercedes 'round the bend, the force of the manoeuvre kicking the roadster's tail out. Very narrowly missing a lamppost, she manages to right the car at the last second to barrel it down the start of a tight switch-back that led to the centuries-old bridge on the edge of the town.

"Sweet fucking Jesus, girl..." I gripe under my breath as I speed after her.

There's being cocky. And then there's being reckless. And the way she's driving, she's definitely tempting fate. Because there's only so many times you can luck out before your luck actually runs out.

Which means I have to figure out a way to stop her before she runs herself off the road.

Depressing the gas pedal again, I search for an opening that I can use to dive in front of her and force her to slow down. But she seems to anticipate my plan, and closes off the gap before I'm able to make use of it.

Grabbing the e-break, I rip it upwards, forcing the Spyder’s tail out as I skid the car 'round her, looking for a gap on the other side.

She rewards me for my efforts by ramming into me again, nearly sending me into the flimsy metal railing that lined the edge of the asphalt.

I feel my jaw tighten at her antics.

First time? Kinda funny. Second time, not so much.

Especially since there were only a grand total of 918 Spyders ever made, and I damn sure don’t want to be responsible for taking one out of commission.

So, I make the reluctant decision to back off again, biding my time until the road opened back up.

We hit the bottom of the switchback, engines blaring and tailpipes sweating, and she immediately punches it towards the old stone bridge that spans the Rams river.

"Better luck next time, Walker!" she calls over her shoulder.

But my attention isn't focused on her. "Watch the road, girl..."

She whips her head around at the last second to clock the rickety Fiat that had just pulled out from behind the blind corner, straight into her path.

Instinctively knowing that she isn’t gonna avoid a collision, she ditches the breaks to try and swerve the Mercedes 'round the hazard instead.

But her momentum is too great, she's forgotten to account for the oversteer...

...and she descends into a tailspin.

"Fuck..." I curse under my breath.

All rational thought evaporates as my adrenaline spikes and my faculties give over to raw instinct.

I gotta save her.

Barrelling the Spyder after her without any semblance of a plan, the only thing I'm focused on is stopping her before she hits the bridge... or worse, the river.

The nose of her car whips past me, and I wrench the wheel to the right, clipping her bumper.

The off-the-cuff interference is enough to change the course of her trajectory, helping prevent her getting wrapped around the stone pillar at the foot of the bridge.

But the Merc's still freewheeling out of control.

Jerking the Porsche 'round, I slam it into the side of her car, trying to use the weight of my vehicle as a ballast to counteract her momentum.

But we're still going too fast.

We go flying down the narrow concourse of the bridge, like a pair of buzzards locked together in a high-stakes dance, speeding towards our fate.

The force of the impact whips her head around. She catches my gaze, and despite the low light, I see the sheer terror in her hazel-green irises...

...and the world around me condenses down to a single point.

Her.

The bridge, the cars, the entirety of my being fades to inconsequence in the face of the nakedness of her vulnerability.

I'm barely even conscious of my actions as I battle against the inevitable, trying to keep a lock on the steering wheel that’s threatening to jump out of my hands, feathering the throttle with a mix of reflex and dogged defiance in an attempt to alter the course of our trajectory, to slow us down, to narrowly avert disaster.

Because even though I know in the furthest recesses of my mind that I'm engaged in a fool's errand, like Icarus, I'm too much of a stubborn ass to back down.

Especially when I know that I'm literally the only thing standing between her and death.

The Merc hits the curb and slams into the low stone wall lining the side of the bridge. The centuries-old mortar crumbles under the weight of the impact, falling away into the ravine below.

But — whether by the grace of God or blind, dumb luck — the red roadster somehow catches itself on the mess of granite and skids to a stop, suspended over the edge of the bridge.

Only... there's no Gale in the driver's seat.

Throwing the seatbelt off, I leap across the seats into the Merc, where I find the driver's side door flapping over the darkness with Gale hanging on for dear life.

"Ahhh...!" she squeaks, scrambling for non-existent purchase as she tries to maintain her hold on the elbow rest...

...but I can see she's slipping.

Knowing that we're fast running out of time, I throw myself forward, reaching for her.

"Harper!"

Her eyes snap to mine, and I can see the fear and desperation welling within.

Latching onto the top of the door with one hand to anchor myself into place, I snap a hold around her wrist with the other and heave her back up.

"I got you, girl..."

Clearing the side of the car, her free hand shoots out to tangle into the material of my shirt as I pull her toward me. She crashes against me with a sob of relief, knocking me backwards into the seat.

She lands on top of me, trembling, and I wrap my arm around her, holding her to me, heart hammering as I stare up into the night sky, trying to catch my breath.

Her quaking form sink against me as she buries her face in the crook of my neck, fingers still latched onto my shirt, our hands still entwined.

Sweet Jesus, that was close...

"You okay?" I ask, running my hand over the arch of her back questioningly.

"Yeah," she nods shakily, not quite meeting my eye as she quickly wipes the wetness from her cheeks.

"Hey," I say softly, reaching up to cup her face in my palm. "It's—"

"I feel like such an idiot..." she grumbles.

"Well, you're the one who decided to Mad Max it through Ramsford like a—"

"Shut up!" she reproaches, smacking me on the chest.

"Christ! I save your ass twice and this is the thanks I get?"

"I didn't need saving!" she counters, laying into me again.

"The evidence points to the cont— Ow!"

"The only reason I'm in this mess at all is because of you!" she cuts in heatedly. "If you hadn't shown up tonight I'd—"

"Probably got caught anyway..."

"Fuck you!" she shouts, giving me a shove. "And then instead of taking 'no' for an answer, you decide to chase after me like some—"

"For fuck’s sake..." I grit, grabbing her by the back of the neck to yank her towards me.

Her eyes widen, but before she has a chance to protest, our mouthes have crashed together like cars in a freeway pile-up — violently, hazardously — the unexpected brush with death and the heart-thumping chase beforehand having already kicked both our pulses into overdrive.

And as our lips meet, that pent-up tension explodes like a flash-bang.

Her teeth scrape against mine with an intensity that's almost feral, even as I feel her body press into mine, her nails raking over my shirt.

My tongue thrusts past hers forcefully to claim the coveted warmth of her mouth, coaxing a soft moan from her as my free hand glides down her body to clamp onto her backside, pulling her to me hungrily as I throw every rule I'd ever been taught out the window.

Never get involved.

Well, too late for that.

Because I'm sure as shit involved now.

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fangirling12566 @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890 @drake-walker-appreciation

Picture credits:

Drake - Porsche - Harper

#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #game of thieves #hard drive #mission: impossible #mission: cordonia #mashup #Spotify

[sparrowhero]

Special Ch.1

Tomura Shigaraki x Quirkless! Reader

Starts one year prior to the events of the series, Shigaraki lacks 'something' that he can't find on his own, and he finds that in you. A companion, a friend, and one day...something more. For now, though, you're more than content to coexist. CONTAINS POTENTIAL MANGA SPOILERS! Read at your own risk!

All For One rarely makes mistakes.  Even the tiniest of setbacks can scarcely be called ‘mistakes’ in his mind, for they are rarely irreparable.  Everything done by design, to the smallest detail, is what he excels in.  Tomura Shigaraki, his poetic masterpiece, is obviously included in this.  However, he understands the good doctor Garaki’s intentions when they meet up for one of his ‘assessments.’

“He’s got issues.  Nobody is going to follow him like this if all he cares about is destruction.”  Dr. Garaki intones as he turns away from the screen, displaying the teenage Shigaraki from a few days ago.  All For One knows that the doctor will follow him near unconditionally, and with regards to that loyalty, will say the truths that others under his command would falter.  Perhaps it’s the decades-long relationship between them, not to mention the complicated history of scientific procedures, that allows for this near equal relationship.  All For One taps his index finger on the desk, knowing that Dr. Garaki has a suggested solution.

“Get him a companion.  Not like Kurogiri– A real one, someone his age.”  Dr. Garaki elaborates.  All For One has kept the young man isolated for a reason, to mold his anger, cultivate his hatred into a fine work of art– but he lacks the finer social skills, the striking charisma that he has.  He’s admittedly assumed that it would come in time, with his careful guidance, but if Dr. Garaki is bringing it up, the idea must have merit.

“We still have some spares from the Nomu ingredients.  I’ll give you a list that you can pick out that you’d think would be suitable for curbing some of that temper of his.”  Dr. Garaki hands a list of the surviving teenagers, fitted with pictures and brief descriptions of skills and personality, to him.  He’s spoken to most of them personally, built up rapport, but there are a few names on there that he isn’t familiar with yet.  Ever the overachiever, that doctor.  Surely it won’t be hard to find him someone of a good temperament that Shigaraki would mesh with?

How quickly do such thoughts prove themselves wrong in the end.

Shigaraki only nearly kills one of those chosen for him (It was mostly an accident…An attempt to intimidate gone a little too far), but the rest of them have the opposite effect of what he and the doctor intend.  His red eyes glare at whoever is introduced to him, and he snaps at the slightest inclination of someone infringing on what is his, on his place.  He always finds something to complain about and those who do end up beside him become underlings, something crushed under his will– Not the kind of relationship he’s looking for Shigaraki to cultivate.  It cannot be true equality, of course, as there has to be loyalty to Shigaraki and his orders– but he has enough of a yes man and caretaker in Kurogiri.  Shigaraki needs someone to challenge his beliefs in his own solidarity.

The solution to this is admittedly very simple, so much so that it causes a soft laugh to escape.  Of course, of course!  He’s been choosing those he interacts with for him, based on his own criteria, rather than factoring in Shigaraki’s personal tastes.  He doesn’t necessarily need a hyper-competent companion.  Nodding in satisfaction, he sends the amended list towards Shigaraki through fax, and asks him to choose who he’d like.

Shigaraki, blurry from the screen, takes a look at the printed list.  All For One waits patiently.  There have been enough mishaps, no need to rush things.  It’s a good sign that Shigaraki’s red eyes focus, flitting down and across the pages.  The shaggy blue hair that covers his eyes obscures most of his face like this, but his body language is the same as it’s always been whenever he takes on a task: stiff and hunched over, with only a couple of fingers to flip through.  Eventually, he points to a portrait on the last page, one that was added at the last minute.  As always, his pupil is full of surprises.

“I see, I see.”  He intones over the speaker, curiously going over your file.  “Are you sure?”

Shigaraki just barely nods his head with an affirmative grunt.

“This one doesn’t look as stupid as the rest of them.”  The bland response is more or less expected as there’s no other identifying information, just a name and a face.  A spark of interest is all that he needs, as well as the fun little surprise that he’d get when they met.

Perhaps even ‘blanks’ have their uses?

–

You owe everything to him.  Life on the streets was hard, but the orphanage was what saved you.  You can still remember the gentle hands of the benefactor.  You never learned his name, but his hands were warmer than anything that you’d ever felt.  Food.  Shelter.  A place to call home– Fuck, he gave you a purpose to live on.   You’d do just about anything for him, so obviously, when the doctor called you in, you were bursting with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

“We have someone we’d like you to meet.  He’s a difficult, immature child, but I trust you to do what you’ve been entrusted with.”

Dr. Garaki makes a dismissing gesture towards the mass of fog and black mist that materialized seemingly out of nowhere.  You’re a little shocked, having never seen this before, but you don’t let it show on your face.  A distinguished voice echoes out from inside of it, or perhaps…maybe this mass of darkness is the voice.

“Hello.”  He’s the epitome of manners and class; you’re sure that if he were in a more physical form, he’d be bowing at a perfect angle.  “My name is Kurogiri.  I’ve been instructed to escort you.  Are you fully prepared?”  His glowing yellow eyes flicker as he waits for your answer.

You nod.  It’s not like you have much to your name outside of the clothes on your back and small overnight bag of essentials.  He humbly invites you to take a step inside of him, reassuring you in the same lofty voice that absolutely no harm would come to you.  Despite not really wanting to do so, you take a deep breath and step inside.  It’s not unpleasant like you expected.  A strange feeling covers your entire body, but it’s neither cold nor hot, physical but also your hands seem to faze through.  He advises you to take a step forward, as you’ve reached your destination.  The entire interaction couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds, but as you step out from the darkness and into the dimly lit room, you’re definitely nowhere near your previous destination.

It’s some kind of dive bar, but the interior is clean and well-taken care of.  You’ve been in and around enough of them to know one when you see one.  Kurogiri is behind the bar now, and you can get a better look at him.  He wasn’t joking about you being inside– what was visible outside of the dapper bartending outfit is the same material that took you here.

“I will inform Shigaraki of your arrival.  Please, feel free to have a seat.”  He politely inclines towards a bar stool before disappearing up the stairs.

Tomura Shigaraki.  You haven’t heard his name before, but you remember some of the whispers around the orphanage about the director’s beloved protege.   You know that Dr. Garaki is not one to mince words, and ‘difficult child’ could mean a hundred different things– you just know that part of the reason you were chosen is because you’re basically the same age.

Footsteps reach your ear, and you turn to look at Kurogiri,who has just returned, and the young man who would, unknown to you, become your destiny.

Your first thought about him is that he’s skinny and his posture is bad.  His hair hasn’t been brushed, or if it has, he’s done a half-assed job of it, and his expression is completely unreadable due to the pale hand covering the majority of his face outside of a sharp, red eye.  A slightly raspy voice comes out muffled from behind it.

“This them?”  He asks Kurogiri first, rather than address you.  Kurogiri’s misty form shimmers as he nods.  Shigaraki hums and aims his gaze back at you.  “Stand up.”

You raise an eyebrow, but do as he says, and he starts to circle you like a cat.  Shigaraki gives you the up-down, but it’s not creepy.  Well, that’s a lie– it kind of is, but it’s not the kind you’d normally expect when someone asks you to let them take a good look at you.  He’s analytical.

“What’s your name?”

You answer dutifully, watching him as he watches you.  There’s tension as the both of you take the other in.  As much as he seems like your typical shut-in at first glance, you can feel the danger on him.

“Quirk?”  He asks immediately.  Nothing like going straight to the point.

“I don’t have one.”  You answer back simply.  There’s neither a hint of apology nor shame in your voice.  “I thought you knew.”

Immediately, he stops.  Not being able to see his expression doesn’t mean that you can’t read the surprise from his body language.  He takes an exaggerated, deep sigh.

“What the hell, man?”  Shigaraki asks, as if to no one in particular.  “This is like rolling for a rare character but coming back with nothing but materials.”

The gamer lingo goes slightly over your head, but you can tell it’s nothing good.  It doesn’t matter in the end; this treatment is what you’ve gotten all your life.  You can’t lie, it hurts getting it from the beloved pupil of someone you respect, but Dr. Garaki’s words ring loud and clear in your head.  This is a test.

“Do you have any uses?”  He asks pointedly, regaining your attention.  Shigaraki seems a little irritated that you spaced out for a moment, and points a finger at you rudely.

“That’s for you to find out.”

He growls.  “I can’t stand smartasses.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The air stills between the two of you as the tension from before rises.

“What the hell does some quirkless nobody think they can do?  Shouldn’t you be cozy at home getting protected by heroes?”  His questions sarcastically, his chin lifting in the air in a patronizing manner.  “If you’re just going to get in the way, then just go home.  I hate posers even more than I hate heroes.”

Ah, he’s challenging you.  That’s probably why the others left.

“Do you wanna find out?”  You ask, fishing into your pocket and pulling out a shiny, metallic yo-yo.  His eyes flicker towards it, and you know you’ve piqued his interest.   You do a couple of warm-up tricks in the bar, the yo-yo in your practiced hands practically comes alive.

“What’s with that toy?  Do you think I’m some sort of kid–”  He starts out, but immediately hops back when the yo-yo flies towards his face faster than it reasonably should have.  Shigaraki can feel the force behind it, and his eyes widen when you angle the string and it changes trajectory right back to him.  He avoids it and tries to grab it,  but it’s just out of his reach as you pull it back cheekily.

His eyes shine maliciously.

“Not bad… Are you serious right now?”  His hands flex dangerously at his sides, his stance lowering.  You voice your affirmations while toying with the yo-yo in your hands.  “Fine.  If you impress me, I’ll let you stay.  But…”  He lunges forward with a feral kind of ferocity.  “Don’t get mad if I kill you, okay?”

Hand-to-hand combat is what you shine in.  You’re dextrous; something that’s saved your life.  Shigaraki isn’t a slouch, though.  You know instinctively that you ought to avoid his hands, since he keeps trying to grab you, or your yo-yo– whichever he can get his hands on first.  He really doesn’t care if he kills you, his intent rolls off of his body in waves.

What are his weak points?  You explore with your fists, your feet, and your yo-yo.  THe only time he’s even slightly flinched is when you nearly hit him in the face.  Neither of you have hit the other yet, though not for not trying.  Shigaraki grabs your jacket, and you use the momentum to throw him to the ground with it.  However, it only half-works since it’s dissolved in his grip faster than you thought possible.  You make a mental note of his quirk, but the shock isn’t enough to make you fuck up this one chance as he knocks into the bar.

The steel yo-yo slices through the air and just barely misses him– taking some hair with it, but leaving a large crack in the countertop.  It continues spinning, digging itself into the stone and denting some of the metal structures.  While he focuses on that, you leap over at him, and the two of you tussle, rolling on the floor as you keep his hands away from you and he tries his damnedest to kill you.  Eventually, you end up on top, both of his hands pinned above his head and the two of you breathing heavily in a sort of stalemate.  Silence overtakes you both for a few moments.

“I hate…what you hate.”  You breathe out. There’s no real way else to communicate the depth of your resolve, the depth of the same anger and hurt that stews inside of you at the state of true rot around you. A place where the only value you have is how much your quirk is worth and if it can paint a pretty picture to sell.  The director promised you that he would bring about a better world, one where people like you aren’t abandoned.  If Shigaraki truly embodies his will…then hopefully he can understand you.

He stares at you long and hard from between the ghastly, pale fingers, but you feel a flicker of recognition when he hears your statement.  Then, he turns his head towards the bar where Kurogiri still stood, taking in the damage to the bar.   “Kurogiri, is the other room upstairs ready?” He asks.

“Of course.”

“Fine.  Show them the way.”  Shigaraki addresses you once more.  “You.  Get the hell off of me.  You’re heavy.”  He orders, and you cautiously, carefully lift your body up from on top of him, and he, in turn, doesn’t immediately try to disintegrate you.  He stands up in a huff and dusts himself off.

“I guess you can stay, so long as you don’t get in the way.”  You nod, and turn around, but Shigaraki suddenly grips your arm with four fingers.  Immediately turning around, you inhale sharply as he points to his face…or rather, the hand on his face.

“I saw you going for this. Let me give you a bit of advice…Don’t ever try that again, or I’lll kill you for real.”  He hisses in your ear, and gives your wrist one more warning squeeze as a little goodbye present.

“...Understood.”  You nod, and he seems satisfied at the cold chill he gives you.

“My room is right across from yours.  Don’t make too much noise, don’t bug me with irrelevant shit, and don’t bring anyone over unless you think they’re going to be useful.  You’re on your own when it comes to food.  Bathroom’s upstairs.”  Shigaraki gives you a bland run-through of his rules as he walks upstairs, unbothered by the slight chaos of the bar around him.  He gives you one last, lingering stair as you apologize to Kurogiri about the bar.

You’re weird.

But you’re the unofficial first ‘party member.’

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #special series #gender neutral reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #the first chapter originally had them interacting more but i think it's best broken up like this

[thewertsearch]

You are always up to your nook in the newest and hottest games. It is hard to walk around the place without squishing them. Whenever that happens you are screwed, and you have to grow a new one from scratch. Or just pirate it you guess.

See, here’s the thing. I know the idea of ‘pirating’ a grub is probably just a throwaway line, but the implications here are killing me.

Like, ok, a game is stored on a grub, which is an ambiguously living thing. These creatures serve as biological storage, which you have to grow yourself. Presumably this at least saves on cost, since you can cultivate these grubs in your own home.

But apparently if you pirate a grub, you don’t have to grow it. How the hell does that work? Is he physically ordering these illegal, black-market game grubs to his house, or is he loading a pirated copy of the game onto an already existing grub? Why does he need to pirate the game again, then, can’t he just load it from a backup? Why grubs, Alternia?

Ahem.

GC: OBVIOUSLY YOU WERE GOING TO SET UP RED AND BLUE TEAMS COME ON TA: you dont know what im going two do, stop being as though you can read my mind. TA: its not a power you have, your strengths are being blind and tricking people about stuff.

Terezi essentially does read minds, but it’s not a power - she does it the hard way, with actual logic and intuition.

That, or she’s got some Seer of Mind magic working to her advantage - but I like the former explanation better. I love superpowers, but you have to give your characters actual skills, too, or they’re just a vessel for your worldbuilding.

GC: HOW EXACTLY ARE WE SAVING THE WORLD? TA: i dont know yet. TA: i just know what ive seen in my visions. TA: that the world will end and our whole race dies and this is how we save it.

So, which untrustworthy well of knowledge is our latest oracle drawing from?

The Horrorterrors generally dispense whispers, but there’s no reason they couldn’t also show him images. We don’t know what they’re capable of.

As I mentioned before, Sollux could be awake on Prospit. This is just the kind of ‘technically true but misleading’ stunt that those clouds would pull. 

He could be getting information from the ‘imminently deceased’ - aka, one or more of the millions of Alternians who are about to die by meteors. He could even be tapping the other Players for information, because, as he points out in a second, they’re all going to die, too.  

Whatever’s leading him, I don’t think he’s being quite as badly misled as I thought. Sollux is fully aware that the world is ending today, but he seems to be under the impression that Sburb can prevent or mitigate this somehow. 

In principle, he’s correct, in that it can save twelve of them, but it can’t save their entire race. Like - technically, yes, they could probably Paradox Clone the troll race back from the brink with Veil tech, but I really don’t think that’s sustainable. They don’t have a planet any more, for starters. 

No, Sollux is obviously missing a ton of context here. If he knew what was actually happening, he wouldn’t be facilitating it. 

TA: i am going two die. TA: i mean we all are. TA: but especially me. TA: i am going two get my ass served two me twofold.

I mean, he’s not wrong.

All the trolls are going to die, but all of them - save one - will survive, as well. It sounds like only Sollux will die for real.

He was alright when he was helping Terezi and GA out, so he was either resurrected, or his second death isn’t until much later. 

TA: but before i die, im going two go blind like you. TA: it has two happen like that. TA: im not sure why, but i think its like... TA: fulfilling some requirement for a true prophet of doom.

If Sollux isn’t a Space Player, by the way, I think he’s a Doom Player. The guy’s all about doom, which seems to hang over him like a dark cloud.

Prophet doesn’t match the single-syllable pattern of all the Classes we’ve seen, and the otherwise obvious Seer is already taken by the Mind Player. Like I said, it’s be a little too messy if Titles could double up like that, so I think he’s something else. 

TA: in order for the visions two be right, that has two happen, and the universe will make sure it will.

Poor Sollux. Knowing about the predestination doesn't make things much easier, does it? It doesn’t stop you looking over your shoulder, it just means you know exactly what you’re looking for. 

#2081 #homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5 #s5