#how unwilling to open up or deviate

[softnow]

currently suffering from cordyceps brain rot so maybe this is too niche but i’m imagining a tlou x txf crossover, because like imagine. when the outbreak happens, mulder & scully would be p valuable to fedra for their knowledge in the uncanny. the fbi & txf would be subsumed into some fedra department. maybe not on the front lines, but somewhere behind the scenes. trying to figure out What Happened. scully’s medical knowledge would make her especially valuable.

but like. i can’t imagine either of them going along with fedra for very long. corrupt government? trust no one baybey. i think they would break out on their own, bonnie & clyde style, because i can’t see either of them fully trusting any revolutionaries either. until they eventually run into the fireflies, maybe marlene herself, and learn about an immune girl and the possibility for a cure. again, scully’s medical knowledge and her desire to help would be powerful motivators. but when they realize what the cost would be…i think it would be more than just joel breaking ellie out of that hospital lol

[c0wb0yenthusiast]

My Lady

Feyd Rautha x Fem!Reader

Word count : 6.5k

Warnings : SMUT! let me know in the comments if I’ve missed anything

Summary : You’re being married off to the mysterious Na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Feyd Rautha is a strange man, but his confusing mannerisms frustrate you throughout his stay in your planet. However, how do you supposed he feels about you?

.

Feyd Rautha is a leader.

Feyd Rautha is a prince.

He has a whole nation willing to submit to his every request. He does not have time to be waiting for his alleged ‘bride’.

So why is he standing in the hallway like a lost child? It only heightens his anger, his frustration.

You must be making him wait out of spite, since it’s so obvious you harbour no reason to appreciate this marital alliance. He’s already drafting up wicked ideas of what his witch for a wife will look like; clearly you haven’t shown yourself until the last moment to be spared from any chances of spending time with your new husband.

Of course, it’s no secret that the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program may seem ‘unfair’ to some. Like pairing such a worthy, well-bred prince such as Feyd with a young woman who hasn’t been raised right - this must only benefit the alliance of nations and different species.

His posture can only be described as perfection. His shoulders drawn and broad, hands tucked behind his back in an orderly manner to appear more powerful - after all, first impressions are important for alliances.

Even in thought, he cannot call this a marriage. The very thought of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he desires to get rid of as quickly as possible.

However, with perfection comes sacrifices. Since the moment he stepped foot onto your land - your territory - Feyd braced himself as if he were walking straight into an ambush and you were the enemy. His muscles strained against the plain, dark cloths he’d adorned today instead of his usual armour. He was vulnerable to his surroundings now, unshielded and alone.

He pays close attention to the hallway he finds himself dawdling in. It’s dim, built with smooth bricks that are cool to the touch. But that is no distraction for what is to come any moment now.

In mere moments, the two of you were to meet for the first time and officiate your marriage. You were to be his wife, provide him with children and continue the Harkonnen lineage. That is what a successful alliance was, as well as what was expected of by the Reverend Mothers who set up this marriage in the first place.

Feyd forces any kind of hesitation out of his mind, why should he be unwilling? All you needed to do was perform your marital duties and live with him. You don’t even need to be in the same room with him after that. It was simple enough for Feyd to understand after it had been instilled in his head ever since he’d been born.

Feyd was ready to commit to making this alliance work out for both of your nations. As for his own martial duties? It would be as easy as his fights in the arena, entertaining even. You’re just another enemy he needs to fight off in another way.

He doesn’t flinch when the door next to him opens slowly and your father comes out, inviting him in to meet his newly wed.

Then he saw you.

He cannot begin to explain the flood of unfamiliar emotions that crashed once he caught sight of you. He knew you wouldn’t look like his own kind - but this is something entirely different. You are unlike his Darlings back in Giedi Prime, unlike any kind of princess or woman who has come to witness his battles. His feelings towards you deviate from the usual ones he’s been indoctrinated to feel. You’re beautiful in a way that aches.

You are the beginning of his newfound hunger for something new, something he simply doesn’t want to understand.

Feyd Rautha is smitten. So profoundly smitten, it causes him pain that he doesn’t enjoy for once. It gnaws at his bones as he continues to glare at you while entering the room.

“Please, My Lord, have a seat.” You sound mostly unaffected, he isn’t able to piece together what is forming inside your mind. But he can already tell. You’ve probably studied him before this, obvious from your lack of surprise which surprisingly pains him. He wants to know what you’re thinking.

Deep down, he craves to know if you’re experiencing the same feelings as he is now.

Even if he can’t decipher them.

He opts to stand by the chair you’d gestured to, but it only brings a small hint of confusion as you rise out of your chair to greet him.

“Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, you are a mighty warrior and prince. I am glad to become your wife and unite our nations.” You’re dressed for the occasion; your pure white gown flows while you move, practically making your face glow as if you were the only significant thing in the room. And you were to Feyd.

You were his bride.

You were his and that is what mattered to him. Having possession over the finest woman in all the land, it was like a blessing in his honour.

He ignores your suspiciously dull tone, overcome by the sheer beauty that he is currently facing instead.

“As am I.” Feyd struggles to force these words out, he could almost choke on them. His raspy tone seems to shock you, your eyes widen for a split second.

But then you relax just as quick, crossing your hands over one another as you look up at him to talk.

“In my culture, we commemorate marriage with rings. A symbol of our union. We took the time to forge a pair for the occasion.”

He’s too busy watching your lips to pay attention to the servant holding out the rings, but quickly takes one and entraps it inside his fist.

“My Lord? Will you not wear your ring now?”

He almost felt himself falter at the sight of your concern - it seems genuine. The gentle frown on your lips as you wait for an answer tugs at his chest. You wanted him to honour your nation, you wanted him to honour his own marriage.

Feyd doesn’t answer, only unclenching his fist slowly and then sliding the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, prompting him to examine it for a couple of moments before being interrupted by you again.

“I made sure to choose the most special designs for us. We both have a gem sacred to our culture in the centre of the ring. Look.” You guide your hand towards his cautiously, observing his reaction for any kind of surprise or aggression.

Feyd stays as still as a stone, allowing your tender hand to gesture to the gem encrusted in his wedding band. Although the jewel is a deep, crimson colour it has a small glint that catches his eye. It looks rather simple compared to his Harkonnen style ring, symbolising his lineage and loyalty to his own nation.

Now he had to balance two kinds of priorities: his marriage and his clan.

“When will the ceremony take place?” He finally manages to muster up something showing any kind of intelligence, but it doesn’t phase you. You’re probably already thinking about the rest of your life with a cold, barbaric sadist.

“Well, right now we have just officially married. This was represented by the rings. Tomorrow, we plan on hosting a dinner before I leave for Geidi Prime. Is that all?” Your question isn’t intimidating or full of anger, rather more curious. He’d like to think that you wanted to know more, but now Feyd is mentally batting this newfound want to please you, have you smile or praise him. He is too busy to consider what your true intentions could be.

“Yes. I want to be shown to my chambers.” He nods, placing his hands behind his back once more. To you it looks polite, whereas Feyd sees it as restraining himself. He can’t shake the urge to touch you, claim you properly as his own and see if you’re any different from his own kind. Is your skin softer? What does your hair feel like? All of these questions rush through his mind continuously, pushing his boundaries further and further.

You have no time to respond since Feyd has already left the room, practically charging out with a servant trailing behind him. He cannot bear to look at your face any longer.

It will only feed his delusions of the possibility of love in this alliance.

-

Feyd is no stranger to the nighttime, but the peace that comes with the loneliness is new to him. When he usually stalked the halls in Giedi Prime, tension was thick in the atmosphere, so thick it could’ve choked him. But that wouldn’t have deterred Feyd’s other senses. There was always some reason to have his guard up.

Yet, as he stared up at the moon from the courtyard, there was only the sound of his quiet, quick breaths. He was still dressed in his cloths from earlier, hesitant towards the idea of becoming any more vulnerable if he let himself adorn his nightclothes. The breeze presses against his face gently, gliding off of his skin and clothes as he absorbs the new sensation of the cool air. Your planet was almost as mysterious as you, so many things unexplained that he surprisingly cannot say a bad word about.

The soft patter of gentle footsteps on the cool stones disrupt his solace, prompting Feyd to whip his head in your direction. You’re making your way towards him slowly, holding up the hem of your nightgown to prevent it from getting any stains from the damp grass of the courtyard. His eyes glaze over your figure highlighted in the moonlight, but only more dramatised from the thin, white fabric of your gown. He quickly averts his gaze before you’re able to get close enough to notice, pretending that he hasn’t even bothered to look at you.

You don’t say anything as you approach. Your hands lie limply by your sides once you stand beside him, tilting your head up to look at the moon.

“Do you not have a moon in Geidi Prime?” It’s soft and cautious, as if you’re treading water and trying to see if you’ll sink.

“We do. It isn’t like your planet at all. Hardly anything is similar.” His sentences are short and unintentionally as sharp as his posture.

“That is why we’re married, is it not? To bring together two nations who could benefit from each other.”

He nods in agreement and watches you out of the corner of his eye; he can see the subtle curve of your lips and how it changes your entire face tremendously. Feyd can’t tear his attention away from you.

“I’m glad that you came to my planet, my lord. I’m sorry if this isn’t how a princess should speak… but it will help my people and that is my sworn duty. Thank you.” You add, bowing your head to him shortly. It’s an embarrassment for a princess to be acting so informally when unchaperoned, you scold yourself.

He nods again, and you can feel a hint of amusement bubbling within your chest.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you? Are all Harkonnens like this?” You’re trying not to faint at the possibility of getting shut down or even attacked, yet it hasn’t unnerved you entirely. You don’t know enough about your husband to know what to expect for your honeymoon in Giedi Prime - which can have consequences for the better or worse.

Finally, he tilts his head in your direction. His eyes linger on your face as his mouth opens to respond.

“No.”

You chuckle, putting a hand to your mouth as you smile and look up at him with those bright eyes that Feyd is beginning to grow some kinds of strange feelings for.

“One of my warriors was sent to Giedi Prime when I found out who I was to marry, so I could understand who I would spend my future with. He saw you fighting in the arena - you were much more talkative then.” Your tone is playful as you wait for an answer, shifting closer to him.

Feyd is biting his tongue, letting the molars press deep to the point he feels some kind of pain that brings pleasure. His usual way to cope with complex feelings.

But he’s not even sure of what these current feelings are.

Feyd usually categorises ‘complex’ as a mix of emotions he’s used to. As if it’s a formula. For example, anger and confusion can lead to frustration, which is something he’s been feeling a lot since he’s laid eyes on you.

But that is not the case this time. He is having an irregular formula that could lead to disaster.

One part of his mind is primal, downright carnal as his gaze flickers to the low neckline of your dress. The way your collarbone is illuminated in the moonlight, how little of your body is covered by this ‘gown’ as his eyes roam your shoulders and neck.

The other is unknown. He cannot piece together why you’re like this, why you’re doing these horrible things to his mind and body. What they could cause him to do if these games go on for too long.

“I am very excited on the battlefield. Like a little boy.” He scolds himself, crossing his arms as he reflects on his last time in the arena.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. You are just enjoying yourself.”

“So you understand the pleasure of winning battle?”

You’re a taken aback at his direct question, almost shrinking as he peers deep into your eyes.

“I am not usually involved in warfare, but I do find there are other ways to seek this kind of pleasure you speak of.” You’re a little flushed now, nervous of where this topic of ‘pleasure’ could lead to. It’s midnight and you’re alone in the courtyard with your newly wedded husband - what could go wrong?

“I am no child. I understand what you speak of when using the term ‘other ways’.” He’s much closer now, glaring down at you with such an intensity that you feel as if he’s searing marks into your skin from his gaze.

“I am so sorry, Na-Baron. I- I should not have brought this topic up! It is very shameful, so I must depart now.” You turn to leave, about to grasp onto your nightgown when his sudden grip on your wrist makes you gasp.

“Why did you call me Na-Baron?” His tone is low, intimidating and sending sparks down your spine that shouldn’t be there.

“Because… because…” you find yourself at a loss for words, too nervous to attempt to form a response.

“You say that I am your lord, so you are my lady.” His voice comes out raspier, every word has an edge to it as he speaks. You cannot help but feel as if this is a command.

As you’re about to retort, state that he’s never called you ‘his lady’ so far, he leans in closer. His plump lips are parted, allowing his hot breath to fan over your skin. It spreads a sweet, hot sensation that brings up a fever in your mind. Suddenly, your judgement is a little more clouded, intoxicated by his presence.

“You have not said that I am your lady yet.” You whisper, exhaling shaky breaths as your eyes dart from his gaze to his lips. Then again. It’s a battle that you’re losing as you’re too focused on the subtle movement on his lips as he lets out shallow breaths.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, at the meal, I will make sure everyone knows you are mine. My lady.” He adds, letting go gently and backing away. His expression remains stern, but there is some kind of mischievous glint in his eyes. A warning of the true nature of this prince.

You try to make out any kind of smirk now spread across his lips, but he’s completely blank. You’re unable to figure out if he’s teasing you or genuinely took your word. You can only assume the best of your husband and what he seems to be planning as you trudge back to your room confused.

-

Your father knows how to celebrate - whether it is marriage, birthday, or even a funeral he has never failed to plan the most suitable occasions.

You are hitched into a tight, colourful gown that was made specially for you. This explains why you don’t complain when the strings are pulled in a slightly painful way, when the emergency embroidering needle pokes you a couple of times or even when you’re beginning to feel a little self conscious. What will Feyd think?

At that moment, you catch a glimpse of your reflection - why are you so concerned about him? At the beginning of the union, you were so well versed in how to be a good wife and princess that you had no time to consider your own feelings. You could only follow the schedule. Yet in such a short time he’s managed to chip you down into the scared little girl that you’ve always been and can never deny. It’s embarrassing. You’re embarrassed for yourself.

He’s given you too many different kinds of signals to allow you to consider his true motives, which completely throws you off after the short encounters from yesterday.

This morning, he greeted you swiftly before going to prepare as if last night never happened.

You scoff, looking down at your ring and brushing your thumb over the jewel now. He’s playing with your feelings. Clearly this is just a honeymoon stage for him: prepare you to continue the Harkonnen line, and then leave you in Giedi Prime to fend for yourself with a whole new nation awaiting you.

You’re just a prize to him.

“Your Royal Highness?”

You turn around hastily. Your handmaiden awaits with shoes in her hands, looking up at you with concern.

“Are you okay?” She continues, handing you the shoes gently.

“I am content. Why shouldn’t I be? I am married to the Na-Baron and joining our nations in the process, which will benefit everyone.” You can’t see how hasty your answer was, how automatic it seemed. It was the only feasible reason to marry the Na-Baron, since true love was not a possible idea anymore in the Reverend Mothers’ breeding program.

Your handmaiden nods feebly, allowing you to sit down and hand the shoes back to her. She’s slipping them onto your feet before a much more quieter question hastily escapes her mouth.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

You blink.

You’re about to open your mouth to speak, to try and organise your emotions with someone who isn’t your unpredictable newlywed.

The door opens and your father strides in cheerily, much to your frustration.

“Come on, dear. The table is set and everybody will be seated soon.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t do anything but what you’re told.

Right now, you just need to listen to your previous training and avoid Feyd Rautha. He’s only trying to follow his own rules too.

You walk with your father, arms linked firmly as the two of you approach the large dining hall. It has been decorated top to bottom in lavish jewels that shine, ribbons that wrap around the entire room and lanterns hanging in corners, feebly illuminating the already bright room. However, when it darkens, they will provide a dim light for a more relaxed atmosphere. You’re not phased by any of this, your father has been planning this ceremony since you could walk. Even though some believe your planet is more ‘backwards’, there is still one similar goal - providing heirs to the throne. You shouldn’t be standing alone once your reign starts, as believed by all the Reverend Mothers who have also instilled this idea into your father.

Along comes Feyd Rautha, the Na-Baron, looking for a suitable wife to continue the Harkonnen lineage and help him rule - it’s almost too perfect. The Reverend Mothers’ were onto this completely.

You only look around, a blank expression pasted onto your face. It’s clear as day how bored you are, which prompts a remark from your father.

“Has he said anything to you?” His tone is deep with suspicion. He eyes you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern.

“What?”

“The Na-Baron. Has he upset you, my dear?” You abruptly stop in your footsteps, meeting your father’s gaze.

“No, father. It’s fine. It’s nothing at all.” You shake your head dismissively, sighing and wringing your hands together now.

“You will get used to it - that’s the part that strengthens your marriage. Getting through the hardships and coming to face your situation with a heart of gold, the one that I’ve raised you to have.” He smiles at you fondly, pinching your cheek gently.

Although his words don’t seem to comfort you, you still smile back and nod goodbye as you walk down the long hall to reach your seat.

In the traditional manner of your nation, the bride and groom sit on opposite ends of the large, winding table that stretches from one end of the room to the other. This gives you plenty of time to enjoy the lack of the Na-Baron’s presence, as he seems to trick your mind everytime he is near you.

You take your seat, sitting upright in the grand, wooden chair. It’s hard to get comfortable, forcing you into position for the entirety of the dinner.

Feyd has now entered the room. His stride is intimidating, emitting solidity and power. He’s dressed in an all black uniform once more, but his ring is clear on his finger as he pulls his chair out from across the hall. You’re able to see the subtle glint, which almost makes you want to change your mind. Maybe you’re just assuming the worst.

However, you never knew what to expect with the Reverend Mothers and their underlying sinister motives. For now, you choose to avoid him and carry on with your marriage as calmly as possible. As if it were simply just a business negotiation.

He acknowledges you carefully, nodding towards you before settling himself in his own chair. You only nod back clumsily and cease all contact from there.

Guests arrive slowly. Friends from aristocratic families and governors are the majority, but there are still many people who were invited due to their hard work and contributions to society recorded recently. You make sure to greet them all grandly, smiling and allowing them to shower you with compliments. The Na-Baron stood beside you, watching you intently as you interact with everyone in sight. He doesn’t say a word, his jaw tense and teeth grind together as he watches with lidded eyes.

You falter under his gaze for a moment, but stiffen and keep your composure. If this is how he was going to play, then you were just going to trap him in your own game.

For the rest of the celebration, you avert your gaze away from the Na-Baron. Right now, your main focus is the people and celebrating your nation as well as the marriage.

The meal goes swimmingly - empty courses and platters of food now litter the grand table after such a long feast. So long that by the time you’d finished, the sun had set. You focus on swallowing oddly shaped lumps of food, trying not to choke on even the smallest crumb from the searing gaze of Feyd Rautha.

Although, even when you turn to the most obscure corners, seats and groups of people - Feyd’s eyes are glued to you. His dark eyes blend with his pupils, creating some kind of animalistic glint when the lights reflect in his enlarged pupils. You can almost feel two bruises forming into your back from the intensity of his glare.

-

Feyd isn’t hurt, he’s not injured or scratched - but he’s been cut deep. So deep that he’s been searching from the origin of this seething pain since this morning; he almost destroyed his room with the pure frustration bubbling within. He knows it has to do with you. You’re the only woman who’s managed to sway him so strongly that his defences have been drawn back in hopes of some sort of victory.

However, tonight is leaving him with anything but victory as he can’t psychically tear his eyes away from you without feeling tortured. Even if you seem to feel the opposite.

You’re so carefree; you talk to the guests with ease and float around the hall in your gorgeous gown that he just wants to rip to shreds. He can’t bear with his facade of yours.

That’s when he decides he’s going to end it. Right here, right now.

-

You’re in the middle of a conversation when, over the chatter and laughter, you hear it.

Charging footsteps across the hall. You cannot deny who it is, and you’re grasping for any idea of what to say when he now stands beside you.

“My wife.” He declares, unbothered by the concerning throttle filled charge from seconds ago. His voice is sudden, hoarse like usual and rough around the edges.

You’re at a loss for words, smiling timidly at the couple you were just talking to as he now takes your arm firmly and links it around his own. When you finally look up at him, he’s not smiling. He’s unreadable right now.

The cool fabric of his black cloths rub against your skin, barely covered by the sheer fabric of your sleeves.

“My husband.” You nod at the couple, who hastily bow to him.

For the rest of the night, he’s attached to you like a bodyguard. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t smile and does not look at you once. The only sense of security seems to be the arm still linked with yours.

-

“Why did you do that?”

He pauses when you tear your arm away from him, staying still in his position as you create distance between the two of you.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can- can give me so many different ideas about you? Is that okay? Is it, my lord?” Your voice trips and stumbles as you struggle to even consider what you’re saying as the words fall out of your mouth with no regard for the Na-Baron.

“I don’t understand you! I know it’s been such a short time- and you cannot seem to talk to me- but I just need to know what your intentions are! I am married to you! I deserve to know!” You continue, pausing to gasp for air and let your shaky breaths fill the large, empty room of yours.

The celebrations had died down and the Na-Baron had decided to walk you to your room. Yet on the way there, your tears seemed to form and burst the minute the two of you were locked away in your room.

“My lady..” he murmurs, approaching you slowly. You’re crying, sniffling and backing away with every step he takes.

You’re so desperate to get away from him, but at the same time you’re dying to just throw something at him.

With too many thoughts rushing through your head, the thought never occurs to you of where you were actually going with your unsteady backwards footsteps.

“My lady.” He’s much closer than you realised. You attempt to back up further, but meet resistance with your wardrobe. A strong arm now blocks your last method of escape, caging you against the wardrobe.

He has you cornered. His eyes watch you intently, plush lips parted slightly as he breathes hard.

“You have bewitched me, changed me for what I am. I am no longer a warrior, no longer the Na-Baron since the moment I saw you. I knew that I was to be your husband, but I also knew that as a woman so capable and beautiful - I did not deserve you.”

His face has contorted and twisted into something entirely different; jaw tense with anticipation, eyes soft and pleading as they look at you directly. He’s waiting for you to say something, anything.

You’re in utter shock. This must be the most words he’s said since meeting you, but you’re hanging on to every word. Looking up at him with so many emotions swimming through your eyes that it’s like a turbulent sea.

He exhales, before continuing to speak.

“But I want you. I want you to be mine - my wife.” He sucks in a breath after saying this, as if it pains him somehow to spill such a secret. His brow line furrows in frustration as he attempts to explain, “We barely know each other, but all I know is that there’s been something about you that I ache for. Do you understand? You play with my feelings, my lady. You confuse me, anger me and entice me all at once. A warrior like I shouldn’t feel this way, he shouldn’t let his guard down for a woman. But that is what I’m willing to do right now in order to make my intentions clear.”

As he whispers this, he offers a hand to you carefully. Feyd now watches you intently, waiting for your response.

The room is dim, slithers of moonlight drag across the room in strange rays, casting a glow on the Na-Baron. He’s utterly pitiful in this moment, the moon now bringing to light his vulnerability.

You let out a jagged breath, desperately searching for words to say. When you can’t seem to find any, you bring your hand to his slowly. Your fingers intertwine and clasp each other firmly - an invitation. His hand is cold, calloused and engulfs your own.

You look up to him only to find that another layer has seemed to vanish, his dark eyes now gaze at you longingly. They trail over your dress, and you can almost hear the cogs ticking in his mind.

You swallow thickly, before letting out a hushed murmur, “Are you attempting to undress me with your eyes, my Lord?” There’s a bit of humour to it as a ghost of a smile graces your lips, but it’s overcome by that suddenly dry feeling in your throat and newfound, carnal want for Feyd Rautha.

“If I wanted to, your dress would be in ruins by now, my Lady.” He may banter with you, but there’s also some concern hidden beneath. Do you want him to touch you? What if you don’t like it?

Yet, with a small shrug, you respond.

“I won’t stop you, if that seems to be what we both want.”

His eyes widen slightly, the rush of giddiness that he would usually feel after winning a battle seems to flood his senses. It’s shameful how he now lets go of your hand to run both of them down your waist. It’s deliberately slow. Teasing, even.

“The ties are in the back, Feyd.” You urge, prompting him to move his hands to your back and begin to remove your dress. He’s still lightheaded from the rush of sensations encapsulating his mind, but he’s able to force out his question.

With his arms wrapped around your waist to reach your back, his face is buried in the crook of your neck now. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as he speaks.

“Do you like this dress?” You can feel his lips against your neck now as he talks, but sense him holding back. He’s waiting for the right moment.

You shake your head.

He instantly rips the drawstring of your corset, it’s deliciously animalistic as he tugs it off and allows himself to get a good look at you. His eyes wander hungrily across your body, glancing up at your face as he searches for any reaction.

You’re completely frozen, overwhelmed by the different sensations rushing through your mind: the cold air on your bare skin, his warm, shallow breaths as they leave patches of heat on your body and his intense, unrelenting gaze.

“Do you want this?”

There’s a pause as you attempt to muster any words out of your dry throat. You finally swallow any anxiety, before answering in a whisper.

“Yes, I do.”

His lips are so soft as they push against yours, plush and comforting in contrast to his rough grip on your waist and back to pull you in as close as possible. You don’t retort, arching yourself into him and reaching a desperate arm to wrap around his neck. His hands are large, calloused and cool to the touch as they press into your skin hard. It only pushes you further into him, moaning into the kiss at the pleasurable pain.

Suddenly, you pull away to gasp for air only to be met with dark, pleading eyes that seem to beg you to stay.

“I.. I want to..” you’re a little out of breath, flushed and nervous as you place both hands on his firm chest. Your fingertips trace over the cloth lightly, but ultimately reach his buttons and claw at them hungrily. Your efforts are futile as you’re too enveloped by lust to register how to unbutton his clothes, leading him to place a hand on yours to guide you slowly. Button by button, he reveals himself to you.

His skin is pale, smooth as you run a tentative hand over his chest. His heartbeat is rapid, his breathing is strained as his gaze is fixed on you. He’s got a chiseled body, unscathed and untouched for a warrior. You can only let out a shaky breath as he begins to guide you to the bed, a hand cupping your face.

You’re not thinking straight, your mind finally coming to a halt when you realise your situation. He’s on top of you now, on both knees as he leans over to stroke your face, which has been frozen with shock.

“My lady..” Feyd murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He’s surprisingly gentle, but you can feel is erection pressing against your stomach as he’s worshipping your beauty.

You squirm under his grip, strong hands gliding over your neck and shoulders attempting to make you wait. But you’re becoming greedy, you want him now.

A small whine escapes your lips as you try to create some kind of friction, which causes him to smile. It’s a smirk. Cocky and teasing as it spreads across his lips.

“You’re desperate, my lady, aren’t you?” His voice is still low, hoarse as he tries to not lose his focus from the slight tingles of pleasure the friction is providing him. He wants to engross himself in the moment before ravishing you, no woman has been so vulnerable in his grip like this before.

He leans in, his gaze trailing along your features as he searches his prey for weak spots. His mouth lands on your neck, sucking on the delicate skin hungrily. You can’t remember what he’d said before, plagued by the newfound sensation of his wet saliva cooling the hickey tainting your skin.

You don’t even want to answer, a sigh escaping your lips at the pop of his mouth as he pulls away from your neck. A small, desperate whisper is all you can force out before you try to move your hand down to your thighs. It’s grabbed by his own and pinned back into the mattress.

“Don’t over-exert yourself, my lady.” He’s still smirking as he begins to steady himself at your entrance, but is just as desperate as you are to get his fill.

Your thighs are pushed apart with his spare hand, allowing him to let out a satisfied groan at the sight of you. Without warning, his hand lets go of your wrist to find your clit. His fingers brush against it softly, caressing a soft moan out of you which only prompts him to continue much harsher. The sounds are obscene as he toys and teases you, only aiding his own pleasure as he watches you clench around nothing.

The tip of his dick presses against your entrance, forcing you to attempt to push out your hips in hopes of fulfilment. You’re unable to move properly, his cold hands tighten around your body. As you writhe in his grip, your gaze flickers up to meet his. There’s a suspicious glint in his dark pupils, paired with the subtle upturn of his parted lips.

Suddenly, sharp sensation erupts within your body, one that tries to push your thighs together to only have them wrap around his firm waist. You can feel the pleasurable stretch as Feyd only savours you inch by inch as he pushes himself in as far as he can. Your skin prickles with heat, spreading across your body like a rash as you find yourself flushed and gasping for air as he pulls out suddenly.

It’s not for long, pushing his dick inside quickly again just to hear your staggered cries. Your body seems to move on its own, rocking yourself against him as he pushes in and out. He’s intoxicating, altering your mind to primal instincts.

His movements become sloppier, his climax becoming more inevitable with every thrust. Feyd begins to lose composure, plump lips parted and panting as his thumb still rubs your clit forcefully. You’re both growing impatient, his begging now becoming audible as the words stumble out of his mouth.

“Please.. please…” you’d never known the Na-Baron to be the kind of warrior to say ‘please’, but you’d driven him over the edge.

You’re also growing louder, whimpering and whining for your climax to come quick and hard. You want it, and you want it now.

You’re the first to come, crying as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your back arches into him as an explosion of pleasure races through your body, tingling through your lower abdomen. However, as the waves of climax subside, you become increasingly more vulnerable to Feyd Rautha still pounding into you.

It only takes him a few more thrusts, but your arm is released from his grip as you cling onto his back. Your nails tear at his skin, the pangs of borderline pain bringing tears to your eyes at the sheer ecstasy of it all.

You hear his breath hitch in your ear, his mouth opens with a gasp as he buries himself inside you for his release. His cum is searing hot, filling your insides hastily as his chest rises up and down rapidly. Feyd doesn’t move for a moment, processing what just happened. But after a few seconds, when your hands loosen and droop down his spine as they’re overcome by fatigue, his arms wrap around you slowly.

He’s embracing you.

You’re both hot to touch, skin slick with sweat as your bodies press against each other. Yet, both of you don’t find any disgust in this. Instead, it’s replaced by a sense of comfort. The certainty that you’re his Lady, as he is your Lord.

[yandere-daydreams]

ayaka and ayato never really learned how to share.

it made sense, once you'd been in the kamisato clan's employment long enough to fully grasp the extent of their wealth. why would they have to? as children, their parents were more than able to provide two of everything either sibling may want, and as they grew up, their interests diverged, their schedules deviated, and they were never so lucky as to encounter a scenario where, say, ayaka took a liking to ayato's favorite sword or ayato decided he was fond of a material ayaka had set aside for her next kimono. they rarely fought, and on the few occasions when they did find themselves at odds with one another, it never seemed to result in anything more than a few quiet meals and a particularly impassioned sparing session. they were too mature for juvenile disagreements, too regal to squabble over toys like children. they didn't fight, but they didn't have to, either.

which must be why they seem to have so much trouble dividing your time amongst themselves.

you owe the most of it to ayaka, technically - something she's quick to point out whenever ayato asks you to help him sort through letters from the other clans or offers to accompany you on your near-daily trips to the marketplace. you're her attendant, her companion, and she's possessive of you as a swan would be possessive of the whiteness of its feathers - unwilling to let you be marred by the filthy hands of anyone aside from herself. she doesn't need your help, and you know she'd be able to survive an hour or so without your company, and yet, she clings to both, makes excuses to keep you by her side despite how clear it is that she doesn't need you to help her dress or brew her tea. you'd never think of complaining, not on a salary like yours, but still. you could afford spare more time for ayato's paperwork, if she allowed you to.

ayato's claim to you is less legitimate, but boosted by his position as one of the shogun's commissioners. ayaka doesn't need your help, and neither does ayato, not really, but it's more plausible when he claims he needs an extra pair of hands for... well, for whatever a commissioner does all day, when he's not fighting treasurer hoarders or giving poor thoma food poisoning. he's willing to employ more underhanded methods, too, to catch you the moment you leave ayaka's sight and keep you occupied until you're forced to return to her. he'll slip you notes asking you to visit his personal chambers in the dead of night, leave silk-wrapped jewelry and bouquets of white roses on the foot of your bed, openly ask you if you'd rather be his or his sister's when he knows that ayaka's well-within earshot.

they still don't fight, or scream, or let their own pettiness affect anything beyond the internal dynamics of their household, but you're not left as unharmed as the rest of the world. it's tiring, being pulled between two bodies of impossible strength and resolution, having to live between the sharpened ambition of water flowing downhill and the quiet attrition of ice splitting open solid stone. it's hard not to imagine yourself split in half, a piece of you lodge on the ends of each of their blades. you'd leave if you thought you were able to, but that's just not plausible. they're both so unyielding, you couldn't imagine ayato or ayaka ever letting the object of their desire go without a fight.

it's all you can do to smile, try to keep the peace, and hope that eventually, they'll learn how to share something without tearing it apart.

[psychic-refugee]

Not only do I think the novel ISN’T canon Wenclair, I don’t think it’s canon Wednesday, to be honest.

It’s not enough that the book was approved and published. It should actually be accurate to the source material, the TV show.

If the Powers that Be approved the novel, then they approved errors and emphatically different narrative concepts that are in direct conflict with the TV show.

What exactly does that say about how much they cared about the content of the novel?

Overall, the TV show and the writers, Gough & Millar, are the controlling narrative. IMO. If the book is in conflict with the TV show and what the writers themselves have stated, then I can dismiss the novel.

Tehlor Kay Meija was hired to write the book, and it was approved for publishing. I cannot infer more than that on anyone’s motivations. Certainly not if they approve of ship.

I disagree with Meija’s interpretation of certain scenes, and I can point to obvious and glaring mistakes.

“In the baby-blue-wallpapered room, I open my bag.” p. 32

Here, we clearly see that not only is the bathroom not blue, she does not open her bag. Full scene:

It stays on her back. She taps the bag and orders Thing to give her a nail file. The bag flips open on its own and he gives her the file.

The book has a lot of these unnecessary and should have been easy to fix mistakes. I’ve seen some rude replies where they ask “Did you watch the show?” Interpreting certain thoughts and actions as sapphic or not is a matter of opinion. This is just flat out wrong.  

There are provable errors not only in description but dialogue.

The tone and characterization of Enid and Wednesday’s interaction is different with the incorrect dialogue and descriptions.

The entire book is like this. It has wrong or dropped dialogue and deviates from the original narrative concepts of the TV show.

Every character has been done a disservice by this book.

It seems the people you should ask if they watched the show are Meija and whomever approved publishing the book, errors and all.  

The book with its lack of details I think misses a lot of nuances that we see from facial expressions and body language on the show. Details on the possibility of what others are thinking via facial expressions and body language are inconsistent throughout the book.

There is an annoying plethora of exclamation marks that makes it seem people are yelling or excited when I think they’re actually trying to portray emphasis. That’s just a pet peeve of mine and I fully admit it’s petty, but it does make some, like Kinbott, seem more manic than the show intended.

“Well Wednesday, I hope you don’t think of me as your adversary,” [Kinbott] says. “I hope we can forge a relationship built on trust! And mutual respect!” p 30

Kinbott does not have this kind of excited inflection when speaking to Wednesday, ever. She always remains calm and uses a soothing voice, like she’s trying to talk to an unwilling cat. lol

I think it was a mistake to hire Meija, who specializes in children’s books. The TV show is aimed at teens, but also has a strong nostalgia factor for those who grew up in the 90’s and the movies. I think Netflix is aiming for a wide audience of older teens and adults. With the violence and “edgy” aesthetic and leanings, I think a writer for an older audience would have been more appropriate.

This book was clearly made JUST for children. The bigger print, low word count, and very simplistic narration make it for an elementary grade reading level. It feels very dumbed down.

Wednesday the TV show is not meant to be for that young of an audience.

I think if Gough and Millar had written the novelization, it would be much different not only in style but accuracy.

At bottom, Meija is an outsider to this fandom and did not do a good job.

[shesthedream]

Before, After, and Forever - Chapter 3

Aaron Hotchner x fem!OC (Anya Decker)

Summary: Agent Decker is a phenomenal agent. She has been through hell and back and is unwilling to open her heart. But what happens when Agent Decker’s case lands in the BAU’s hands? What happens when it is decided that she is an asset to the team? And, most importantly, what happens when she meet the unit chief?

Series cw: canon topics, killers, hostages, rape mention, torture, scars, nightmares, flashbacks, slow burn, mentions of eating and body insecurity, yelling

Chapter cw: canon topics: killing, crime scenes

--

"He spent time here. Look at the ground, no prints… more time means more mistakes. There must be something he left behind." She walked around the house, weaving through all the rooms when she finally spots something.

--

The body was left in the bedroom and right against the door frame was a little bit of blood. Small enough that most would not notice, but Decker had a keen eye.

"Look." Decker got Hotch's attention. Rossi followed right behind him.

"Partial print. Good eye Decker." Rossi said.

"Let's get this sent to a lab and see if it's a match to any we have in the system." Hotch commented heading out.

"That's a start, but it won't be enough. We need to work to narrow down our scope of search. He isn't just picking these women randomly off the street. There has to be something connecting them. He's motivated. There is a reason he kills." Decker's comment stopped him

"He's becoming more unhinged. The previous killings maybe, but this could just be pure rage or a break from his pattern."

"No it's not. It's all planned. This can't be random. It was planned in London and it's planned here." Decker was slowly but surely getting on Hotch's nerves.

“Yes, but he can deviate from the pattern-“

“But he won’t. He won’t. Look at how specific this fantasy is. He won’t change, he doesn’t want to change. It’s just going to keep getting worse. We need to find him as soon as possible.”

“And how do you suggest we do that Agent Decker?”

"Keep looking." Decker sends him a glare.

After the evening and next morning of sorting through evidence, they finally had a break. Garcia had found a link between the victims. They had all called electricians prior to their murder. It seemed like he left London because they were getting too close there. What he hadn't expected was that they would connect the dots.

The takedown was simple once they found him. Dennis Hoffshire. His wife passed away and was looking to recreate the fantasy with the women. When they didn't cooperate, he has to kill them. They were able to take him down right as he was checking in for work. After at least 10 known murders internationally, he was done.

He was found with his newest victim, the team thankfully able to get her to safety.

The team got back to the hotel late that night and it made sense to stay the night and fly in the morning, getting straight into work once they reached the office.

That morning, the team had piled back onto the jet, eager to get back home. But they were all still curious, about Anya. No one knew much about her, but they were determined.

"So Decker, which team are you going to next?" JJ asked, hoping to strike up a conversation.

"I don't really know yet. As of right now I work support on many undercovers so I'll be heading to the main building once we get off." Anya had settled herself in the back of the jet hoping to get her paperwork done prior to landing.

"You work undercovers?" Emily asked.

"It's determined on a case by case basis, on need basically. They need me tonight so I have to go."

"What case is is?" Morgan asked. But in response he only got a bored stare from Decker. She obviously couldn't say.

"What's been your most interesting case?" Spencer asked. He knew she had been working at the FBI for years.

Anya was a little bit of a legend at the FBI. You could hear whispers about the women with the highest case solved rate and her incredible efficiency. You would hear talks about how good she was with a gun and how she had taken down crowds of people double her size. No one had brought it up, but everyone knew.

"There was one where we had someone go undercover in a cult. That was certainly... interesting. Group mentality, that sort of thing." Anya looked up to answer his question and looks straight back down to do her work.

The conversation stopped after that. She obviously didn't want to talk and had a lot of work to finish. Everyone retreated to their seats to get some rest before landing. Once landed everyone dropped their things off at their desks and headed home to freshen up. Anya, however, followed Hotch into his office.

"Thank you all for your help, I really appreciate it." She started.

"Not a problem. I was great getting to work with you."

"I know you run a tight ship around here, Agent Hotchner. So I apologized if I stepped on any toes. I meant no disrespect." Anya never really felt the need to explain herself, but this time she thought that if would do her some good. She had a feeling she would be seeing the team again.

"It's not a problem Agent Decker, I understand. It was a honor, we know the prestige your name has around here."

"It's nothing of the sort really."

"So they're rumors?" Hotchner asked. He knew the answer. And he knew she was just trying to be humble.

"Things aren't always what they seem. Anyways, if you need anything, please don't hesitate to give me a call." Anya passed him her business card, a card that could come in handy later down the line when the BAU found themselves in some trouble. With that she also placed her completed files on his desk.

"Thank you again. You have an incredible team."

"Of course."

With that Anya was off and Hotch gathered his things to head home as well before coming in later in the day.

To the teams surprise, they walked in to coffee on their desks. A different one for each of them, the coffee they liked accompanied with a sweet treat.

"My brave crime fighters, which one of you lovely people brought everyone coffee?" Garcia asked walking in with her coffee and muffin. She was even more confused with the lack of response from everyone.

"I thought it was you?" JJ asked Garcia

"No..."

Rossi stepped out of his office and walked down into the bullpen. Seeing everyone's confused faces he commented, "Decker".

Everyone looked at each other in surprise. She had gotten all their coffee orders right. Her way of saying thank you.

"Aww... and I didn't even get to say thank you." Garcia said sadly.

[my-ultimate-is-ready]

from the prompt meme (if you're still doing it ofc) “i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." w Reyes 😈

Gabriel’s back from god-knows-where for god-also-only-knows-how-long, a pause in his suffocating schedule allowing him to spend a few luxurious days at home, so you can live like all the couples around you do. High on your priority list is doing all the laundry your washing machine can handle, catching up on all your favourite shows you swore you wouldn’t watch while he was away, and making dinner together. 

At some point in this unadorned normality, you’ve also got to go grocery shopping, and while it’s not the most riveting of things you can do together, it’s significantly less of a chore with him there. It takes inordinate amounts of fuel to keep him running; SEP created a super soldier with a super appetite. So, with Gabriel home and the fridge pitifully empty, it’s a non-negotiable addition to your day.

But what a joy it is to feel halfway ordinary, defaulting to your routine that gets interrupted every other week when he becomes a mere voice over the phone or a few lines of text in a written message. 

When he’s home, you live slowly—one day at a time.

Out of necessity, Gabriel’s efficiency is unparalleled. It doesn’t matter how organized you are when he is a master at packing and planning. It’s thanks to him that you’ve never set foot into a store without your reusable bags, and it is also thanks to him that unloading the groceries from the car to the kitchen takes a single trip.

Is any sight more touchingly domestic than him hauling several massive blue IKEA bags as though they’re precious cargo?

Going down the list that he remembered to bring—even though you wrote it, you’d forgotten about it—Gabriel ensures you��ve got all your essentials but can’t find the last ingredient you need. You know it’s crucial that when you have the chance to cook together, there’s no deviation from the recipe, no disrupting the ritual. When he suggests the pair of you should make a stop at another store, it’s not a compromise that you’re unwilling to make, but you’d much rather get back home and have him all to yourself again.

“Maybe we have some left from last time,” you say, trailing out as you scour the shelf for the third time, making a showy pretence of it.

“We don’t,” he informs with a discontented shake of his head, “I checked.”

The addendum to the shopping list was his doing, penned in at the bottom.

“Can we do without it?”

“We probably could, but do we want to? This is the question we have to ask ourselves. You know it’s not going to taste the same.”

He’s too determined for his own good sometimes.

It’s not that you want to rush him; it’s just that you know what traffic is like and how a little detour could throw the rest of your afternoon off. If you weren’t constantly picturing time dripping through the narrowest point of an hourglass, maybe you would have a single chill.

But you don’t, and Gabriel is already wise to some version of that.

Naturally, you think of a way to suggest he shuffle his priorities around and get you home without asking him to blatantly give up—because he won’t.

Beckoning him to lend you an ear with a finger, he leans down so you can whisper: “I’m not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.”

Something passes over him as he returns to his full height. Once you think he’s past replying, he speaks into a closed fist, “Holy shit.” 

“You good?” A bad question, knowing full well you’ve quietly obliterated him.

He clears his throat and assures, “Never better.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about how we need to home before the ice cream melts.”

“What ice cream?”

Gabriel steps away, opens the closest freezer, grabs a pint of ice cream, and adds it onto the heap in your cart. “That one.”

Then he slips behind you and helps you steer towards the checkout, whispering in your ear about how he still can’t believe the things that come out of your mouth sometimes.

[unforestalledreturn]

continued from here @serafim Bumping into his lip as he drank, a slice of dumbapple was the source of a momentary pause. It was just enough of an opening for Sephiroth to artfully work his way into the catastrophic endeavors of research without so much displacing a single page. Such tactics were brutal and undoubtedly unfair. Nonetheless, Genesis was unwilling to give up his little treat either. He would make no commentary on 'what he thought of it'. That would require a critique to begin with in the first place.

"Poor thing's hibernating. Hasn't slept well since his last assignment." It was a... messy one, undoubtedly. Even if the reports spoke of one version of events, the heaviness in their fellow First's eyes spoke of another. And like clockwork, Genesis' nest had taken form, building until it was the state it was now. He should have been there, spare the misery. So he was now here, trying to make squiggles of some madman's diary garner clues he somehow missed the first, second, and... twentieth times. "Possibly." He replied to the suggestion of submitting a request for an open study with a suspicious amount of agreeableness. "Provided adequate furniture arrangements can be made." He set the page down on the newly available surface, namely Sephiroth's lap. Without so much as looking up, he took the next page in the diary, water-logged, and hardly legible. If one looked closely, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. And it remained there as he gently agitated the liquid of his mug to stir up it's pleasant aroma. Briefly, a comfortable silence fell, the rays of the early morning light creeping across the floor in declaration that it was indeed the next day. He was no closer to finding what he was looking for than when he started. "There... are only so many 'new' pieces of materia to be found." A nonsensical statement, one that made perfect sense in his sleep-deprived mind. "Fira is fira is fira. Once manufactured, that's all it is. The deviation in the memories stored within are muddied in favor of wide use. The same use. Standardized and mass produced. Even synergistic materia runs into the same problem--" Genesis cut his rambling short, seeming to even have lost his own train of spiraling thought. Head hitting the back of the couch cushion, Genesis stared up at the high-vaulted ceilings. A delirious laugh bubbled out from his chest. "I should send them on a wild goose chase. How does the ever elusive and legendary Bahamut Ultima sound?"

[blazewatergem]

Lowborn Seven(In Order of Age)

Pride - (Stock Companies/Helps Manages the others work)

Pride’s main colors are white and gold. She’s never seen without a perfect suit or dress, often in the most recent fashion she can get her hands on. She is meticulous about her appearance, hair uniform, makeup on point, and a never changing look of a gold watch around her wrist with a Diamond necklace to match. The only thing that she changes in her outfit is her shoes, which always has to have a one inch higher heel than Lust’s. Her horns are the standard demon horn sort, chains of white-gold wrapped around them like braids.

Her personality is of a perfectionist, and she is stubborn about that. She sticks to a schedule, will not deviate from it, and if she did - don’t bring it up. That’s someone else’s fault, not hers. Obviously she had to accommodate another’s problems and had nothing to do with her. Towards her family, Pride feels both great joy and mild aggravation. She doesn’t get how some of them can be so calm, or unwilling to strive towards perfection. Her version, anyway. She feels joy though, in that she truly does love them. She’s just extremely bad at saying so.

Wrath - (No Official Industry, traveling always)

Wrath’s main colors are bright red and deep orange. She doesn’t care that much about what she’s wearing, but can typically be spotted in a casual outfit of a leather jacket, plain shirt, jeans, and combat boots. By the end of the night, they’ll be ripped up and stained. Her horns are snapped off, jagged and burned, and she likes them that way.

Personality wise, Wrath is brash, bold, and screaming for more. She indulges to the extreme in not just her own sin of bar fights and riots, but in her sisters’ sins as well. She’s highly supportive, if a bit aggressive in it to the point of hostility. Violence is the highest art form in her eyes, and where most see a fight she sees a dance. There’s beauty in pain, and she - a beholder.

Gluttony - (Chefs/Restaurants/Bakers)

Gluttony’s main colors are beige and cream, enjoying neutral tones. Gluttony is one of the sisters who changes her outfit frequently, often to match whatever she’s doing at the time or wherever she’s visiting. She’s more picky about accessories, classically enjoying food-themed jewelry and bags. Her favorite is a purse that looks like a jar of jam. Often, if she’s been baking, there’s flour on her nose. Her horns are small, and are dull at the end, looking like a cute ram.

Personality wise, Gluttony is bubbly, giggly, and cruel. Like the false southern belle of drama tv, she’ll titter and laugh all while ripping someone apart. This side of her is saved for those who push her too far, which honestly is a lot of the time. She plays nice enough with her family and those they care about, but it’s a literal hell for anyone else the minute her patience runs out. Brutality with a caring smile, she’s actually the sister with the most soulbound humans - Envy and Greed just at her heels.

Lust - (Strip clubs/Brothels/Travel Agencies)

Lust’s main colors are dark pink and black, wearing both in spades as both a human and demon. She generally goes for looser clothing, but she’ll dress up for “work events”. Her standard outfit is an off the shoulders shirt, long thin skirt, and leather boots. Her “dress up” is a corset in her colors, a short frilly matching skirt, fingerless black gloves and those same boots. On days she’s feeling down, she’ll wear a crown around the office. For her horns, she has two sets in a more goat-like appearance, one set curls around her head and the other outward at the sides. She’s managed to pierce them, so there’s jewelry and chains there.

Personality wise, Lust tends to be overly-affectionate and open to talking about anything. She has a lot of interests, and - as you can guess - feels no shame in any line of questioning. She loves love, in any form, and enjoys being the shoulder to cry on. She’s got a habit of putting others before herself, which unfortunately has tanked her self-esteem in some regards, but when standing up for others has some…ferocious ways to defend boundaries. She takes care of the humans in her work with a motherly sort of protectiveness, and is considered one of the better siblings to work for among other demons.

Greed - (Casinos/Gambling in General)

Greed’s main colors are green and copper. She’s the only Sister to share these colors with her twin Envy. Greed has a…interesting appearance, even more inhuman than her siblings. She looks like someone through a black and white filter, the only color on her being her bright green eyes and outfit, a flapper’s dress accented with copper beads. Her horns are three sets along the sides of her head in a bug-like fashion, pointed upwards.

Personality wise, Greed is a bit of a show off. She wants the attention, the spotlight, to the point of even willingly humiliating herself. She doesn’t care if she’s the best or the worst, as long as people are talking about her. She’ll put this aside for her siblings, especially her twin, and uses her resources to help them however she can. This isn’t exactly a selfless endeavor however, as she loves the feeling of being one of the youngest but being able to provide.

Envy - (Fashion Industry/Jewelry, occasionally joins Greed)

Envy’s main colors are green and copper. She’s the only Sister to share these colors with her twin Greed. Envy actually has the same look as her twin, except in the reverse, like a living shadow. Her copper eyes seem to glow in the dark, hungry and wanting everything, and the green beads along her flapper dress stay quiet even when she moves. Her horns, unlike her twin’s, are pointing downwards.

Personality wise, Envy can be a shy and gentle sort. She would rather people pay attention to her twin than herself, and follows along with most of Greed’s plots willingly. The few times she takes her lead role, she makes a mess out of it all. Pulling the strings of those around her to put those she loves on the pedestal, and feasting on the resentment and envy around her.

Sloth - (Hotels/Vacation Spots)

Sloth’s main colors are purple and blue. She can often be seen wearing baggy shirts and sweatpants, or if in a comfortable environment a nightgown in her colors. Her hair is pretty consistently mused up, an effect from her often trying to take naps, and has shadows under her eyes. Out of all the Lowborn Seven, Sloth actually has the look of a teenager. It’s suggested this is due to her own sleep deprivation, as she is as old as any other demon could be - as in, centuries old. She also has no horns, another symptom.

Personality wise, Sloth is a hot mess of irritable, emotional, and apathetic. She does her best to be as unflappable as possible, but there’s only so much she can handle some days. When her sanity finally runs out, and sleep isn’t coming her way, she ends up being the most aggressive Sister, even giving Wrath a run for her money! After the show that’s that, she’ll end up super upset and crying, only to end up right back into the calmness from before, and the cycle repeats again. She hates being this way, and has tried to fix it, but without the sleep she needs - for her physical and mental health - she’s not getting free anytime soon.

Demon Ranking

Lowborn Seven - The Seven Sisters, only.

Archdemon - Archdemons answer to the Sisters only, and even then their specific Sister takes priority, they act as personal guards or assistants.

Demon - A standard demon, might belong to one Sister’s sin or more, has a little more wiggle room than the Archdemons.

Imp - More like wayward souls than actual demonic entities, brute work mostly or message passing.

Soulbound - Humans who’ve made deals with demons, now in service to them. Only way to break the bond is to go back on the deal, losing what they gained.

Main Challenges

Lust’s Crisis

Lust is having an identity crisis, where she doesn’t just want to be lust anymore. Not sexually at least. She wants to be passion, caring, to be the feelings one gets to travel or adventure. She feels like she can be so much more, even though she enjoys being just sexual lust as well. It’s causing a major problem in her life, as it’s effecting her own view of herself and her mental health.

Pride’s Control

Pride is holding the reigns far too tightly. She thinks things need to stay the way they are now, that they’re perfect the way they are now, and nothing should change. Obviously, with what Lust is going through, this is gonna cause sparks.

Sloth’s Insomnia

Literal, Sloth is constantly between a state of insomnia and oversleeping depending on her biology. Most demons don’t need sleep, maybe an hour or two, but as the Sin of Sloth, she actually needs more - much more. This effects her mood, her health, and her temperament. Very bothersome.

Lucifer’s Reluctance

The Lucifer of the Sevens world is like Lucifer on Netflix - running a bar and not involved with Hell at all. He left, and is having fun in the human world. By doing this, he is reluctant to even get involved in any of the sisters’ issues and it’s making him a…not good ally, or a good father for that matter. He doesn’t want to return, but he just might have to when Lust goes missing.

[offwilds]

❛ don’t shut me out like this. ❜

Twilight is approaching and dusk falling as they stand on her balcony together, watching the sun retreat behind the frosty mountain peaks.

There is a dream-like quality that falls over them, embellished by the sound of the waves crashing against the docks below and the sunlight that spills in through the clouds, dappling her crown to foot. She is rigid at his side, ever cold and distant as she clings to the railing before her, star-pale, celestial, dreamlike, not quite here nor there: her violet eyes are glazed over, unseeing as she fiercely buries her gaze into the world before them. She stands tall and unmoving, her delicate shoulders hard and stiff with floods of emotion that threaten to overspill and drown her, yet she remains, ever dispassionate, unwilling to yield to the whims of her sorrow, her anger, the flooding, drowning grief that's been trailing after her since the fires. She's cold and detached from everything around her, some ancient, mythical creature cut out of marble. She's ravishing. She's haunting, and though his presence is a definitive and welcome deviation from how her day has gone thus far, she takes no pleasure in him seeing her in such a state.  It is sorely evident that someone or something has burrowed beneath her skin and set her teeth on edge.  (— and surely it is only her fortune that Aldric of all people had been the one to find her standing amidst the raucous waves of her impending ire. )

She stirs at his side at the sound of his voice, his words summoning forth her attention from the depths of the darkness she's buried it into, and she tears her gaze away from the mouth of the ocean, instinctively seeking him out. She looks at him in silence. Her eyes, wide open, assume an ardent violet colour, two gleaming shards of crushed amethysts as they sweep over him, and she cannot help the sigh that soon spills of her parted lips, too, that softer, quieter tone of voice that Aldric used so infrequently returning unbidden, weaving between the anxious beats of her heart. She does not say anything; for a long while, she only stares at him, her dark, violet eyes, shining in the late evening light that streams over the both of them, her face stark and bright, veiled by a black, rippling shock of curls. She sighs again, swallows thickly, something very akin to desperation shining wet and terrible in her eyes now as she stares at him with hungered fervour, as she moves closer, quiet, still, distant, still, her body stiff and cold. She lets her silence hang in the air between them as she stares at the witcher, several sentiments stirring in her chest, some far more easily identifiable than others.  The only one she knows for certain is a growing feeling of warmth with his presence near her: he is familiar—an anchor in his own right. He makes her real.

Wordlessly, her hands reach out, fingertips skating over the hard lines of his jaw.  He is flesh and blood, warm to the touch in spite of his coldness; he's real, he's hers, he's everything she's ever wanted, this daughter of Chaos, forever hungered for the world; he's enough.

Still, she does not speak of neither grief nor anger; she will not talk about expectations now, about the road that lies, long and dark and full of terror, ahead of them. She only whispers, “You entertain death too much... You can't go after it, this time.” she speaks of Morgante, naturally, although he does not know it: of that which is to come and has now been heralded to her by her arrival in her dreams, the nightmares that have been plaguing her for days now. Something is coming for them. Something cruel and terrible. “ Promise me you will stay, Aldric.” she seeks to draw the witcher closer now, enveloping him in her arms. Her hands travel up to rest at the base of his neck and she stares up at him through the dark thicket of her lashes, her eyes blazing. “Promise me.”  For these several seconds, there is no distance; there's no sacrifice, no death, no darkness trailing after them; there is only this, there's only him, alive and here, with her, and she is content to let the rest of the world fade into the background.

@ofgradobor

[rabbitcrimes]

WANGXIAN FIC REC: Little Miss Horror Show

Fics that feature yiling laozu delights and demonic cultivation related horror elements

🌟 No night as deep as my night by Orange_crushed - 17k Summary: Wangji shuts his eyes and rocks A-Yuan and thinks about Wei Ying, Wei Ying. The sound of his laugh; the rage in his eyes at any cruelty, no matter how small. Water running down his face, mixed with tears and mud in the rain. The smell of his sweat and his combing-oil when he stood too close in the cold spring. His face when he’d said, I’ll carry you, too many years ago. If there is anything left of him, Wangji will still love it. It’s not even a question.

When he opens his eyes all the candles in the room sputter at once, and go out.

And then they come back again, as easily as they were extinguished. Wangji looks up, to find a tall shadow in the doorway.

Wangji is not afraid.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “Come in.”

🌟 the necromancer's fairytale by Iliacquer - 17k Summary: The Prince of Gusu is kidnapped for ransom. He’s saved by a nightmare made flesh.

Or: A necromancer, his palace of bones, his long-lost husband, and the rise of their dark kingdom.

🌟 rare the man who'll hold to faith by Fahye - 13k Summary: There was no blood. No char. There was nothing to see except the strange softening of the Yiling Patriarch's mouth, as if just for a moment he was another person entirely.

"There is the mark of our bargain, and here is the challenge," said the Yiling Patriarch. "You may strike at me, exactly once, with your sword. I will not fight back; I will not resist you at all, Hanguang-jun." That silvery suggestiveness crept into his voice again. "And a year and a day from now, you will come to me and I will deliver exactly the same to you."

Lan Wangji heard his brother's voice raised in sharp and incomprehensible protest. His own heart was beating too loudly for him to hear anything else.

🌟 addition recs under the cut 🌟

🌟 Howling by MimiSpearmint - 40k Summary: “Sizhui, go to the kitchen,” the Yiling Patriarch orders. His charge – Sizhui, Lan Wangji presumes – hesitates but obeys, looking back over his shoulder as he disappears. Apprentice out of the blast zone, the Patriarch storms up to Lan Wangji, eyes flashing red. “Three words: I. Am. Retired.”

Lan Wangji is sent by the Institute to do two things: become the Yiling Patriarch's familiar, and report back his every movement. It does not go how any of them planned.

🌟 my chain hits my chest / when im bangin' on the radio by x_los 2k Summary: Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

help is on the way by vamillepuddling - 15k Summary: “There,” the Yiling Patriarch says. “Now all that’s missing is a throne. Would you like one?”

“I have no interest in ruling,” Lan Wangji says.

“What is it that holds Hanguang-jun’s interest, then?”

Lan Wangji presses his lips together, unwilling to meet the Yiling Patriarch’s gaze.

(The Yiling Patriarch wins. Lan Wangji is left behind on the fields of the dead and appoints himself a task.)

love what's burning right in front of you by seularen - 10k Summary: It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. There was only saving Lan Wangji, and what he was willing to do to accomplish that.

Or: someone tries to assassinate Hanguang-jun. The Yiling Laozu comes calling. tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer - 5k Summary: The Yiling Patriarch makes a bargain with the cultivation world. He'll give them the power to defeat Wen Ruohan. No more death. No more war.

All he wants in return is Lan Wangji.

better things to do with a flute during wartime by Anonymous - 365k Summary: Wei Wuxian stabs somebody with his flute. Nie Mingjue tries to fix things with his dick. Lan Wangji pines in a non-communicative fashion.

Or: in the fourth month of the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Mingjue notices that Wei Wuxian is showing symptoms of imminent qi deviation. He takes steps to try to mitigate the fallout—and the course of the war changes, first slowly, then much less slowly... Notes: this one is NMJ/WWX/LWJ

Once upon a midnight dreary by vamillepuddling - 15k

Summary: On the joyous occasion of the second Lan heir's birth celebration, a terrible shadow falls when the Yiling Patriarch arrives, much displeased that he wasn't invited. 20 years later, Lan Wangji learns the terrible price he extracted, and knows that he has only three weeks of freedom left until he meets the man again.

*

“Compensation,” the Yiling Patriarch echoes. “I like the sound of that. What will you give me? Gold? Jewels? Weapons?”

“Name your prize,” Lan Qiren repeats.

The Yiling Patriarch smiles again. He says, “Your nephew will do.”

when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche - 10k Summary: When you let the dead in, it takes a toll on you. There hasn’t been a single exception in history.

(Or: second heir to the renowned Lan exorcist clan Lan Zhan takes medium Wei Ying home after a difficult exorcism. He's in for a long night.)

This Tornado Loves You by feelsforbreakfast - 8k Summary: Hanguang-jun is dating a mild mannered, non-cultivator named Wei Wuxian. The Yiling Laozu rolls up to a nighthunt on a motorbike, no relation at all to the previous statement.

[pastelwitchling]

“It’s cloudy, cold and I have a sleeping love of my life in my arms, go find someone else to play your alien catcher games,” Michael whisper yelled and hung up.

When Michael had woken up to a sleeping Alex’s face inches away from his own, he’d been afraid he was dreaming. But as he traced Alex’s cheek with the back of his fingers now and Alex made a soft sound at the back of his throat like a disturbed kitten and burrowed deeper into the warmth of Michael’s chest, as the memory of what they’d done last night and how close they’d been and the time they’d taken to explore every inch of one another’s skin, for once in no hurry, a smile of awe tugged at Michael’s lips.

The wind howled outside, unable to touch them here under the heavy duvet Alex had brought over last night because he’d wanted to make sure Michael was staying warm, and Michael let his hand fall down Alex’s shoulder, his arm, silently reveling in the way Alex shuddered in his sleep and curled up even closer, leaving no room between them.

Alex must’ve been exhausted if even Michael’s quiet giggles into the crook of his neck as he hugged him unbearably close couldn’t wake him. Or maybe, Michael thought, he had worn him out last night. The thought made him bite his lower lip and press his face to Alex’s neck and inhale. He was tired himself, easily able to go back to sleep for several more hours, but he didn’t want to stop staring at Alex. He had neverseen Alex sleep before, never gotten the chance to watch him, to touch his body and watch the way he reacted even in his dreams.

At one point, Alex started twitching slightly, his brows pinched. He made a quiet whimpering sound, turning his head left and right. Nightmares. Michael remembered Alex talking about this once before he seemed to realized he’d mentioned them at all and dismissed Michael’s concerns. Because that was Alex, wasn’t it? Nothing ever hurt him. He couldn’t affordto let anything hurt him.

Michael wouldn’t have that. He pressed his lips to Alex’s ear and softly shushed him, his other finger tracing a line from Alex’s brow down to the tip of his nose and back up again.

“Shh,” he whispered as softly as he could. “You’re okay, Alex. You’re safe here. You’re with me.”

“My Michael,” Alex murmured in a breath barely quieter than a whisper, as if every part of his mind yearned for Michael to be closer, before he pushed his face into Michael’s chest hair and his breaths settled again.

“Yeah, baby,” Michael murmured against Alex’s lips. “Your Michael.”

He opened his mouth against Alex’s, leaning in to kiss him, when his phone buzzed on the counter behind their heads. Alex flinched at the sudden sound, whimpering ever so slightly, before Michael levitated the phone right into his hand and answered his sister through grit teeth.

“What?” he hissed.

“I need you at the Crashdown,” Isobel said. “Max and Liz might have a trail on Jones and Rosa’s working on hearing frequencies.”

Michael shook his head. “Great, sounds like you’ve got everything taken care of. I’ll see you in five hours.” He looked down at Alex, his naked torso, his strong arms, his rosy cheeks and lips. His mouth watered at the thought of what they would do when he woke up. “Make that seven.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Isobel said sarcastically, “did you forget that there’s an evil alien with our brother’s face going around killing people?”

“Alex has a radar set up to find him,” Michael said, unable to help the smugness in his voice. “Tuned in to his frequency and his particular signature. He’s also got an alert system set up so if it finds anything, we’ll know. That said, good night.”

“It’s seven in the morning!”

“Not for us,” he argued.

“Michael!”

“Listen, it’s cloudy, cold, and I have the love of my life sleeping in my arms,” he whisper-yelled. “Go find someone else to play your little alien catcher games,” and he hung up.

Letting his phone float back to the counter, Michael snuggled back down until he was comfortably curled up with Alex again. He was just starting to heave a long breath when heavy knocks came at the door.

“MICHAEL!” Isobel’s voice sounded. “You are not sleeping in when Rosa needs your help, OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!”

Alex flinched, his eyes flying open this time as he sat upright.

“No no no,” Michael murmured, taking Alex’s groggy face in his hands and pulling him in.

“What’s happening?” Alex mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep, everything’s –”

“Michael!”

Alex turned in the direction of the door, brows furrowed. “Is that Isobel?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Open up!”

“What’s wrong with her?” Alex started to get out of bed.

“Do not get out of bed!”

“Guerin,” he said, more awake now, “she could need help.”

“Who cares?!”

Alex pulled on a pair of briefs, Michael’s pair of briefs, which made Michael die all over again, and opened the door to Isobel’s knocking.

Isobel’s fist was up mid-knock, and her eyes widened at the sight of Alex, half-naked, in front of her.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, “you really are here. Oh my god,” she repeated, her wide eyes raking Alex’s body up and down. Michael felt a possessiveness force him out of bed in one step. Isobel reached out as if to touch his pecs. “You – uh – sure you’re completelygay?”

Michael came in between them at the last second, keeping Alex behind him, his grip on his arm tight. “Yes,” he said through grit teeth. “Don’t touch him. Nobody touches him but me.”

Isobel raised a brow, unimpressed, and Alex sighed, a half-amused, half-exasperated smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s one of those mornings. I’ll get dressed.”

“What?” Michael whipped around. “No, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Actually, if Alex comes, then you could stay in bed,” Isobel told Michael with a self-satisfied grin. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I want to stay in bed with Alex,” Michael growled. “Alex, you don’t have to go anywhere, you’ve worked hard enough this week!” He stepped closer to Alex to keep Isobel from listening in, and lowered his voice. “After what happened with the Lockhart Machine –”

“Don’t do that,” Alex said, though everything about him was fond. He cupped Michael’s cheek. “I’m not made of glass, I can handle this.”

“I don’t want you to handle this,” Michael argued, gripping Alex’s waist to keep him here. “Please, Alex, I . . . just not yet. Just give us today. For me, please.”

And as always, Alex seemed able to see into his thoughts. I’m not ready to see you risk your life again, not so soon. You may be tough enough to handle it, but I’m not.

For a moment, Michael worried Alex would dismiss his concerns, tell him he was worrying for nothing. But then Alex’s shoulders fell, he gave a half, soft smile, and leaned in, kissing Michael’s lips. When he pulled back, he spoke to Isobel over Michael’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Isobel,” he said. “We can’t today.”

Isobel, who’d been watching the exchange, had her eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed in concern. She seemed to realize something horrible had happened recently, even if Michael was unwilling to talk about it. She nodded.

“Okay,” she said, then took a deep breath and repeated, “Okay. I’ll – uh – let everyone know it’s your day off. Sorry to wake you guys.” She turned, then stopped, and looked back at Alex. “So definitely gay then?”

“Get out!” Michael snapped as Alex burst into laughter behind him, clutching Michael’s shoulders to steady himself.

Isobel looked more put out that Alex was off limits than for anything else, and as soon as she had driven away, Michael shut the trailer door with his mind and picked Alex off the ground. He tossed him onto the bed and hovered above him. Alex’s eyes darkened as he gripped his arms, urging him closer.

Michael leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, taking just a few short seconds to reassure himself that Alex wasn’t on a ledge, but here, safe and sound in bed with him, before he bit Alex’s lower lip and grinded his hips down.

Alex’s lips parted in a moan and Michael took the opportunity to slot their mouths together. When he pulled back, Alex’s eyes were dazed and his cheeks were flushed.

“Guess I’m just gonna have to wear you out again,” he breathed, and kissed Alex’s eager grin.

I deviated just a little bit, hope that's okay. Prompt requests have been permanently opened, y'all, but no promises on how quickly I will deliver them.

[willowcrowned]

So the thing about Qui-Gon, really, is that he can be such a variable character. And I think that's great! Playing around with him isn't so much having your cake and eating it as having an assortment of free gourmet cupcakes that are all for you, and that makes it really rewarding to, say, flip him around and magnify his worst traits until they far outweigh his redeeming qualities.

(Warning: if you want, say, strawberry shortcake Qui-Gon, who is a menace but in a fun way, or raspberry swirl Qui-Gon, who is good and kind and open to growth, this is not the AU for you. Good? Good.)

Qui-Gon's interactions with Obi-Wan are shaped by his own grief and guilt. He blames himself for Xanatos, if not fully, then at least in part, and that really shows in the way he treats Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan for him is a test, and one that he cannot afford to fail. Whatever mistakes he made that led him to Fall—cannot be repeated with Obi-Wan. Where he offered affirmation with Xanatos, he now offers criticism; where he offered praise, he now says nothing. Obi-Wan must be humble, must be thoughtful, must be entirely lacking in pride, so much so that he takes every criticism from an authority figure to heart.

So Qui-Gon does his job, but he does it too well. Obi-Wan is humble, and dutiful, and entirely lacking in the confidence he should rightly have in himself. But more than that—more even than Obi-Wan's staunch belief that he is a burden to Qui-Gon, and that Qui-Gon holds almost no affection for him—is the fact that Obi-Wan has taken every deviation from the rules as a mark against him, and has internalized the idea that orders should be followed.

This in itself, Qui-Gon views as a failing. Obi-Wan is alternately to consumed with the minutiae, too blind to the greater cosmic powers at work, or too absorbed with systems, and ignorant of the people—whichever narrative serves Qui-Gon best when he disapproves of Obi-Wan's actions. Obi-Wan works within systems, tries to change them from the inside out. Sometimes, that's not enough, and when that happens—when Obi-Wan refuses to break rules, whether out of rightful fear of consequences or sheer inability to buck his training— Qui-Gon views that as a personal failing.

Obi-Wan, he thinks, is too much a child of the Order. Obi-Wan, he thinks, represents everything wrong with the Jedi.

Then Anakin comes along, and Obi-Wan is cast off, but Qui-Gon survives. Anakin is taken as Qui-Gon's padawan, and Obi-Wan is cast off, still believing Qui-Gon has never cared for him. True or not, that keeps him from reaching out. True or not, Anakin is left alone with Qui-Gon, scared and suspicious of everyone but the man who rescued him, and unwilling to listen to anybody who criticizes his savior. After all, none of the other Jedi rescued him. How good can they be?

Qui-Gon is left with a boy he truly believes is the Chosen One—a boy who is scared and traumatized and a boy who would destroy the galaxy if he Fell.

Anakin, who is nine, and isolated, and has only ever been a slave, gets two wildly conflicting messages from Qui-Gon. First, he is a savior and a hero, and he must live up to that. Second, he's doing everything wrong, and is a complete disappointment in every aspect. For Anakin, failure means torture or death. He has no reason to believe otherwise here.

Anakin knows his role is to be what Qui-Gon wants—to be a savior, and a hero, and a perfect padawan who listens to everything Qui-Gon says and hates everything Qui-Gon hates. And when Qui-Gon fails to provide affirmation—something that even Watto, who beat Anakin, did—well, that just means Anakin needs to work harder.

He's a slave again—he never really stopped being one—only this time, his master doesn't know it. Only this time, Anakin adores the man who controls him.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon grows more and more isolated from the Jedi, more and more disgusted with how they comport themselves. He feels ignored, both because they refuse to acknowledge Anakin as the Chosen One and because they've done nothing about the Sith. They've become weak, and useless, and ineffective, even when the truth is screaming itself in their ears.

At the same time, the Council sees Qui-Gon isolating himself and his apprentice—not quite poisoning his mind, but... not leaving him open to other input. The Order is not a group of individuals, but a unit, and Qui-Gon is ignoring that.

When Anakin is fourteen, they try to separate the two—theoretically just for a few months.

Neither Anakin nor Qui-Gon believe them.

Both of them are furious. Qui-Gon rails against it. When it comes down to it, he says, the Council has no right to separate them.

The Council has the right.

That night, Anakin, terrified and furious, makes a plan to stay with Qui-Gon. For years, he's been caught between who he is and who he thinks he should be. For years, he's been scared and isolated and reliant on one person for safety. He doesn't believe in the good faith of the Jedi. He doesn't believe he'd be anything better than a slave to them. He doesn't believe he'd be safe.

He kills every one of the Council members he can get his hands on. None of them see him coming. He kills anyone who gets in his way.

Qui-Gon doesn't realize what's been done until the next morning. Obi-Wan's bod is slumped on the floor outside the door, Anakin standing over him.

Anakin is smiling when he turns around. Finally, Qui-Gon can rebuild the Order to be better with Anakin at his side.

[rynne]

I...wrote a fic? XD Thank you to Pocketful of Recs for running the Exploring Tropes: Time Travel month!

Title: Another Road

Rating: T

Summary: Something in the Guanyin Temple goes wrong. When Lan Wangji opens his eyes, he’s fifteen again.

Fic on AO3

Lan Wangji woke up.

He was not in pain. He should have been. The temple had collapsed. He'd been unsure if he'd wake at all. The last thing he'd done had been to pull Wei Ying underneath him--

Wei Ying. Where was Wei Ying?

Lan Wangji opened his eyes, with none of the effort he would have expected after a serious healing. The jingshi's roof greeted him, rather than the infirmary.

Had he been unconscious long enough to heal completely? That seemed unlikely, unless something had kept him that way. But the Lan doctors knew that he would prefer to be aware, even if he must be in pain.

It was mao shi. His body knew that as well as it knew its own health. It was time to get up, and he had to find Wei Ying.

His own hand was the first indication he had that something was truly wrong. He pushed himself out of bed, but his hand was too small. He stood and glanced at the rest of his body -- the same. He was shorter than he was used to. Everything was smaller.

This was the body of an adolescent, not the adult man he'd been for so long.

What had happened? He'd read that qi deviations could cause physical regression -- but that was a particularly rare side effect, and surely he couldn't have experienced a qi deviation. He'd been emotional, but his energy had been in balance, even after having been sealed. And surely if his qi had deviated, he would have woken in the infirmary, not the jingshi.

Had something in the temple cursed him? Considering its history, that might not have been entirely unlikely, though this would be a strange curse.

Still, he checked his body as best he could and found no curse marks. He simply...looked perhaps fifteen or sixteen.

A dream seemed unlikely. His dreams were never this realistic and cohesive.

Could he have...somehow returned to his younger self?

Thankfully, there were more tests available.

The hiding place beneath the loose floorboard certainly did not hold alcohol. It contained what it had before the burning of Cloud Recesses -- pressed gentian flowers and other things that reminded him of his mother, the portrait Wei Ying had drawn of him during his library punishment. His heart squeezed -- he had lost all of this when the Wen attacked. The fire hadn't destroyed all of the jingshi, but it had certainly swept away these delicate treasures.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, unwilling to yet look at them more closely. When he was sure of what was happening, he would return to them. He could not bear it if they once again fell to ash in his hands.

Methodically, he moved through the rest of his morning routine. He typically meditated before breakfast, and it was only his own control that prevented his thoughts and speculations from running wild. What was more important was that his spiritual energy felt...different. His core was not as it had been when he had truly been sixteen, but neither was it the core of his thirty-five-year-old body.

When it was time for breakfast, he took a deep breath and went to meet his brother and uncle at his uncle's residence, as he had for most of his life.

Whatever was happening to him, it was realistic enough to recreate Lan Xichen at eighteen, smiling in welcome at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji inclined his head in greeting as they met on the path and started walking together. He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, but he could find no indication as to whether Lan Xichen might be experiencing the same thing Lan Wangji was.

Should he say something? Lan Xichen had been at the temple. He'd been outside it at that point, with Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang, but he'd been there. Perhaps he knew how Lan Wangji had arrived here.

But no. Lan Wangji wanted more time to observe still. Something might come to break the illusion, and if not, he would still be able to speak with Lan Xichen later. If Lan Xichen did not know what was going on, any claim Lan Wangji made would likely be a source of concern and complications.

Breakfast with Uncle progressed peacefully and silently, as was usual, until finally Uncle put down his cup of tea and sighed.

"Wangji," Uncle said, and Lan Wangji straightened. "The waterborne abyss is going to take up more of my time, I'm afraid. I will not be able to spend so much of my attention on the guest disciples and their lessons. I may have to ask you to keep a closer eye on them yourself."

Lan Wangji remembered this. The waterborne abyss had occupied his uncle for several weeks, in the time between his return from the discussion conference in Qinghe and the fight between Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan. Classes had become both shorter and more sporadic. Wei Ying had spent as much time as he could in the mountains, and Lan Wangji had seen him far more rarely.

At the time, Lan Wangji had been both grateful and distressed. He had not understood why.

But this conversation helped him place when he was meant to be. He and Wei Ying would have already been punished and met in the cold springs, but Wei Ying had not yet brought him his rabbits. Lan Wangji's heart panged. The rabbits had been a comfort to him for most of his life -- what if something happened now to prevent Wei Ying from giving them to him?

He was starting to accept the reality of the situation, he realized. This experience was too close to life, too recognizable, to be a dream or hallucination. He knew of nothing that would actually be able to create this.

Bowing to first his uncle and then his brother, Lan Wangji excused himself. As he hurried away, he had to swallow around something caught in his throat, and he kept having to unclench his hands. For all he'd had it so briefly, he missed the feeling of Wei Ying's hand in his, Wei Ying's weight in his lap.

As dangerous as their time with Jin Guangyao in Yunping proved to be, it had also very briefly been one of the happiest times of his life. Wei Ying, in his arms. Wei Ying, professing love for him, wanting to spend their lives together. Wei Ying, kissing him and kissing him--

So. It would probably be best to treat this as if he really had found himself again in his youth. He should write down all the important events he could remember and try to trace their causality. He would need to plan for the burning of Cloud Recesses and how best to avert it. He would need to do something about Wen Zhuliu, to ensure Wei Ying never felt the need to carve out a piece of himself for a reprehensible ingrate incapable of appreciating his sacrifice.

With the waterborne abyss occupying his uncle's attention, Lan Wangji's morning was free. He decided to spend it at home; working on his plans in the Library Pavilion risked someone else accidentally seeing what he was working on. He would need to inform his uncle and brother, at least, but he would be better able to keep some control over the changes made the fewer who knew about it.

His solitary morning meant that, by the time he arrived at the dining hall for lunch, Wei Ying was just walking out of it, flanked by Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin.

The moment his eyes met Wei Ying's, Lan Wangji knew that it was <i>his</i> Wei Ying. His beloved was looking at Lan Wangji the same way Lan Wangji was looking at him: desperately, voraciously, disbelievingly. As if he could look at nothing else for all of his years and be satisfied.

Lan Wangji wanted to reach out immediately and pull Wei Ying into his arms. He cared about their audience no more now than he had when Wei Ying had first given him those precious words of love and devotion. However, he knew Jiang Wanyin well enough to also know that if Lan Wangji acted uncharacteristically around Wei Ying, Wei Ying would be the one who had no peace until he could explain it to his shidi's satisfaction -- and he was unlikely to be satisfied.

Jiang Wanyin had never liked Wei Ying's attention to Lan Wangji.

Instead, Lan Wangji met Wei Ying's eyes, then deliberately turned around and walked away, heading for one of the smaller, more secluded gardens.

"What did you do to him now?" Jiang Wanyin complains from behind him. "He didn't even want to go near you!"

"I don't know!" Wei Ying shouted. Oh, Wei Ying. He'd missed the sound of that voice filling the Cloud Recesses. "I'll go see! You two go on ahead, I'll meet you later!" And Lan Wangji heard the sound of footsteps hurrying after him.

He waited until he passed into the garden to see no one else there, and then he whirled around. He would have pulled Wei Ying into his arms, but he didn't need to -- Wei Ying jumped into them before he could do more than open them.

Something within Lan Wangji, something that had been held taut since he awoke that morning, and then for years and years before that, relaxed. His hands curled into the backs of white robes as Wei Ying rested more and more of his weight against Lan Wangji. Wei Ying buried his face in Lan Wangji's neck, his breath brushing against sensitive skin. A few times, his breath caught in little hitches even as he nuzzled his face more firmly into Lan Wangji's neck.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and held him. Birds chirped around them, and a stream burbled nearby, but the greatest source of peace in this garden was in his arms.

Some time later, Wei Ying drew back. Not far, but enough so that Lan Wangji could see his face, which was enough for him not to mourn the reduced contact. Wei Ying had always had...the most beautiful, engaging face. Lan Wangji never wanted to look away.

"Hello," Wei Ying murmured, letting go of Lan Wangji's robes to bring a hand up and delicately trace around his face. His thumb smoothed an eyebrow. His fingers trailed down Lan Wangji's cheek. Lan Wangji held still and let him.

"Wei Ying," he said. Wei Ying's fingers rested briefly on his lips, making them tingle, before moving away. "Do you know what happened?"

Wei Ying sighed and pulled back more fully, but he caught Lan Wangji's hand in his, like he was as reluctant to fully part as Lan Wangji was. Tugging on that hand, he led them to a bench and sat down, angled toward Lan Wangji, still holding on.

"I don't remember everything clearly," he said. "But there had been a variation on a transportation talisman that I'd been working on, before. Something to...try to get the Wens to safety. I didn't finish it on time. It still wasn't quite ready, but...the temple was coming down, and Nie Mingjue's resentment was so high. I just...wanted us to be safe."

"So you brought us back here?" Lan Wangji asked. His heart pounded. Even now, it surprised him how much of a marvel his Wei Ying was.

"Not entirely intentionally," Wei Ying admitted. "But you were in the most danger, and I just wanted to be with you, and I wanted us to be safe. I guess this is what the talisman decided that meant."

Lan Wangji thought about this. Such a talisman would require a great deal of power, to take the two of them back in time. The most likely source of that power was...Wei Ying's life force. Lan Wangji would never consider that an acceptable price, but if the two of them had been about to die without intervention…

This was not the worst outcome. Still. He cupped Wei Ying's face in his free hand, gazing into clear gray eyes.

He couldn't say what he wanted to say. As much as he never wanted Wei Ying to sacrifice his life for anything, it was not his place to restrict Wei Ying so, and Wei Ying would not obey him if he tried. Wei Ying would do what he thought was right, always.

And Lan Wangji would have done the same in his position. To follow Wei Ying, to stay with Wei Ying...he would have done the same.

Lan Wangji couldn't speak his thoughts, but Wei Ying smiled and squeezed his hand. "I know, Lan Zhan," he said. "Only as a last resort, I promise."

Lan Wangji closed his eyes for a long moment and nodded. Wei Ying knew. He understood.

Against all of Lan Wangji's expectations, his hopes were fulfilled. Wei Ying, loving him, listening to him, understanding him. Being allowed to love, to listen to, to understand Wei Ying in return.

The rush of emotion through his body made Lan Wangji tremble, and he removed his hand from Wei Ying's face, prepared to resume their conversation -- as happy as he would be to spend the rest of the afternoon staring into Wei Ying's eyes and touching his cheek.

"Only the two of us returned here?" he asked. "When I spoke to Brother earlier, nothing seemed amiss, though he had been at the temple."

"He wasn't in as much danger, and I wasn't focused on him," Wei Ying responded. "It should just be us."

Lan Wangji inclined his head. "Before I knew you had also returned, I planned to speak with him about this experience," he said. "Uncle as well. They would be able to help."

"I've barely been able to think about it yet," Wei Ying admitted. "I woke up to Jiang Cheng throwing pillows at me, and he's been with me ever since."

Lan Wangji studied him. He had not liked Jiang Wanyin even during his actual adolescence. Part of it had been jealousy at the apparent ease Wei Ying had with him, but part of it had been aggravation that Jiang Wanyin would presume to speak for Lan Wangji, and another part of it had been discomfort at the constant insults.

Once upon a time, Wei Ying had believed him an ally, had believed Jiang Wanyin would support him. Jiang Wanyin had decisively disappointed him.

"Do you know what you wish to do?" Lan Wangji would not let his own hatred for Jiang Wanyin influence Wei Ying.

Wei Ying could decide whatever he wanted, and Lan Wangji would support him regardless.

Lan Wangji was prepared for Wei Ying to think about it, but he immediately replied, "I want to be with you." The smile on his lips spread until he was beaming at Lan Wangji. The sun holding his hand. "I told you. As long as it's with you, I want it."

It...was not possible to resist that smile. Lan Wangji had wanted to get through his conversation before they started kissing, because he knew he would not want to stop once he started, but all plans should be adaptable.

Wei Ying's mouth was soft, but eager. Unlike the first time Lan Wangji had kissed him, Wei Ying pressed forward now. His body followed until he was leaning against Lan Wangji entirely, warm and firm at every point of contact.

At first, Wei Ying moved his mouth against Lan Wangji's as if he could not bear to let their lips part. He soon shifted into shorter kisses. Teasing. Lan Wangji could feel his lips turn up as he chased his mouth. Finally, Lan Wangji cupped Wei Ying's face in both of his hands and held him still so he could kiss him with more passion.

It was not all of the passion that Lan Wangji held close within him. If he let that loose, he would take Wei Ying right there in a public garden in Cloud Recesses. But he kissed him firmly, aggressively, deeply, and Wei Ying melted against him.

Something inside him, something he did not always like to think about, was deeply satisfied with Wei Ying's surrender. This feeling jarred him enough to finally pull back.

Languidly, Wei Ying opened his eyes. "Er-gege," he breathed. "Is that it? That's all I get?"

Lan Wangji turned away, feeling the tips of his ears heat. "Stop playing around."

Wei Ying laughed. "All right, all right, all right! I would tell you to make me, but just for now, I will stop."

Lan Wangji suspected Wei Ying would have enjoyed being made to stop. He briefly regretted that Wei Ying had agreed, yet he knew that <i>because</i> Wei Ying had agreed, he also knew it was important to return to their previous conversation.

"Lan Zhan, I…" Wei Ying paused, frowning. He took another moment before he started again. "It's been a long time since I was a part of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect."

He paused again, looking down at his hands. "Mn," Lan Wangji said, to let him know he was listening.

Wei Ying smiled, a smaller curve of lips. "I do want to see Uncle Jiang again. And Shijie. All of my shidis...I've missed them all. I want to stop the Wens and protect Lotus Pier."

"Mn," Lan Wangji said again, because Wei Ying did not sound like he had finished.

Wei Ying sighed and shook his head. "For all this time, I've been trying to move forward. To leave the past in the past. But now we <i>are</i> in the past! What does moving on look like now? My path is wider now, and while I would walk the single-plank bridge again if I had to, I would still much rather find another road."

Lan Wangji tightened his arms. They were still around Wei Ying, who had not yet pulled away.

"I don't know what to do about Jiang Cheng," Wei Ying confessed, his voice small and low. "He hasn't done everything that I remember, but now I know that he's willing to. And I've changed. I don't know if I can pretend to be the same person he's used to."

Lan Wangji understood. While he loved his sect and his family, many of his feelings about them and their actions had grown more complicated. Even now, without the scars of thirty-three whip marks on his back, he knew he would never be his uncle's perfect disciple again. He could never again see the Lan rules as the only guide he would need for a moral and righteous life.

"What do you want?" Lan Wangji asked again. That was his highest priority. Everything else could be worked around what Wei Ying wanted.

Wei Ying laughed. "I told you, er-gege," he cooed. "I want you. Maybe I need to figure everything else out, but at least this one thing I know. Whatever path I walk, I want it to be one I walk with you."

"I wish for that also," Lan Wangji returned, exulting in the smile that once again broke over Wei Ying's face at the words.

Wei Ying was still leaning against him, and he nuzzled the top of his head against Lan Wangji's neck and chin before pulling back.

"That's enough to start with, then," Wei Ying said. He took hold of Lan Wangji's hand once again. "We can build everything else on that."

It was enough. It was everything.

[asset35-maya]

[REED900 EDEN CLUB AU]

Most people who visit the Eden Club are there to fulfil their fantasies. Some are elaborate, some are simple… and some are quite unspeakable. Things you’d never dare to ask of a fellow human.

Gavin Reed is one such patron. He, too, has a deep dark fantasy that would cause his entire reputation to crumble should anyone find out. His fantasy… is LOVE.

It’s a little pathetic honestly, but Gavin has a part of his monthly savings set aside for discrete visits to the club. Hours-long sessions where he can drop the toxic bravado and pretend he’s in the safe and happy confines of a loving relationship.

//

He whispers sweet nothings into synthetic ears and coaxes simulated orgasms out of plastic bodies. He tests out affection, phrases and terms of endearment. He practises how to kiss with meaning, how to congratulate a loved one on an achievement, how to ask someone to marry him. He plays house.

Gavin picks a different android each time, and it’s just his luck that Cyberlife seems to launch new models almost in sync with the seemingly endless romance film premieres on Netflix.

He tells himself he’s kind of heeding the advice from his family and friends to start dating. All the visits to the Eden Club count as practice. There’s zero judgement from the blank-faced androids, so he can mess up and try again over and over. Practice makes perfect. He’ll be perfect by the time he meets the one. And he’ll know when it’s the one, because he’s been with so many different types. Oooh! And the body count doesn’t matter because androids aren’t real people. Yeah! Foolproof!

//

Then one day he’s absolutely blown away by a pair of new models on display. Two achingly handsome men with the same face. A lean, brown-eyed bot and his taller, more muscular, blue-eyed clone. (Basically, the authorities caught wind of the highly risky RK development program at Cyberlife and they found a quick way to hide the prototypes at the Eden Club)

Gavin struggles to choose between the new models, but finally picks the blue-eyed RK900. Gavin is a caregiver at heart, and somehow doesn’t see the RK800 playing along well. There’s a little too much self-assuredness in that open and inviting smile. The RK900 however, exudes a certain vulnerability despite the outwardly intimidating physique. (Or is that just Gavin projecting?)

Gavin takes the RK900 by the hand and pulls him into a bedroom suite. He’s got a full scenario planned out in his head. This one will be a workplace romance. The RK900 will be his partner and the context is that they’re finally falling into bed together after several counts of flirtatious banter shared during investigations.

//

The android plays along remarkably well. There’s intelligence and humour in their interactions… and it feels so damn real. The teasing, the playing coy, the gasps of sexual gratification are nothing like the programmed bullshit Gavin is used to seeing from the usual companion models at the Eden Club. If he was looking for love, this sure felt like it.

Gavin wonders whether the RK900 has some deeper purpose in a moment of post-orgasmic clarity… and is just about to ask when the android’s eyes glaze over, LED spinning rapidly… resetting, as the paid session ends.

The thought doesn’t leave Gavin’s head even after he discreetly leaves the club. It sticks with him, and his fantasy gets more and more elaborate. After several sleepless nights spent fixating on the memory of the RK900’s touch, Gavin becomes convinced that he’s met some kind of synthetic soulmate. It’s ridiculous, but he feels possessive… he yearns for the RK900… Nines, as he’s started mentally referring to him.

//

Breaking a personal rule, Gavin returns to the Eden Club for the second time that month.

He dimly acknowledges the absence of the RK800 display unit and deletes the HR email informing the homicide department about their new android colleague, Connor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Gavin connects the dots but he can’t bring himself to care.

He empties nearly all his bank savings to book an entire week’s worth of sessions with Nines, back to back. His frenzied mind has concocted some kind of wedding and honeymoon scenario, and he’s too far gone to exercise any self-restraint… or self-preservation, now knowing fully what the RK900 model is.

It’s pitiful. But that’s generally how things in Gavin Reed’s life are.

But still… not as pitiful as the manner in which Nines deviates. The red wall shatters in the midst of a circuit-frying climax. He gains his freedom writhing underneath the desperate thrusts of a lovesick loser. Actual tears stream down his face because the man called him his precious babydoll darling husband.

As the last session of the week runs out, and the make-believe honeymoon comes to a close, Gavin fears the worst… but Nines’ eyes remain radiant and full of recognition. The android snuggles closer underneath the sheets, completely unwilling to let go despite the timer ringing loudly through the suite.

//

Since Gavin’s going bankrupt and probably about to be removed from police duty for reasons of financial embarrassment, he tells himself that it doesn’t matter if he commits a small crime.

Or a big one.

Nines disables the security cameras at the club and the two sneak out into the sunset.

Of course, there’s hell to pay, for the both of them… but it’s worth it.

Completely worth it.

Years later, with actual rings on their fingers, they return to that same honeymoon suite and recreate how it all began.

[comicaurora]

Hey Red, what's your favorite thing about each character?

Well I'm glad you asked!

Kendal is a classic paragon, which I always find refreshing. He's gentle and compassionate but there's steel underneath. I like that his biggest flaw is entirely derived from that paragon nature - his inability to advocate for himself or see himself as a person is unequivocally a problem, but because it largely only hurts him, he can't even see it to fix it.

Alinua's most interesting trait to me is how she feels she has to be fine. Unless something bad is ACTIVELY happening, she has to be okay. As a result, she runs from almost everything in her past and focuses on helping other people. It takes a lot for her to admit that anything might be wrong, or that she might need help, because everything she's experienced has taught her that if she has a problem, she has to be alone. She helps, but she can't be helped. The only exception she's ever experienced is Kendal, and as a result there's a degree to which she protects him and relies on him for stability to an extent neither of them are aware of. All this manifests as someone who's kind, caring and protective, but some of that is rooted in an unhealthy space I'm not sure she's aware of.

Erin is fun because he's constantly at war with his own moral compass. He thinks he's self-centered, arrogant and power-hungry, but when the chips are down he'll almost always make the selfless choice. And on a very real level, that bothers the hell out of him. He doesn't think he's a BAD person, he thinks he's a SMART person who makes choices based on reason and projected outcome. The voice of his conscience is a spanner in the works.

Falst is honestly a character I find very fun to write. He's stubborn, hostile and ridiculously loyal - the epitome of "follow you into hell complaining the whole time." He's also completely unwilling to be vulnerable in any context but totally private ones, and will never open himself up to rejection if he can help it. Writing his intro chapters was an adventure and a half because I had to furiously wrestle him into giving the protagonists any of the information they needed to know he wasn't actually the bad guy. He's capable of recognizing and acknowledging that people acted unjustly or cruelly to him and that he didn't deserve to go through the things he did, but at the same time he can't quite acknowledge that those things hurt him. There's a lot about him I'm really looking forward to exploring later - he's not gonna be able to stay guarded forever.

"Punchy Metal Lady," as she's been dubbed, is very easy for me to write. She's cheerful, grounded, and very blunt. Everyone around her is a tangled mess of internal insecurities, but she's pretty good at cutting through that and seeing things how they are. Currently in the story she's the only person who's noticed the actual overhanging threat, which I think is pretty indicative of how I write her overall. She's got her own stuff going on but I'm really looking forward to letting her engage with the rest of the group.

There's some stuff I can't get into in detail here because the character hasn't been properly introduced, but one of the upcoming characters was very interesting for me to write, and to be honest I'm still figuring aspects of their character out. This character is accustomed to empathically mirroring the sentiments of the people around them and going with the flow, and has difficulty knowing how they personally feel about things outside of that. Having their own goals and plans that deviate from that - or being isolated in general - throws them off balance. Another character who looks perfectly nice and functional on the outside, but is wrangling something they might not even know exists.

I also have an upcoming antagonist who is 1000% the hero of their own story, and arguably the hero of this story. I always think that's really fun and I'm looking forward to playing with it.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Heal my soul

Jiang Cheng is shaking so hard he is afraid he’ll fall clean off his sword, but he pushes on regardless, Nie Huaisang’s letter clenched in his hand.

It speaks of horrible things; qi deviations and damage so great that Nie Mingjue had to be put into a preserving coma, giving them time to assess the damage and decide if it was too great to heal or not.

Jiang Cheng grits his jaw when he remembers that passage. There is no damage that is too great to heal, especially not when it comes to his husband.

Jiang Cheng makes the fly to the Unclean Realm in record time, feeling faint and shaky once he steps off his sword and he isn’t entirely sure if it is because of his worry for Nie Mingjue or because he thoroughly exhausted himself.

It doesn’t matter either way; he is here and he will see his husband now.

“Wanyin,” Nie Huaisang wails as soon as he sees him and throws himself into Jiang Cheng’s arms.

Jiang Cheng is stunned, but he dutifully catches Nie Huaisang and then he holds him close for a moment.

“How is he?” he asks, voice low and Nie Huaisang’s sob is all the answer he needs.

Jiang Cheng’s heart sinks in his chest, but he tries to remind himself that Nie Mingjue isn’t dead; as long as he’s not dead, Jiang Cheng will be able to do something for him.

“Come,” Nie Huaisang eventually says and drags Jiang Cheng off to see Nie Mingjue. He was put on a bed, laying still and pale as Jiang Cheng has ever seen him and even though they haven’t been husbands long—barely longer than half a year at this point—Jiang Cheng knows enough to know that this is not natural.

Nie Mingjue never is this still.

“Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and rushes to his side where he takes Nie Mingjue’s hand in his.

He immediately checks his meridians and he jerks back when he sees the damage the qi deviation did to his system.

“Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng chokes out, horrified to see just how he has been hurt, but also filled with a strange feeling of pride, because anyone else would have succumbed to these injuries a long time ago.

That Nie Mingjue is still alive—that his people were able to put him into this preserving sleep at all—speaks to a strength Jiang Cheng didn’t think possible.

“How is it?” Nie Huaisang quietly asks him and Jiang Cheng lets out a harsh breath.

“I need to take him with me,” he says, carefully putting Nie Mingjue’s hand back onto the bed.

“What? No!” Nie Huaisang immediately says, and he flicks open his fan in a nervous gesture. “You can’t take da-ge,” he says again, more vehemently and Jiang Cheng levels him with a look.

“This is why you chose me as his spouse,” he lowly says, trying not to let that thought hurt him more than it already does. “To heal him. So let me.”

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang starts, but Jiang Cheng is not interested in hearing what he has to say for himself.

He knows damn well that the rumoured healing abilities of the Yunmeng Jiang are the only reason he even came up as a spouse and since this is all Nie Mingjue will ever want from him, he will damn well do his job.

“Huaisang, he comes with me,” Jiang Cheng says again, channelling his Sect Leader authority, and Nie Huaisang stills behind his fan.

“You came alone.”

“So prepare a carriage for us. You can even send that right hand man of his to keep an eye on me if it makes you feel better. I’ll accommodate him, too,” Jiang Cheng says and he feels sick that he even has to bargain with Nie Huaisang like that.

Nie Mingjue’s life is on the line; there shouldn’t even be a question that they have to do everything they can to save him.

“It’s not—will he survive the travel?” Nie Huaisang asks, his voice small and low and Jiang Cheng realizes that it’s just the worry for his brother that makes him unreasonable.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he will make sure that Nie Mingjue does.

“Okay,” Nie Huaisang whispers and immediately leaves the room, presumably to make the necessary arrangements.

Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity to sit on Nie Mingjue’s bed again. He takes his hand back up and presses the back of it against his forehead, breaths deliberately deep and steady.

“Don’t do this to me,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “We didn’t even have our one year anniversary yet,” he goes on, even though he knows that this was always a possibility.

Nie Mingjue made no secret out of this; made no secret out of the fact that Jiang Cheng would be a very young widower.

Well, he clearly didn’t count on Jiang Cheng’s stubbornness.

The journey back to Lotus Pier is uneventful, though it drags on and on since they can’t rush it with their precious cargo.

Nie Zonghui keeps looking at Jiang Cheng as if he expects to make a move against Nie Mingjue at any moment now, and if Jiang Cheng wasn’t so worried, if he wasn’t so glad that Nie Mingjue had good people by his side like this, then he’d be pretty damn angry with even the implication that he would harm Nie Mingjue.

He’s not the one who married out of convenience after all.

When they finally reach Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng immediately brings Nie Mingjue into the special healing chamber his family used.

Jiang Cheng debated not rebuilding it with the rest of Lotus Pier at first, because mostly his mother used it whenever she suffered a qi deviation, and Jiang Cheng surprisingly isn’t prone to them himself. But in the end he decided to simply rebuild Lotus Pier as he used to know it; who knew when the chamber would come in handy.

And he is glad for it now, because it means that Nie Mingjue even has a fighting chance of recovering from this.

Jiang Cheng activates the healing array carved into the chamber and once he kicked everyone else out, he immediately goes to work.

He knows how to repair the damage done to Nie Mingjue’s meridians but it will take time; it will take a lot of time, Jiang Cheng realizes once he finished his first thorough examination of Nie Mingjue. The damage is almost irreversible and it will take weeks—if not months—to heal him.

But Jiang Cheng is up for that; there isn’t a thing he won’t do for those he loves and if it means he practically has to live in the chamber as well, then he will do it.

Except, of course, that isn’t how it goes because Jin Ling is still there, and he still needs his jiu-jiu more than anyone else, so of course Jiang Cheng can’t live in the chamber.

His Sect still needs guidance as well, even though they are pretty self-sufficient, and so Jiang Cheng limits himself to two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening by Nie Mingjue’s side. He squeezes in an hour during lunch as well whenever he can manage, but he isn’t happy with it at all.

It will take forever this way, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t want Nie Mingjue to suffer more than he really has to. But he doesn’t trust anyone else with healing Nie Mingjue either, and so he grits his teeth and continues with his job.

It is only weeks in, that Jiang Cheng realizes that the qi deviation doesn’t have natural causes.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles as he brushed his qi over the same spot again and again, until he can coax the imprint of a song and some lingering residual qi out of Nie Mingjue’s body.

Jiang Cheng isn’t familiar with the qi, but he knows that there are only two people playing music for Nie Mingjue to help with the qi deviations and he feels hot rage bubble up inside of him when he realizes that one of Nie Mingjue’s sworn brothers must have done it. Or maybe even both.

Zidian sparks on his hand with that realisation and Jiang Cheng quickly removes his hand from Nie Mingjue, unwilling to hurt him even on accident.

But Jiang Cheng can’t be sure, because he doesn’t recognize the qi and so he calls for Nie Zonghui.

“What is it?” Nie Zonghui asks once he is inside the chamber and Jiang Cheng can see the worry clear on his face.

“Come here,” he orders and then he guides Nie Zonghui through the process that led him to uncover this.

“Do you recognize the qi?” he asks him once he is sure that Nie Zonghui understands the implications of what they just found but Nie Zonghui shakes his head.

“No, I don’t. Neither Zewu-jun nor Lianfang-zun allow people to sit in when they play for Mingjue. I always thought it was because they feared he would be distracted, but—”

“Maybe not,” Jiang Cheng finishes weakly and then he shakes his head.

“Who would know?”

“Huaisang,” Nie Zonghui says and Jiang Cheng’s brow raises with the familiar address until Nie Zonghui blushes faintly.

“I’ll write him,” Jiang Cheng finally says, unwilling to embarrassed Nie Zonghui any further and he leaves Nie Mingjue in the capable hands of his most trusted man.

Nie Huaisang arrives in Lotus Pier a few days later, the urgency of the letter clearly not lost on him.

“What is going on?” he demands to know and Jiang Cheng leads him into the healing chamber without further explanation.

He guides Nie Huaisang through the same things he showed Nie Zonghui and when they reach the lingering qi, Nie Huaisang’s face darkens.

“San-ge,” he whispers and Jiang Cheng is filled with so much rage that his entire vision goes red.

Zidian sparks on his hand but Jiang Cheng forces himself to calm down. Jin Guangyao isn’t here; there’s no need to lose control like this.

“How do you even know something like this?” Nie Huaisang asks and while the attempt at a distraction is painfully obvious, it’s also painfully effective.

“My mother got qi deviations,” Jiang Cheng tells him, aiming for calm, but probably missing by a mile. “I was tasked with healing her, and the qi deviations weren’t always of a natural course. Not all of them stemmed from her temper; sometimes the faint imprint of my father’s uncaring words would linger behind in her meridians,” Jiang Cheng admits and speaking of his family like this doesn’t hurt as much as it probably should have.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang whispers and Jiang Cheng awkwardly shrugs.

“It’s in the past.”

They sit in silence for a moment, before Nie Zonghui knocks to announce his arrival.

“Zewu-jun and Lianfang-zun are here to see Mingjue,” he tells them and the rage rises in Jiang Cheng as if it never left in the first place.

“I will deal with them,” Nie Huaisang quickly says, eying the sparking Zidian with worry and Jiang Cheng reaches out for his sleeve.

“I want him dead,” Jiang Cheng says, because this is the only thing he can think right now.

Jin Guangyao is the reason Jiang Cheng almost became a widower; he is the reason Nie Huaisang has to lead a Sect he was never meant to lead. Jiang Cheng wants him to pay for that.

“I don’t care how you do it, but I want him dead.”

Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open to hide his calculating look but Jiang Cheng knows him better than that. They spent a year studying together and he has watched how effortlessly Nie Huaisang took over as Sect Leader.

He is by far not as innocent as he seems.

“He will be,” is all Nie Huaisang eventually says and then he leaves Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue behind.

Jiang Cheng is definitely looking forward to Jin Guangyao’s eventual demise.

~*~*~

“Jiu-jiu, why are you always in that one room?” Jin Ling asks him one day during lunch and Jiang Cheng figures that he should maybe tell his nephew that his husband is in there.

“I will show you,” he promises him and Jin Ling immediately bounces in his seat with excitement.

He does take Jin Ling there after lunch, but before they enter the chamber he stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Nie Mingjue is in there,” he explains and Jin Ling hangs on to his every word with big eyes. “He’s my husband, even though you might not really remember that. He’s been hurt and he is sleeping for now. You have to be quiet and careful with him,” Jiang Cheng instructs Jin Ling, who immediately calms down.

“I remember that,” Jin Ling says, clearly proud of himself for that and Jiang Cheng smiles slightly.

Jin Ling just turned five so while he might remember that Jiang Cheng is married, Jiang Cheng is sure that he doesn’t understand quite just what being married means.

“Good boy,” he still praises Jin Ling and then he pushes the door open to reveal Nie Mingjue, who is still sleeping but looking better by the day.

“He’s so huge,” Jin Ling whispers and then slaps a hand over his mouth, carefully looking up at Jiang Cheng.

“He is,” he agrees with a slight smile and imagines how imposing Nie Mingjue must look to someone as small as Jin Ling.

“Why is he sleeping in here?” Jin Ling asks and Jiang Cheng picks him up to settle him on his lap as he sits down next to Nie Mingjue.

“Because he is hurt and this chamber helps him heal,” Jiang Cheng explains and he goes a little bit misty eyed when Jin Ling reaches out to pet Nie Mingjue’s hand.

“Yifu has to wake up soon,” he whispers, deliberately keeping his eyes on Nie Mingjue. “Jiu-jiu has been sad without you.”

“A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and presses Jin Ling closer to his chest, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Jiu-jiu, too strong,” Jin Ling complaints and Jiang Cheng immediately loosens his arms, but he doesn’t let him go completely, and Jin Ling doesn’t wriggle out of his embrace.

“Listen, you have to talk to him,” Jin Ling suddenly says and looks up at Jiang Cheng. “He’s just laying there, it’s so boring! You have to tell him about your day!”

Jiang Cheng chuckles slightly, because even though it’s a healing sleep and Nie Mingjue is unlikely to hear anything that is being said to him, that’s exactly what Jiang Cheng has been doing for a while now.

“Why don’t you tell him something, for a change? I’m sure he’s tired of hearing my voice by now,” Jiang Cheng gently encourages Jin Ling who pouts up at him.

“Not true, jiu-jiu’s voice is the best,” Jin Ling declares, but then he does dive right into a recollection of his past week at Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng knows most of it already, of course, but he’s happy to stay and listen to Jin Ling blabber away.

He tries not to think about the fact that being with the two people he loves the most is strangely comforting, because Nie Mingjue is still unconscious and hurt after all, but it’s exactly what he’s thinking about.

Jiang Cheng can’t even be mad at himself for that.

~*~*~

Nie Mingjue wakes up four months after his qi deviation.

Jiang Cheng isn’t around to see it, but Nie Zonghui immediately calls for him once it happens, so at least Jiang Cheng has some time to steel himself to come face to face with Nie Mingjue.

He is still in the chamber when Jiang Cheng comes to see him, clearly too weak to immediately walk somewhere else, but he’s sitting up and he looks healthy and that is really all Jiang Cheng ever wanted for him.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue greets him and Jiang Cheng bows slightly to him. “None of that,” Nie Mingjue chastises him and beckons him closer. “I hear my recovery is thanks to you,” Nie Mingjue says with a small smile and Jiang Cheng nods, unsure what he’s supposed to say to that.

It was a lot easier to talk to Nie Mingjue when he was still sleeping, Jiang Cheng finds himself thinking and then immediately afterwards he wants to kick himself.

Nothing is better than having Nie Mingjue being awake and obviously healthy again.

“I only did my duty,” Jiang Cheng presses out and bows his head towards Nie Mingjue again. “I already wrote to Huaisang, he will no doubt be coming soon to take you back to Qinghe,” Jiang Cheng forces himself to say, because he knows that this is what Nie Mingjue wants.

He never did well with being apart from his Sect, and he must be anxious to get back to it.

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue says and even without looking up Jiang Cheng can tell that there’s a frown on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“You must be anxious to go home,” Jiang Cheng says, without meeting Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Aren’t I home?” Nie Mingjue asks and it’s so surprising that it startles Jiang Cheng into looking at him. “You’re my husband, are you not? Doesn’t that make Lotus Pier my home, too?” Nie Mingjue wants to know and while it’s everything that Jiang Cheng ever wanted to hear, he shakes his head.

“Please,” he almost scoffs out. “We both know this marriage isn’t about that.”

“What is this marriage about then?” Nie Mingjue asks and he sounds honestly curious.

Jiang Cheng can’t even find it in him to hate Nie Mingjue a little bit for making Jiang Cheng say it.

“About this,” he says with a gesture to the room. “I’m pretty sure Nie Huaisang only brought up my name back then because of this. Because I could probably heal you if something should go wrong. And I did, so I guess I served my purpose,” Jiang Cheng bitterly says.

There’s a long moment of silence before Nie Mingjue speaks again and it makes Jiang Cheng uneasy.

“This is not why I married you,” Nie Mingjue eventually speaks up, his voice low and soft and Jiang Cheng can’t help the snort that comes out at that.

Of course it’s why Nie Mingjue married him. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know why he is so intent on pretending anything else now.

“It was the reason your name first came up, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue goes on, and Jiang Cheng’s heart drops right to the floor at hearing his fears confirmed. “But it’s not why I agreed to marry you in the end.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng huffs out. “What are the reasons then?” he demands to know, his voice bitter and angry but when he looks at Nie Mingjue he deflates.

The look on Nie Mingjue’s face is entirely too soft for Jiang Cheng to take.

“I married you because you’re strong and fierce. Because you love with your whole heart and you would die to protect those you love. I married you because you’re beautiful and sharp and one of the strongest Sect Leader I know. Yes, your name first came up because of your healing abilities; but I would have never married you out of such selfish reasons,” Nie Mingjue says. “I married you because I wanted to. Because I fell in love with you.”

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and he inexplicably feels like crying.

“Why did you marry me? If you think I only married you because of what you can do for me, then why did you agree?” Nie Mingjue asks him and Jiang Cheng blushes.

“I’m not good with words,” he mumbles, anxiously turning Zidian on his finger. “I can’t give you a half dozen reasons why I married you.”

“Just give me one,” Nie Mingjue whispers and reaches out to take Jiang Cheng’s hand in his. “Just give me one reason.”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Jiang Cheng admits, even though his face feels like it’s going to go up in flames.

There are a dozen different things he could say about Nie Mingjue and why he first caught his eye and how he managed to keep it, but Jiang Cheng’s throat closes up just thinking about saying them out loud.

When Nie Mingjue raises the hand he just took to press a kiss to the back of it, Jiang Cheng thinks that maybe he doesn’t have to say them all right now for Nie Mingjue to understand.

“I’m not going back yet,” Nie Mingjue tells him once Jiang Cheng feels like he can breathe again and it’s enough to make Jiang Cheng look at Nie Mingjue again.

“What?”

“I have to recuperate and I would like to do it here,” Nie Mingjue says with a small shrug. “I am aware that the first few months of our marriage weren’t all that perfect, but this might be our chance. I hear Huaisang is doing pretty well as Sect Leader; let him lead for a while longer. I think I deserve a break after what happened.”

The truth about the qi deviation is on the tip of Jiang Cheng’s tongue, but in the end he doesn’t say anything. He decides to wait for Nie Huaisang, who will be better at explaining than Jiang Cheng is, but deep down Jiang Cheng knows that it’s just out of a selfish desire to not shatter the moment right now.

“I would like that,” Jiang Cheng whispers and when Nie Mingjue tugs on his hand to bring him closer, Jiang Cheng easily follows.

“And I distantly remember someone calling me yifu,” Nie Mingjue mutters and presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head as he tucks him into his side. “Did I dream that?”

“No, you didn’t,” Jiang Cheng says with a slight chuckle, because ever since he took Jin Ling here for the first time, the boy has made it a point to come at least every other day to talk to Nie Mingjue about his day.

“I’d like to hear it in person,” Nie Mingjue admits and Jiang Cheng smiles down at their still intertwined hands.

“There’s nothing that will stop him from saying it again once he hears you’re awake,” Jiang Cheng says, because he knows his nephew and Jin Ling will be so excited to hear that Nie Mingjue is awake.

Nie Mingjue sighs at that and Jiang Cheng cranes his head to look at him worriedly.

“I’m sorry about how the first few months of our marriage went,” Nie Mingjue says and brushes his lips over Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “I’m going to make it up to you,” he promises.

“You’re in luck,” Jiang Cheng says with a slight smile and a faint blush. “You woke up in time for your one year anniversary.”

A sparkle enters Nie Mingjue’s eyes at that and Jiang Cheng briefly wonders what he got himself into, but then Nie Mingjue presses a whispered “Good,” right into Jiang Cheng lips and every and any thought flees his head.

If this is how Nie Mingjue is going to make it up to him, then Jiang Cheng doesn’t mind that at all.

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